Dominique opened her eyes slowly, but immediately closed them since a beam of sunlight was hitting her across the face in the most perfectly annoying way. She squinted before raising her arm up to block it. Her head felt heavy and her mouth was dry. She really needed a glass of water. What time was it–?

Her eyes suddenly flew open as she slammed her arm down beside her. Sunlight? There wasn't any sunlight in her room. There was nothing but a brick wall outside of her window.

She glanced to her left and saw Stuart stirring awake due to all of the sudden movement. In an instant, everything came flooding back. All of last night. The party. Walking in on Jack. The canteen. The sex. She'd fallen asleep and never gone back to her dorm. Her night still hadn't technically ended.

"Shit, shit, shit," she muttered, pulling herself up and out of bed. What time was it? The sun was out so it couldn't have been that early. Where were her clothes? There was something ridiculous about standing around in someone else's room, stark naked, while helplessly fumbling for any item of clothing that she owned. This was not a game she enjoyed playing.

She found one of her trainers. Her shirt. The other trainer was under the bed next to her bra. Where were her leggings? She reached up and rubbed her throbbing head. It was killing her. How had she ever thought this was a good idea? She was going to have to be on the pitch in the heat for hours today.

"Here," came Stuart's voice. He was sitting up in bed and holding her leggings, which apparently had been mixed up together in the bed. Her knickers were conveniently rolled up in them–they'd apparently been removed together—so that made one less thing she would have to find.

"Thanks," she said, plucking them out of his hands, flipping them inside and out, and jumping around to squeeze herself into them. "Do you know what time it is? There's no clock in here."

Stuart flipped himself over in order to reach for the nearby nightstand. There he pulled out a watch and examined. "Shit, it's a quarter to eight."

"Seriously!? I'm going to be so bloody late," she said, jumping faster to pull the last bit of her legging up as panic now struck her. Fifteen minutes. She had fifteen minutes to get back to her dorm, get her broom and a water bottle–because she wasn't making it five minutes without that–and get all the way out to her pitch. That was impossible. She scrambled to stomp her trainers onto her feet and immediately made a mad dash for the door.

"Hey, wait–"

"Really great night, loads of fun, thanks," she rambled, opening the door and dashing out into the corridor. She'd made it halfway down before an unfamiliar lightness about her person struck her. Something was off. She was forgetting…

She immediately ran back and knocked on the door. A very naked Stuart answered it, though he used the door to shield himself from onlookers. He was already holding her wand. "I tried to tell you. "

"Yeah, thanks," she said, snatching it and now actually running down the corridor toward the common area. She tore through the exit and out into the bright morning sun. She was already feeling winded and she'd only run a short distance. She was so thirsty and her head was absolutely rocking.

She'd probably gotten maybe three or four hours of sleep. This was exactly what she'd been trying to avoid, and yet she'd been stupid enough to let herself get distracted by some alcohol, a good looking guy, and some sex.

Even though the sex had been really good–really good. Wow...Yeah, that part was coming back to her now. They'd gone at it twice and he clearly had experience because he knew all the spots to touch and with what parts of himself to touch them with. There was something to laying her intentions out from the start that she'd have to remember, because there hadn't been any awkward questions or unsure expectations. They'd gotten back to his room, he'd kissed her and pulled off his clothes within seconds, and they were naked and all over each other within minutes. It had taken Henry about five or six times before he finally managed to get her off. It took Stuart about five or six minutes once he really started trying.

She almost felt bad for every having negative thoughts about him because if she knew he'd been capable of that, she'd have been nicer from day one. But no, stop that. Think about sex later. She had to focus. She'd already let one stupid mistake set her back this morning; she needed to get her head in the game.

She wasn't sure she'd ever run so fast in her life as she reached A Dorm and pulled open the front door. The common area was empty, obviously since everyone was dutifully at practice. Her chest heaved as she raced to her room and unlocked the door. Unlike the last time she'd gone and done that, the room was now empty. She also pushed those thoughts out of her mind as she changed into a dirty sports bra and the same t-shirt she'd worn last night. She threw on her practice shorts from the day before, grabbed her broom and her water bottle, and even managed to grab a hair tie before racing out the door.

She made it back to the common area and stopped to fill up her water bottle with her wand. If she didn't, there was a good chance she was going to pass out before she even made it to the pitch. She gulped down the first bottle–the feeling of cold water better than any other possible sensation in the world–and went to refill it before noticing that the clock said she had just under five minutes. It took her ten to walk there, so if she ran top speed–if she even had top speed left in her–she could make it on time.

She clipped her water bottle to her broom and took off out the door. Out on the path, the stragglers were casually strolling to their pitches–happy to be five or ten minutes late. She dodged and weaved around them, attempting to avoid crashing into their slow moving bodies. Her head felt like splitting open, but at least she had water in her now. That would help a little. She was trying to remain positive; salvage what was left of the morning. She could still work this out. She felt like shit, but she just had to push through.

Her pitch came into sight and she slowed slightly so as to not look like a loon racing up. She swallowed hard as she speed-walked the rest of the way, sweat already dripping into her eyes. She'd probably run over a mile and a half since she'd left Stuart's room; as she entered the gate, she assumed she had either just made it or was maybe a minute late. She was happy with either scenario until she noticed the coach who was standing there talking to the rest of their small group. She'd completely forgotten that they were starting the day with Sabatino.

Fuck. It was as if what little air she had left was sucked out of her. Her head started to throb even harder as she drew nearer to him–a living, breathing headache. He glanced at her as she approached, checking his watch in an obvious way as if to alert her of the time. He said nothing, which made her think she must have been on time–even if by milliseconds. She'd heard he'd been kicking people out of practices all week for tardiness, so if she was allowed to stay, she must have somehow made it.

He was unimpressed given his tight-lipped frown and creased forehead. His eyes were still hidden beneath those stupid sunglasses, but she didn't need to see them to know they were probably angry as well.

"As I was saying," Sabatino said curtly as Dominique joined the rest of them. "You four–" He paused and looked at her, "rather, five, now that you've all decided to actually show up, are what's left of the top group–if one can call you that. If it were up to me, I'd easily cut you down to three, but that's not my choice."

He gave the group a long once over, and she swore he let his gaze linger on her longer than she would have liked. "Rankings come out tomorrow and this is the last opportunity you will have to impress me. I am not easily impressed. I do not give a fuck if you're the best Seeker to have ever played at your school in the history of existance. I've yet to see anything out here worthy of professional Quidditch, so someone had better show me something today–some real fucking speed–or else I'm scoring you all down for wasting my time. Are we clear?"

There was a murmur of acknowledgement as Sabatino waved his hands and signaled for them to get to the sky. Dominique felt a little nauseated as she gripped her broom, but took deep breaths as she looked around at everyone readying themselves to begin. The Durmstrang boy was gone, leaving only the invitation Seekers, the girl from Durmstrang, herself, and Giggleswick–the latter of whom was currently staring at her fairly horrified. She looked away, not at all in the mood for him to cause her even one more moment of distraction today.

It. Was. Bad. Actually, bad would have been a level up from how she performed; she was downright abysmal. Sabatino had immediately made them start laps, and instead of allowing them to gradually build up speed, he instead insisted they go straight into their top speed mode and maintain it for a continual twenty five laps. Dominique was struggling to maintain her balance at just mid-speed, and when she'd finally managed to pull out something resembling her usual top speed, she'd only maintained it for a lap and a half before the pressure in her head felt as if it was going to completely rip her skull open.

She could hear Sabatino barking at her–swearing at a mile a minute–but his words weren't registering. Everyone around her was zipping by at incredible speeds, but she couldn't even look at them without feeling dizzy and nauseated. She got through nineteen laps before she had to land and vomit on the pitch.

"I sure hope you've got dragon pox," said Sabatino, his wand already out and making the mess she'd made on the pitch vanish.

She turned to stare at him, her vision blurry and sweat dripping off her face. She almost felt that death would have been welcomed at that moment.

"Because if you showed up hungover–"

"I didn't," she lied, squinting in his general direction because the sun was overwhelmingly blinding. "I...don't feel well."

"Then why didn't you stop by the medic this morning? Why are you here?"

"I didn't realize..."

"Go and see the medic!" he snapped, pointing in the direction of camp. "They'll evaluate you and let me know whether you're actually ill or if you're full of shit. They'll let me know whether you've decided that whatever it was you did last night was more important than anything we're doing out here."

She forced herself to stand up. She didn't want to do any of that; she definitely didn't need documentation that proved she was hungover and lacking sleep. She would never bounce back from that–especially with Sabatino. As much as she wanted to seek medical attention to make her terrible headache and queasiness go away, she couldn't risk it. She instead looked him in the eye and, through gritted teeth, muttered. "I'm fine. I feel much better now."

He stared back at her; she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of his sunglasses, noticing that she truly looked awful and could have passed for having dragon pox easily. "If you're sick, then get out and get yourself evaluated."

"I feel fine now," she reiterated in a strained tone. "I would hate to miss a minute of your session."

He wasn't amused. "If you're ill on my pitch one more time, you're done."

"Then I won't do it again," she said, forcing herself past him and mounting her broom once more.

It wasn't any better once she got back up there. She looked sloppy and slow; every lap she took was under her average time. Once Sabatino started having them race one another from opposite ends of the pitch to randomly retrieve Snitches, she lost every time. Giggleswick even looked shocked by how handily he'd beaten her, having reached the Snitch at least five broom lengths ahead of her. She wasn't even sure if everyone else was doing well or she was doing so poorly by comparison, but it was a complete shitshow.

She did manage to achieve one goal for the morning. She didn't vomit again on his pitch.

When they broke for lunch, she did nothing more than collapse on the pitch–her face down in the grass. She wanted to die. She wanted to crawl inside of a hole and die. How could she have been so stupid? What had she been thinking letting herself get into this? And in front of Sabatino, of all bloody people? She'd be lucky if he ranked her at all. Maybe it would be better if he didn't.

She knew she should make a mad dash to the medic's office for some sort of relief, but there would be no time. She'd be late for her afternoon session, angering Ahlgren and losing what little good standing she had left. Plus, she didn't think she could handle doing anything right now other than lying face down in the grass. She had an hour where she could close her eyes and attempt to fix herself. She had to fix herself.

"In case you were wondering," came Sabatino's voice, though when she lifted her head to see him, he was walking right past her without stopping. "You get no extra points for toughing it out. I don't give a shit. Next time, drink less and you won't look like shit out there." He turned to call over his shoulder, "Or maybe you still would."

Cursing him would surely get her kicked out of camp, and she didn't have the energy to do it anyway. She let her head thud back down on the ground. The worst part was that he wasn't wrong.

She drank what felt like her body weight in water before starting her afternoon session with Ahlgren. While the break had helped subside some of her more awful hangover symptoms, her head still hurt and she was too exhausted to focus the way she was supposed to. This was a very large problem, considering Ahlgren's entire session highlighted the importance of a Seeker's focus. Even worse, Giggleswick looked even more stellar by comparison seeing as his focus was generally his strongest asset. He took advantage of the fact by selecting her specifically to compete against time after time–whereas usually, he would never have chosen her.

It was one thing to perform badly, but it was another to let Giggleswick look like a bloody superstar by comparison. Ahlgren seemed confused by it all and even stopped to ask her if she was feeling alright, but she again pushed through without complaint. She would perform drill after drill–ready to collapse by the end, but she'd done each one. She'd done them poorly, but she'd done them.

Once the day was finally over, she'd gone straight back to the dorm. She didn't speak to anyone. She didn't shower, she didn't eat, she didn't change her clothes, she didn't even pull her bedsheets back. The only thing she did was throw her workbook off of her bed and onto the floor—listening as the papers scattered everywhere— and dropped onto her bed. She passed out within minutes. If someone asked, she couldn't even recall how she'd gotten there.

When she did wake the following morning, it was still dark outside; there was no sunlight to startle her awake today. The room was black with the only exception being the crack of light from beneath the doorframe.

She reached for her wand; fumbling for a bit as she reached to the spots where she usually kept it while sleeping. The crack between the wall and the bed, down at the foot, under her pillow–nothing turned up. She reached down to the floor and started fumbling around, her hand coming across something that had to have been it. She'd apparently dropped it before crashing last night.

Picking it up, she cast a single beam of light across the room and shined it first onto Jack's bed. He was there, his bare back to her and fast asleep. It was almost like seeing a ghost since it had been ages since she'd last seen him. She pointed the light to where she knew the clock was hanging and, while squinting, managed to see that it was four in the morning. She's been asleep for almost eleven hours.

She rubbed her face, right as the smell of her now hit her nostrils directly. It wasn't particularly pungent, but it wasn't pleasant either; definitely an old, stale, sweat odor. It was a nostalgic smell; one she hadn't experienced in awhile. She frequently used to fall asleep after Quidditch practice without a shower, and sometimes without even changing her clothes. It seemed rather gross in retrospect, and no wonder Natalie and Eleanor–and Sarah, to a lesser degree—used to turn up their noses and passive-aggressively complain when they had to share a room with that. She had to admit, smelling herself now, those must have been unbearable years for all of them.

A small wave of embarrassment washed over her as she wondered whether she smelled bad enough for Jack to have noticed. Their beds weren't that far apart. It couldn't have been that bad if he hadn't run from the room in horror. Perhaps she was overthinking it. It wasn't as if every corner of this place didn't smell like a changing room. And after all, he is a Beater and they're notoriously the smelliest member of any Quidditch team–even if he never fit that stereotype. He actually always smelled really nice. It was something she'd noticed this week. Now she felt self-conscious again.

She kicked off her blanket and pushed herself out of bed, holding her wand with one hand and shining it on her things in search of new, clean clothes and toiletries. Once gathered, she crept as quietly as she could out into the brightly lit hallway. It was empty, though she could hear some noises coming from the common area. She apparently wasn't the only one awake right now.

She slowly pulled the door shut behind her and walked down to the showers, where someone was currently occupying a stall and singing a quiet song. When she let the door slam shut behind her, the voice disappeared–obviously realizing they were no longer alone. She paid them no attention and chose the stall the furthest away, tapping her wand to the faucet to get the water warm.

After shedding those awful clothes, she stepped in and let the water run over her. It was a moment of bliss. The feeling of showering when you so desperately needed one could not be beaten. Time to start a new day; wash the rubbish from yesterday off of herself entirely. She realized then that she hadn't showered since sleeping with Stuart–she'd never had time the previous morning. That made things seem more disgusting as she was now washing off Quidditch and stale sex. Terrific.

Today had to be different, she told herself, shutting her eyes and tilting her head directly up into the stream of water. It had to be. Yesterday–what she could remember of it–had been a shitshow. She may have thrown everything away because of an emotional night. Today the rankings came out, and hers would certainly suffer after her poor performance yesterday. She shouldn't have stayed out all night and crawled into some boy's bed–even if it had been fun. She shouldn't have lost focus. She needed to regain her focus.

She finished scrubbing every inch of herself with soap and water, then toweled off and dressed. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and recognized herself again–at least more than she had in the previous days and weeks. It was stupid–she ultimately looked the same–but the fire was back in her eyes. She had issues, but she could deal with them once the Trials were over.

She walked back down the corridor and noticed there were two pieces of yellow parchment now affixed to everyone's door. On her door, she saw her name printed on one while Jack's was printed on the other. Apparently, whomever was in charge did know how to find people even if they had switched rooms.

She tore hers down and opened it, noticing that it was a schedule for the day. Quidditch matches with times and pitches assigned to them. Today was the day they got to play actual matches— proper ones. No more stupid practice exercises. That alone was enough to brighten her mood—especially since she'd noticed that at the top of the page, right under name, she was now classified under the B group. She'd been dropped out of the A group.

She sighed. It was what she deserved. She couldn't dwell on it. It was only a minor set back.

Jack was still fast asleep when she crept back into her room and she did her best to not disturb him. She knew she had to collect her workbook and complete what was left, having done nothing in the last two days. They were due by the start of day at eight o'clock, so she had the time. She could take them to the canteen; get an early jump, finish her work, eat some breakfast. Get a fresh start.

She stumbled around for her book, remembering she'd thrown them onto the ground the day before. The papers had probably scattered and she would have to find them all in the dark and piece the book back together. That made her want to kick herself, but a quick scan of the floor turned up no papers or book. She shined her light all over and under her bed, but still saw nothing. It wasn't until she landed on the side table that she saw it; all in one piece. She definitely hadn't placed it there the day before. When she picked it up to examine it, all the papers were neatly tucked inside. How had it…?

She glanced over at Jack's bed.

He must have cleaned it up. No one else would have. She also noticed then that he was missing his top blanket, using only a top sheet to cover himself. She flipped the light onto her own bed where–what must have been–his blanket was now crumbled in a heap at the foot of her bed from where she'd kicked it off. Her bed was still made and she'd apparently slept on top of all the covers. He'd given her his blanket after she'd passed out on top of hers.

"Arse," she whispered, but she didn't mean it in the least. It was a knee-jerk reaction, and she would have said it to his face had he been awake. She knew the only way she could show affection was by insulting someone, another habit she desperately needed to break, but she didn't know how to handle people caring about her.

She grabbed the book and crept back out of the room; back into the corridor and down and out of the building. There were a few people out and about, some up early to work out or perhaps early risers in general. She made her way down to the canteen, which had about twenty people throughout. They were mostly eating and getting ready to start their day, though there was one group of about four people who still looked quite drunk from the night before. They were the loudest–laughing and throwing waffles at each other.

She grabbed a plate of fruit and a bowl of porridge and took it to an empty table. Once she inhaled all the food she'd picked up–having just realized how hungry she was–and then getting seconds on top of that, she opened her book and began to flip through the pages to see what she needed to work on.

As she did, she noticed that not a single page was out of order. Not only had Jack pieced the book back together, he'd done it correctly. That would have probably taken him at least fifteen minutes. What an arse.

Quill in hand, she set to work. She made notes in the margins and began reading over every plan and play. She answered the questions she came across, filled in every blank Seeker's route that it asked her to, and even managed to get a two paragraph essay written about the different dive techniques a Seeker should instinctually utilize during an immediate Snitch retrieval. It had taken her two hours, but she'd finished it all. She'd caught up. She hadn't missed a single day's paperwork; at least she had that going for her. Two points to her ranking that she was sure she needed.

She pushed the book out of the way and noticed the canteen was starting to get much busier. These were the early risers–the one who needed to eat their breakfast before their personal workouts before they started their long days of Quidditch. As she set to finishing some strawberries she'd left on her plate earlier, she wished she had the discipline to be up as early as they were. The best she could do was wake up with enough time for breakfast and a bit of stretching. These people were going to weightlift and run.

She still found herself hungry after starving herself the day before and decided to grab more to eat. Maybe a waffle or two; perhaps some eggs. It all looked good. Her stomach was now as awake as the rest of her, and it was making its presence known..

For the sake of having something to do while she ate, she began flipping through her workbook again, just randomly scanning pages and checking her answers. She wasn't really reading, but she must have been more focused that she thought, because she hadn't noticed the chair being pulled out across from her until someone sat down in it. When she looked up, Jack was there–dressed to go for a run. He had a bottle of water in his hand but no food.

Unlike her, who had just taken an awkwardly large bite of her waffle. She tried to swallow, making a sheepish face as she did. She could hear her mother's words of, "That's unladylike, Dominique. Smaller bites," suddenly ring in her memory from many dinner table conversations over the years. This was the first time in her life she found herself seeing her point.

"Hey," he said slowly, now making a sheepish face of his own.

"Hi," she finally stammered out, sitting up straighter.

"Glad to see you're up and about. Yesterday, you were–."

"I was tired."

"Rough day?"

"Yes," she said, noticing then that the Slytherin girls had wandered in from the front entrance. Why was everyone up so early?

"What happened?" he asked, and she refocused on him. His tone seemed especially earnest. He wasn't casually asking to make conversation; he seemed to genuinely want to know.

She pushed her plate away from her. "I didn't sleep much the night before."

"You never came back."

"Oh, I came back."

He frowned a bit. "I meant you didn't come back after that. You weren't there in the morning and your bed hadn't been slept in."

"I figured something out," she said, just as Zara and Erin approached on the way to get food.

"Morning," Erin to them, looking sleepy but pushing along. Zara went and tousled Jack's hair in a playful way, which had all seemed a rather friendly exchange. Why were they all so chummy all of the sudden? It was starting to feel as if Jack was a different person in this place.

"Hey. Morning," he said, throwing them a cursory nod before returning his attention to her. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

She had watched Zara and Erin walk off before turning back to face him. "After walking in on you, I wasn't quite sure I could..." She trailed off. She genuinely could not think of the right thing to say to finish that sentence. Every part of her was telling her to make a joke and take the piss, but the words weren't coming. Nothing was coming.

She could feel his eyes on her and it took her a long moment to finally meet his gaze. She tried to make her face seem as expressionless as possible, but it was hard when he looked so apologetic.

It was strange. Their dynamic worked in a way that she normally would be joking about what had happened. Then he would react by being embarrassed, but also a bit proud. They'd eventually laugh and have a funny story to tell, but instead they both were stone faced. She was unable to find words and he looked rather lost.

"I'm really sorry about that," he finally said.

She waved him off. "For what? Don't be stupid. I didn't really care, I was just a bit shocked and I'd been drinking and..." She forced a smile. "Well done, you. That's the whole point, right? To have fun. To go wild." She coughed, feeling now like she was rambling. "Anyway, perhaps next time we should just figure out a sort of signaling system. That way I won't just barge in and–"

"There won't be a next time," he interrupted, now taking a very deep breath. It was the sort of deep breath that made her realize something else was coming.

"What do you mean?"

"Because that night–the night you walked in on me–before that..." He stopped. "I…" He stopped again, struggling to get it out. "Alright, so you remember how Vanessa and I were talking?"

She shrugged. "

"Well, things were good. We were chatting and drinking and, I guess, she was trying to keep up with me, but apparently she doesn't drink. As in, maybe some champagne at a wedding and that's all she's ever had. We're two beers in and she's already pissed. Three beers in and she's wrecked. Falling over, can't function properly. She can barely stand up." He paused for a moment to rub his face. "Also, her friend was there with us. Do you remember her? She sort of hung around us all night."

"Yeah," she said unenthusiastically. "She and I had a chat. We're apparently friends now."

Jack made a laughing sort of noise, but it was completely humorless. It was more of a doubtful scoff disguised as a laugh. When her eyes silently questioned that reaction, he held up a finger as if to say, "let me finish."

"So, the friend says that she needs to get Vanessa back to the dorms, but she can't do it alone. Asks me to help, and of course I say yes. I then have to carry her from the party back to Dorm A. I get her back there and her friend let's us into their room. I put her in bed and she's already sound asleep. She's out. I figured that was that. I'd call it a night."

"Wait," Dominique said, suddenly feeling as if this didn't make any sense. "If she passed out in her bed, then who did I…?"

He stared at her. He didn't look particularly proud of where this story was going and seemed to be willing her to connect the dots herself.

"I'm not following."

"So," he clicked his tongue in a heavy sort of way, "mind you, I've been drinking too and I'm a bit out of it, but I'm heading back to our room and the friend catches up to me. Wants to talk."

Like a Bludger to the head, it hit her. Her jaw dropped. If it dropped any further it would detach from her skull.

"Yeah," he said slowly. He sounded embarrassed. "Looking back, I should have seen the signs. She was really flirty, which was weird considering I was talking to her friend, but sometimes you meet girls like that. You know, they're just naturally flirty people but they don't mean anything. I didn't think much of it until she asked if she could see my room. I do remember thinking it was strange since it looked exactly as hers did."

She blinked. She suddenly had so many questions, but she couldn't figure out which to ask first. She gaped once or twice, eventually settling on just staring at him with extreme amusement. She felt confident once more that she could now take the piss again. She'd found it in her.

"One thing led to another," he continued. "Then you showed up and that was a bit of a wake up call. I started to realize what had happened and told her I was tired and going to sleep. She offered to stay, but I told her that you–" he glanced back at her– "were due back any minute. She left after that. Then I fell asleep."

Dominique laughed out loud, not even attempting to hide it.

"Complete mess," he mumbled, putting his elbow on the table and letting his head rest on his fist. "When I woke up in the morning and thought about what had happened, I felt like an arsehole."

She grinned at him. "I mean, you are a bit."

"Didn't help that you weren't there when I woke up, which I also realized was my fault, so then I felt double the arsehole."

She dropped her head into her chest and giggled to herself. After that wild night of emotions she'd put herself through due to him, she was a bit pleased to know that he hadn't had the best time either. There was something comforting in that.

"Oh, but wait, there's more," he said, his embarrassment waning as he now seemed to be feeding off her amusement. "Want to hear what really did me in? What really made feel like a right fucking prat?"

She stared at him expectantly.

"Next day, after breakfast–I ran into Vanessa. She goes on and on about how sweet I am for taking her back and making sure she was alright. How I'm a stand up guy." He looked away and mumbled. "Such a good guy."

"Wow," she said, full on laughing now. "Woooooow."

"Why couldn't you have walked in five minutes earlier?"

"Had I come earlier, you wouldn't have come at all. What kind of friend would that make me?"

"Stop," he groaned as his cheeks actually reddened at that. He let the palms of his hands rub deeply into his eyes. He genuinely was embarrassed about this, which made it all the more funny to her. This was their rapport; this is where they belonged. She worked best when she could take some sort of imaginary highground over her friends and then take the piss.

The awkwardness from before had evaporated entirely. She could accept that night had merely been a weirdly emotional ride that was now behind them. It was time to bury all of those feelings and thoughts about him back where they belonged. He was none the wiser; nothing had to change.

"She has no idea, then?" Dominique asked, happily picking up her fork and stabbing a piece of waffle with it.

"Who? Vanessa?" He shook his head. "I'm not bloody well telling her. I've just been avoiding her."

"This place does make that easy to do," she said as she chewed. "And we leave soon."

"Not soon enough," he said, watching as the Slytherin girls were heading back in their direction with their food. "Hey, don't say anything, will you? You're the only one I'm telling," He made a head gesture to his right, where Zara and Erin had now set their stuff one seat down from the pair of them. Dominique nodded and didn't need to be told twice not to include those two in their conversation. It seemed that despite their new little friendship, the ties didn't run that deep.

"Weasley's alive," said Zara, who had sat on Jack's side of the table and was now smiling at her.

"And awake," added Erin, taking her seat beside Dominique. "We'd heard you'd apparently gone and died."

"Glad you were so concerned," Dominique muttered.

"He was," Zara said, gesturing to Jack. "He came in yesterday morning saying you weren't in your room and was asking everyone if they'd seen you."

Dominique looked at him, feeling a strange mixture of warmth at him being so concerned, but also annoyed because he didn't need to make a big deal out of it. Now people were going to ask questions that she didn't want to answer. He must have sensed something in her expression because he returned her stare with an unapologetic shrug. "There are some nutters running around here. I wanted to make sure you weren't dead in the woods."

"I told him not to worry unless you were still missing by lunch time," Zara said, picking up a piece of toast. "I figured you'd made a new friend and made an evening of it."

All three of them looked at her to confirm or deny that comment. If they thought she was going to have this conversation with them, they were sorely mistaken. Still, she knew her silence was telling and she'd have to say something. Maybe she should tell them she was off stuck in the woods with some nutter.

"I was dumb and stayed out all night," she said, ready to divert the conversation elsewhere. "I paid for it yesterday. I was so exhausted that I performed like complete shit. Sabatino even said so. I may have single-handedly destroyed everything I work for in a couple of hours."

Erin made a sympathetic sort of grunt as she sipped her tea, while Jack seemed to be studying her face for something she couldn't place. Zara looked skeptical. "How bad could you have been?"

"I was sick all over the pitch, which Sabatino cleaned up. I also spent every second I wasn't on a broom facedown in the grass."

Zara grimaced and Erin made the same sympathetic grunting noise once more. Jack's gaze travelled absently to the table, but he said nothing.

"And," she reached into her pocket and pulled out the yellow parchment that she'd found attached to her door that morning, "Because of that, I got dropped from the top group to the one below." She tossed it onto the table, which caused Jack to pick it up. "Look at the top. B group."

"Who cares about the groups today?" Erin said in an almost snippy way. "Today we get to actually play Quidditch and the As and Bs are all mixed together anyway."

"Doesn't mean I wouldn't have liked to stay in the A group and get the best ranking I can," Dominique said, watching as Jack reached into his own pocket and pulled out his own yellow sheet of parchment. He was holding them side by side, comparing them. Zara was also looking over his shoulder, her eyes bouncing back and forth between the two sheets.

"Did you finish your bookwork?" Erin asked, pointing to her workbook. "Two points for doing that. It's due this morning."

"Yes, I did," she said, suddenly being reminded of Jack cleaning up her book the day before. She lightly kicked him under the table to get his attention. "By the way, I know you put my book back together for me. Thanks for that. You saved me a lot of time this morning."

He threw her a quick smile, which she took to mean that it was no big deal, before he was back to comparing their papers.

Zara suddenly pointed at something on one of the sheets. "Erin, your first match is at eight on pitch three, right?" When she nodded, she added, "You and Weasley are scheduled for the same match. Doesn't say if you're on the same team or not. I guess we'll find that out when we get there."

The two exchanged glances, but didn't express any disdain or delight at the fact either way. Dominique hadn't thought much about the teams she'd be playing with, only that they would be different for each match. It made sense that in some instances she'd be playing with–and probably against–people she knew. She did take a small solace knowing she and Giggleswick would never be on the same team.

"You and I are scheduled on the same pitch at three o'clock," Jack said to her, finally placing her sheet back down on the table and sliding it back across to her. "That could be good."

Dominique made a face. "If we're on the same team it will be. I don't want to play against you."

"I hope you have to, because then you can see what it feels like to be on the receiving end of one of his Bludgers," Erin said, throwing Jack a cold stare. "You got me on the side once and I had that bruise for three weeks."

He stared at her, though he didn't seem to agree with that. "I've gotten you more than once."

"I don't keep track, but that time really stuck with me." She stabbed a piece of fruit on her plate. "That bruise was grotesque."

"He got me twice back to back last year," Zara muttered, also throwing Jack an equally derisive look. "Hurt like hell and I was ready to shove your bloody bat up your arse, but–" She smiled. "We still crushed Gryffindor, so I can't complain too much."

Jack opened his mouth to comment, but didn't get the chance since a voice from nearby suddenly cut him off with, "No shit-talking Gryffindor." It was Durrin, and he looked as if he was passing by on his way to get food. He'd clearly stopped to say hello and was now grinning at the table of them.

Zara smiled at him. "But it's just so easy to do since you left, Durrin."

"Aw, Zara, don't ever change," he said in his ever cheerful sort of way, though his eyes settled on Dominique. His smile suddenly changed; it felt more specific. She had assumed that he was feeling some way about the way they'd left things, what with her storming off and being upset about the captain conversation. Now that she was sober, it seemed rather dumb to revisit. She'd already had enough apologies for one morning, so she hoped he didn't–

"Heard you had fun the other night."

Her face fell. Oh shit. That. He was smiling because of that. That made a lot more sense.

"Don't make that face," he said, taking a step toward the food. "We've all done it. No shame in it. He said he had a lot of fun. Had a lot of good things to say about you." He paused. "I mean, as a person, not about the...well, you know. I'm not being inappropriate, I swear." He laughed. "Anyway, you made it to practice, then? I must have gotten back to my room right after you left because I heard you'd bolted out the door."

"I...did," she mumbled, finally letting herself glance around the rest of the table. Erin and Zara were exchanging curious, but clearly entertained looks while Jack's eyes just kept darting between Durrin and her.

"Glad to hear it," he said, chancing a look around the room. "Who knew this many people woke up this early? I was good last night and stayed in. A bunch of us all finished the bookwork to get those two extra points since it's pretty much all that's separating us from being down in the bottom group." He yawned before glancing back at them. "Anyway, any of you in C group?"

No one answered, though Erin and Jack shook their heads.

"Then I won't be seeing any of you out there today. C group tends to play itself since there are so many of us. But best of luck to you. Enjoy those rankings."

There was a murmur of "thanks" and "you too" as Durrin set off to walk away. He'd already gotten to the next table before Zara suddenly shouted after him. "Hey, Durrin. Who's your roommate?"

"Stu Reynolds," he called back over his shoulder.

Dominique's breath caught in her chest. Fucking fuck. Zara's head had practically spun off her neck at the speed she turned to look at her. Erin's jaw dropped and she was uttering the words, "Ohhhhhh shit," at barely above a whisper. Jack sat there with wide eyes, his expression more gobsmacked than anything else.

"Are. You. Serious?" Zara asked, her tone practically euphoric. If she knew then the whole school would know. The whole camp would know. She'd probably get home and somehow her parents would even know. There was no stopping information once Zara Zabini got a hold of it.

"I'm not talking about this."

"Did you have sex with him?"

"I'm not talking about this."

"She totally did," Erin said. "You can see it in her face."

"How can you NOT talk about this?" Zara practically spat. "It's Stuart fucking Reynolds. He's a sexgod. If I'd had sex with Stuart Reynolds, I get badges made and hand them out to people!"

"I thought you hated him?" asked Jack.

"You don't have to fancy someone to have sex with them," Erin offered. "Hate sex is a thing."

"I never hated him, I just thought he was annoy–" Dominique stopped. She pinched her lips together and took a deep breath. "I'm not talking about this."

Zara was staring at her, mouth gaping and eyes wide. "I'm so jealous." She looked back at Erin. "I saw him here just the other day and he is still a fox." She smiled. "Just looking at him reminded me of when I was absolutely obsessed with him."

"You and everyone else," Jack muttered, checking his watch. As he did so, he made to stand. "I need to go if I want to fit in my run." He threw them all a lazy wave, his gaze landing briefly on Dominique.

"See you at three," she said, suddenly feeling awkward again. She'd lost her imaginary highground.

"Yeah, see you then," he said, making his way toward the exit and disappearing a moment later. She'd watched him walk all the way until he was completely gone.

"Cool," Zara said, leaning forward on the table. "Now that he's gone, how about you give us some details? Please tell me it was good. He's always looked like a great kisser and I swear there's a correlation between good kissers and great sex."

Dominique stared at her.

"I refuse to stop asking you unless you give me something. I'm incredibly persistent."

"She really is," Erin agreed. "Resistance is futile."

Dominique found this all quite odd. She had never once been the envy of anyone when it came to this sort of thing, so part of her wanted to have this moment. Why not? Be that girl for a minute. This place was making everyone do things they wouldn't normally; she might as well play along. She finally begrudged a smile. "It was fucking fantastic."

Zara seemed elated, but Erin made a face. "Compared to who? Davies? Is that hard?"

She was immediately shushed by Zara, who hastily snapped, "Can you be nice, for once?"