After finally escaping Zara's endless questions about her night with Stuart, Dominique had walked over to the main reception building with her workbook in hand. There she was met by a small queue of others looking to turn in their books, and wizards in the red robes shuffling around attempting to stay organized. She was asked her position and told to hand her book to the wizard at the end. It was a simple drop off, nothing more. As soon as the book had left her hand, she knew she'd at least scored a two. It couldn't go any lower than that.

She set off back toward the dorm to collect her broom, knowing that she had to report to pitch two by a quarter to eight. The sun was up now and the sky was crystal blue—a gorgeous day. It wasn't particularly warm yet, though the heat of the day was coming. That excited her. She was ready to work up a sweat and make up for yesterday. She was ready to show off what she could do in an actual match scenario.

As she emerged from the dorm with her broom in hand, she ran into Jack walking in. He was eating a sandwich of some kind; most likely on his way to retrieve his own broom and bat for the start of the day. She held the door for him, and he'd almost walked straight past her without notice until she bopped him on the shoulder with her broom handle. He swung around, startled, but grinned when he saw her.

"Good run?" she asked.

He hummed as if to say yes, his mouth otherwise full. Once he swallowed, he said, "Feel like it went too long, though. I'm behind."

"Don't let me keep you," she said. "Good luck today."

"You too," he said as he headed off in the opposite direction. She then heard him suddenly call out, "Hey, wait."

She turned back, stepping out of the doorway since people were trying to get by. Jack had doubled back to her and was now holding out his fist for her to bump. "Don't fuck it up."

A slow smile crawled across her face. Those were their famous last words to each other before any match. It felt a little out of place outside of the context of Gryffindor Quidditch and the two not playing together, but she raised her fist and bumped his nonetheless. She needed all the good energy she could get today. "Don't fuck it up."

He turned away, calling over his shoulder, "You're going to crush it today. Forget about all that other stuff. Best Seeker in the world. Remember that."

She smiled as she watched him go, but quickly shook him off and remembered she needed to focus. This was important. She needed to get in her proper pre-match headspace. Luckily, today she'd given herself plenty of time to arrive at her pitch so she had the time to center herself on the walk out there.

There were people spread out everywhere today, not all headed in the same general direction. Each pitch had matches scheduled every hour; if a match ran longer than an hour—which meant essentially the Snitch hadn't been caught in that time—it would be called. Only the Seekers would really suffer from that rule, so Dominique knew she had to make the best with the hour she was given. Get the Snitch in under an hour. That's all she had to do.

She had four matches that day. At eight, eleven, one, and three. By five o'clock, the rankings would be posted and, depending on what she received, she would be scheduled into certain matches the following day. Those were the important matches as they would run much longer and feel more like a proper Quidditch match with no calling or stoppage.

Her performance in all of these matches would affect the scheduling for the final day of play. On the final day, you either weren't scheduled—and free to leave—or you were scheduled in the final Premier match to give the scouts one last look at you. This was essentially a showcase of the best talent to come out of the week, and getting into that match—as a Seeker—meant you had to be the top two in the camp. It was probably out of the realm of possibility for her given that she'd already mucked everything up, but she could still hope.

At pitch six, a handful of people were milling around and going through their own various pre-match rituals. Some were stretching; others mounting their brooms and warming themselves up. Dominique didn't see Erin yet, but did notice her direct competition in Gabriel sitting off to the side in green robes, stretching his legs. She was clearly in Group B now, but she decided to look at that as an advantage. She may have gotten knocked down here, but she was better than Gabriel and she knew it. She had to use this opportunity to shine and show the scouts and coaches that she was Group A talent who had simply screwed up. There was no time to waste.

"And what's your name?" asked a woman in a red robe who had snuck up beside her while she mentally destroyed Gabriel in her mind.

"Weasley," she said. "Dominique Weasley."

The woman checked the list she had in front of her before reaching into a nearby box and pulling out a blue robe. "You're on the blue team."

Dominique mustered a polite smile as she took the robe, though she did have to admit she felt a little dirty at the sight of the robes that were nearly identical to Ravenclaw's Quidditch uniforms. She didn't have a great association with Quidditch and the color blue, but she wasn't going to let that bother her. If she was being tested, then so be it. She could be Ravenclaw blue all day and still kill it.

Erin appeared not long after and was also handed a blue robe. She, even more than Dominique, seemed a little disappointed, considering she probably would have felt a lot more at home in the green competitor's robes.

"Can we just agree the blue looks like shit on the both of us?" she asked as she approached Dominique. She was already pulling the robes on over her clothes.

Dominique smirked. "Looks like we're teammates."

"It truly is the end of days," she said, letting her broom drop to the ground as she too began stretching. "We've got a decent group of Chasers." She gestured over to where a man in his early twenties and a girl that looked to be their age were going about their own routine. "The bloke is wicked accurate, just not particularly fast. The girl is rather good. She's out of Beauxbatons. She was in my group all week."

"I'm better than their Seeker," Dominique said without hesitation.

"So modest."

She shrugged. "I know I am. He got bumped down to the B group on day one."

"So?" Erin said, "I did too. Maybe he had a bad day."

Dominique stared at her. Erin was a great Chaser—she couldn't even argue that—but she hadn't known that she'd been dropped down. It was obvious now, considering they were sitting there in the same match, which evidently was for B group athletes. But she had a hard time seeing why. Dominique wouldn't admit it, but she'd argue that Erin was probably the best Chaser currently at Hogwarts. "You got dropped down on day one?"

"I was off my game," she muttered. "Haven't quite caught up. But as I told you at breakfast, it doesn't matter. There were maybe fifteen Chasers in the A group by week's end yesterday and they can't just keep playing each other. They need B people to fill in. I know this because Zara and I have a noon match together. I can only hope that she and I get on the same team because then people will see what I can really do."

"Zara's still in A?"

"Yeah," she said with the slightest trace of bitterness. "She's done well this week."

That first match ended up being quick, though Dominique liked to believe it was because she had the upper hand on Gabriel from the start. She could remember his weaker areas from the one day they'd practiced together and she'd immediately taken advantage of them in order to allow her to snatch the Snitch more readily.

It had been an easy and rather boring victory; she hadn't even needed to keep close tabs on the rest of the match since Erin had been right—they'd gotten a decent set of Chasers who were out flying and scoring the green team's lot two to one. Even Erin was having a solid match; looking much like her familiar self out there. They both were clearly driven to shake off the B group labels they'd unfortunately acquired.

"Well done," Dominique had said to Erin as soon as they'd landed, both sweating. "You had to have scored at least a hundred on your own."

"I could have done better," Erin said as she caught her breath, but she nodded in an appreciative manner. "But thanks. Good catch out there. I don't even think the other Seeker was anywhere near you. He may have been sleeping."

"Told you I was better."

"Don't get cocky, Weasley," she said, smirking a little as she turned to go and return her blue robe back to the officials. Dominique had followed suit, and they'd both wished each other luck in the rest of their matches that day before splitting into separate directions.

As easy as that first match had been, she still felt accomplished. If her other two matches were that easy, then she was set to have a stellar day. She could only hope to go four for four with Snitch catches since she needed all the help she could in order to undo the damages from the day before. A perfect day—she needed a perfect day. She needed to take the extra time she now had before her next match and focus her energy on performing to the absolute best of her abilities. She needed to sit, stretch, drink some water, tend to her broom and really get inside—

"Seems as if you're feeling better."

The voice had come walking up from behind her on the path. When she stopped to look, Sabatino was already passing; clearly on his way somewhere. He did slow down to cast her a lingering look.

She'd been slightly startled that he was speaking to her—or showing any sort of concern for her. She was almost too shocked to answer, but finally managed to mumble, "I am. Yesterday was...unfortunate. But it wasn't me."

"But it was you," he said blankly.

"It wasn't reflective of what I'm capable of."

He laughed a little to himself. "Of course. Everyone thinks that. If we're being honest, I'm not sure that what you're capable of is worth much." He gestured around to the various pitches, some of which had matches in progress. "You see, catching a few Snitches over some equally average opponents today won't make up for the fact that I know this isn't what you're cut out for."

She stared at him. Beg your pardon? What the hell was he even…? Who had asked…? She looked away to hide how hard she was trying to not react to that comment; only to look back after finally finding the words. "I'm sorry? You don't know anything about me."

"I know exactly who you are," he said, turning to face her head on now. "I've played against people like you my entire life. The ones who come from a place of privilege—"

"A place of privilege?" she sputtered. "I did not. No more than most of the people here."

"Is your last name not Weasley?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I know that name carries a lot of weight where you're from."

She again stared at him for a long moment. "Yes, but that's...I'm not...That is to say, not all the Weasleys are...My parents are not famous."

"It still would have allowed you famous connections," he continued. "Lynch says your aunt used to play professionally. And that she's a very well known Quidditch reporter—"

"She's only well known because she's married to one of the most famous men in the wizarding world."

He smirked at her as if she'd just made his point for him. "Can you look me in the eye right now and tell me that your famous uncle or your well-connected aunt has never exposed you to Quidditch in a way the average witch or wizard wouldn't have been privileged to experience?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but immediately shut it. She knew where he was attempting to go with this, but she still didn't understand what the hell this had to do with her abilities on the pitch. Yes, her aunt had taken her to matches her entire life and gifted her nice equipment. Yes, she'd gotten to meet famous athletes and visit famous arenas. She'd been fortunate enough to have those opportunities, but none of that mattered. None of that was out there on her broom getting the job done. She'd done that. Her.

"I don't see how that has anything to do with how I play or what I'm capable of," she finally said.

"It puts ideas in your head," he continued. "You've grown up around Quidditch and grand Quidditch resources. You've probably had your aunt and her connections telling you your entire life about how you have potential, perhaps even how good they think you are. If you hear it enough, you start to believe it. You'll believe it so much that while you may have a modicum of skill, you're convinced you can ride that to the professional level and be fine. I'm here to tell you that you can't. You're not that good."

She looked away from him, torn between so many different reactions. Her blood was boiling. She didn't know whether to laugh, to cry, or to curse him where he stood. Was this conversation even happening?

"I haven't seen you making any extra effort—and I see people here waking at dawn to put in time on the pitch," Sabatino continued. "I see them on strict diets and routines; I see them working out in all their free time. I see them with a broom in hand at every possible free moment. I see them sacrificing everything in order to get to the next level." He stared at her. "They don't have the luxury of calling upon famous relatives to push them forward once they've—"

"I've never once called upon my famous—"

"They know better than to waste an opportunity like this by going out all night and getting fucked up," he snapped back, not letting her finish. "You're distracted and you lack commitment. All I see when I look at you is a kid who was told she was talented by important people and now thinks that's all it takes. I see it every season with rookies in the league, but you know what? Those people burn out quickly and find out this isn't for them. It's a fucking lifestyle, not a hobby."

"I know that!" she said, finding herself frozen to the spot. She had no idea what else to say. What could she say? She wanted to curse him out, but if she did, she'd tank what little ranking he apparently thought she deserved. What had she'd done to make him have this much disdain for her? Why did he have it out for her so badly?

He looked as if he was done speaking and had turned to walk away. "Don't take it personally. I'm trying to save you some time."

Don't take it personally? Was he fucking serious? He'd essentially attempted to stomp her dream all over the pavement and was telling her not to take it personally? He could fuck right off. She so badly wanted to tell him that, but she instead gripped her broom harder than she'd never gripped it in her life. "Do you think anyone is cut out for this? You seemed to think we were all rubbish. Nothing was good enough!"

He didn't seem to entirely disagree with that. "It's a weak fucking year, but one of the invitations—the girl—has legitimate potential if she puts in the work. The other one is too large to be a Seeker. He'll be an alternate somewhere before getting dropped after a season or two. And then there's the little British one. You know him, I'm sure."

She legitimately flinched. Giggleswick? He could not be serious. They were the same skill level and she knew that. She knew it! There was no way he could tell her he was a better fit.

"He needs a lot of fucking work," he muttered. "A lot. But there's a fire there that you can't learn. He wants it more than you do. He understands the sacrifice. He's got the edge."

She actually laughed at that, though not in an amused way. That was hilarious. She was done with this arsehole. "Fine, then I'm just going to ask. What ranking do you think I deserve? What number do I—and my well-connected family—get from you?"

"A three," he said without hesitation. "I'll be scoring you a three."

"I am not a three," she said. "I know I'm better than a bloody three. It was one bad practice! A stupid practice where I knew I'd fucked up! And I think it's bollocks that you think one bad day should define who I am."

He shrugged in an unbothered sort of way. "My entire job is to judge you for the days you're here. One bad day does define you. One bad day in this sport can define the rest of your career."

"And no one knows that better than you," she said, glaring at him. "What was your excuse? You go out drinking the night before the World Cup? Or did you simply crumble under the pressure?"

He smirked a little, again looking as if she'd proven his point for him. "As I said, people don't forget one bad day. I wasn't given a pass. Why should I give anyone else one? Why do you deserve one?"

She stared at him. She'd never bitten her tongue so hard in her life to keep her from saying what she'd wanted to say. She may very well be making it bleed.

"I'm not here to blow smoke up your arse," he said. "I'm here to tell you the truth. And if I'm an arsehole, so be it."

"Yeah, you seem to enjoy it."

He shrugged. "No, but I do enjoy playing professional Quidditch, which is something I can actually say. Can you?" He threw her a look before turning and heading off down the path.

Rage. That was all she felt—unadulterated rage. She actually felt herself starting to shake. He may have done it; pushed her to a point of anger that she'd never felt before. Giggleswick on his best day couldn't have made her this angry. The only thing keeping her from flying off the handle was the fact that she loved this sport so much that she wasn't willing to risk her future in it any further by hexing that fucker. She turned and suddenly kicked the gated fence that was separating the path from the nearest playing pitch.

Her second and third matches ended up being a complete blur. It was as if she was operating under some sort of trance; an anger induced haze that only had one setting—to destroy everyone and everything. She'd never met the Seekers in either match before, but the girl in match two seemed scattered brain and lacked any real focus, which made her a ridiculously easy target. She kept watching the Chasers instead of seeking out the Snitch, so it allowed Dominique to catch it on its first appearance. No one had even had the chance to build up a sweat.

In her third match, the bloke she was up against stalked her almost too closely, though if he got too much closer, she was going to reach out and flip his broom. Like an idiot, he was entirely too focused on her instead of watching the Snitch, and again she was allowed to get the jump on him in almost every instance. The match went almost the full hour, but only because the Snitch barely appeared. Once it did, she ended it easily.

Not a single person watching her could deny that she hadn't given it her all out there, but it now had nothing to do with wanting to prove she wasn't supposed to be in B group. All she wanted to do was show Sabatino that he was wrong. He'd never been more wrong. No one had ever been more wrong in their life.

At two thirty, she found her way to pitch five for her final match of the day. Her anger from the morning had dissipated slightly, though not so much that she still wasn't entirely focused on destroying the poor sap she'd be Seeking against. She was also reassured by the fact that she knew Jack was due on this pitch for this match, and if she could count on him to have her back, then this match was already over. They'd crush everyone.

The IQA wizard in the red robes was standing directly at the entryway checking people's names. He gave her a quick once over before asking in a brusque manner, "Name?"

"Dominique Weasley," she said without any politeness—she'd had no time for it today. The wizard checked his list before essentially thrusting a robe into her hand, which she took and observed was green this time.

She walked inside and tossed her broom and robes down to the ground to immediately begin stretching after her hour long break. She sat and placed her legs in V shape, then reached forward as far as she could in an attempt to stretch her back out. She let her forehead rest on the grass as she pushed herself down, letting herself stay in the position for as long as she could handle. She felt herself drift into a comfortable lull that she could have probably stayed in for awhile, but she was suddenly startled when someone dropped—what felt like—a blanket on top of her.

She peeled it off as she dug herself out from underneath, noticing that it was in fact a blue robe and not a blanket. She didn't even have to look up to know who the owner was; she let her disappointment and annoyance show before even confirming it. "Are you serious?"

"Seems like it," Jack said, letting himself lie down beside her on the grass. He was sweaty and looking as if he'd come directly from another match. He proceeded to look over at her, his arm shielding the sun from his eyes.

"Fuck," she mumbled, now feeling especially annoyed. She didn't think it was possibly to be more angry today than she already was, but the world found a way.

"I'll try not to hit you too hard."

"Thanks," she muttered.

"How's your day been?"

"Shit."

"What? Why?" he asked, sounding concerned. "Have you not been catching anything?"

"Oh, I've caught everything," she said, glancing over at him and watching as his expression immediately looked confused. "I'm three for three and I've won every match."

"Then why…?"

"I don't want to talk about it right now," she said, reaching up to stretch her arms. "I need to focus so that I can win this last one and go four for four."

He'd closed his eyes as if he was now basking in the sunlight in a leisurely sort of way. "Well, I hope you do."

"You're on the other team."

He laughed a little. "I don't care if we win or lose, so long as I do my job. Here's hoping whatever Chasers I get stuck with run the score up so high that when the Snitch appears, I don't even have to attempt to hit a Bludger at you."

That ultimately would be the most ideal scenario. If the score was lopsided enough that her team would still lose whether she caught the Snitch or not, then he was right. He wouldn't even have to try and stop her. It would only be in the event of a close score or her team winning where she'd have to worry she'd be on the receiving end of one of his Bludgers. And she knew better than anyone how accurate Jack's aim was when he had time to get the jump on a Bludger.

She turned to look at what Chasers had already shown up to gauge whether they'd be capable or running the score up. She didn't recognize any of the ones who were standing around doing their warm ups. On the contrary, she did recognize the Seeker who'd just arrived and was handed a blue robe to match Jack's. Her face fell.

Jack pulled himself up into a sitting position. "I'll leave you alone so you can focus. I need to warm up my arm anyway. If I rest it too long, it's going to get cold and I can't—"

"Fuck."

His head whipped around on her. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Your Seeker's here." She made a nodding gesture toward the pitch's entrance, where Giggleswick had just entered. Jack, just as she had, let his face fall in a horrified sort of way.

"Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me." He turned to look back at her. "This is a joke."

"Not a very funny one," she muttered. If anyone could screw with her day up, it was Griffin Giggleswick. Yes, she was perfectly capable of beating him, but she also was perfectly capable of losing to him. This was not how she wanted to end her day.

Giggleswick glanced over in their direction, noticing the pair of them sitting there. He didn't react one way or the other, but he'd always had a good poker face when he wanted to. Looking indifferent was his specialty, even when he was probably cooking some plan up in his head. Little did he know that given her mood, she was not to be messed with; even if she did have to play against Jack.

Jack stood and threw Dominique a look. "Well, this will be fun." He reached down and grabbed his bat and immediately started swinging it back and forth around his torso. "Good luck."

"Yeah, you too," she said, watching as he walked off, still stretching his batting arms back and forth. She focused back on her stretching. Time to get her game face on and take a few minutes to get inside her head. It was Giggleswick. She knew Giggleswick. She'd had him figured out since fourth year. Problem was, he'd done the same. But it was time to focus on the times she'd beaten him.

When her team gathered for a brief team meeting; Dominique realized that she'd gotten a really terrific group. She could tell by the way they were addressing one another, the terminology they were using, and the strategies they were trying to incorporate. The three Chasers seemed to know each other, at least casually, and the Keeper seemed incredibly confident in his abilities.

The Beaters were apparently good friends and had played together before. They were already analyzing the other team's Chasers when Dominique caught the larger one's—the one she'd dubbed Tree Trunks since his arms were that large—eye. He beckoned for her to come over. "You know anything about their Seeker?"

"Too much. What do you want to know?"

"Anything that might help us run him down faster."

She gave both of them the best rundown she could when it came to Giggleswick's habits and mannerisms, and watched as they both—particularly Tree Trunks—seemed to hang on every word she was speaking. They clearly took this seriously and wanted every advantage they could get, which included doing their research on the opposing team. When she was done, they both started planning a strategy, though not before Tree Trunks added, "They've got solid Beaters on their end you need to keep an eye on. The dark-haired one is faster than the Beaters you're probably used to and can run you down if you're after a Snitch. The other one is ambidextrous and had serious bat skills. He can get you from either side, so beware his backhand."

Dominique turned to glance over to where Jack and another Beater were currently having their own pre-match discussion. She'd known the second Tree Trunks had mentioned ambidextrous that he was talking about Jack, who was left-handed but had taught himself to use both. Apparently, he'd made enough of an impression on some of his fellow Beaters to make them feel the need to give her warning. She nodded at both of them, playing a bit dumb. "Right. I've heard the ambidextrous one's really good."

Tree Trunks shrugged. "Yeah, but don't worry." He smiled, showing off that he was missing a couple of teeth. "I'm much better."

She let herself feign reassurance at that—her smile pinched—right as the whistle blew. It was time for both teams to walk to the center of the pitch and greet the other team. Immediately, it was strange to see Jack standing across that line with Giggleswick alongside him. It was as if she'd stepped into a different, upside down reality as her team stepped up to theirs to exchange preliminary, pre-match handshakes.

Jack threw her a smile and she returned it before she turned her attention to Giggleswick. Each position was to shake the hand of its mirrored position on the other side, though she and Giggleswick were the only two to hesitate. Once they did, there were no pleasantries exchanged and certainly no good lucks. The handshake was quick and to the point. They'd let go as soon as they could.

Jack had shaken both Beaters' hands before reaching over and, rather obviously, offering his hand out to her. "Good luck," he said with a goofy sort of smile, as if the formality of this part was silly to him. When she took it to shake, he tugged her toward him, and added. "And don't fuck it up."

"I was actually thinking that you should fuck it up. Less that I have to worry about out there."

"Dominique," he said, almost sharply. He'd also called her by her actual name, which he never did. "No. Stop. This is tradition. You cannot—"

She smiled and laughed—her first smile since before talking to Sabatino—as she turned to walk away. She knew full well that Jack was full of pre-match tics and routines that set him off if he didn't follow through with all of them. She called over her shoulder. "You're too superstitious!"

"I will Bludger you!" he called after her. "It will hurt!"

"Then don't fuck it up!"

"That counts!"

"Nutter," she said, laughing to herself as she mounted her broom with the sound of the whistle. The next whistle would signal the Quaffle's release.

It was a fast paced match with everyone being at top skill level except for perhaps Tree Trunks, who really was head and shoulders above everyone else as a Beater. The crack of his bat echoed across the pitch, and Dominique couldn't help but think the other team had some of the better Chasers in the camp if they were capable of dodging some of the Bludger he sent their way. It was hard to stand out against him, but as she watched Jack from her spot above the action, he was certainly holding his own. His backhand really was scarily accurate, and he'd managed a perfect hit on a Chaser who'd been charging the rings. It had caused the girl to drop the Quaffle rather awkwardly, which looked bad for her but terrific for Jack. That hit had been straight out of a textbook.

With no Snitch in sight for the first half of the match, she found herself lazily watching Giggleswick—who was lazily watching her. The advantages of playing each other were that they could let their guards down ever so slightly since she knew his tells. Unfortunately, he knew hers, so her strategy at this point was almost to become a different kind of Seeker—which was easier said than done. She also knew that if she did that, she risked losing it all due to playing against her strengths. If she stuck to her strengths, she risked Giggleswick taking advantage of four years worth of time spent studying her.

It had taken thirty-five minutes, but the Snitch finally appeared at mid pitch; hovering about five feet above the ground and fluttering around in a small circle. She wasted no time darting toward it, knowing that if Giggleswick had spotted it even seconds before she had, he'd have an advantage. She wasn't even sure where he was at the moment—she'd been watching Jack—and was now scolding herself for letting him get out of her sight.

The wind was flying past her as she began to close in; coming in on a wide dive at the fastest speed she could for that angle. She was so close now—it was meters away—and she was already reaching her arm out before a loud smacking noise gave her a small start. She thought she'd gotten hit—things were moving so fast—but there was no pain and her broom was still on its trajectory. Too close for comfort as it may have been, she couldn't afford to look back. She had to keep her eye on the Snitch that was now just out of reach.

She was all alone. Where was Giggleswick? Was she really going to be unchallenged? Was she actually going to simply reach out and grab that little golden ball that was now inches from her fingertips without any push back?

Apparently so, because she wrapped her hand around it and immediately felt its curved surface in the palm of her hand. With an instinctive motion, she pulled herself up to avoid colliding with the ground, but then just as quickly found herself gripping onto her broom for dear life as a Bludger with alarming speed came racing past her face.

She could practically feel the texture of the Bludger as it grazed her chin. It had startled her so badly that she recoiled and lost grip of her broom, falling to the ground with a heavy thud. It had luckily only been a short fall—maybe three or four feet, but it had caused her to have the wind knocked out of her and left her panting. She tried to catch her breath as she laid flat on her back, staring up at the blue, cloudless sky. Had that Bludger hit her in the head, she would probably have had a concussion right now.

A loud whistle sounded to signify the match was now over. For the briefest of moments, Dominique wondered who had come up with the Snitch before realizing she still had it in her hand. She looked down and opened her palm to let the Snitch roll out onto the ground, forcing herself to prop herself up on her elbows now that she'd caught her breath. She'd done it. She'd ended the match.

The rest of the team had begun landing around her, all cheerful and lauding their performances as well as their win. Two of her team's Chasers rushed over to greet her and congratulate her. "Great catch," one said, reaching out a hand to help her up. "Nice work keeping hold of the Snitch until the whistle blew."

"Thanks," she mumbled, getting to her feet. "Where'd the other Seeker go? I had no challenge."

"This guy got their Seeker," said the female Chaser of the group, who was now pointing at Tree Trunks. "Kill shot, really. Their Seeker was right on your tail and he managed to nail him in the back. Looked painful."

"My Bludgers always are," said Tree Trunks without a trace of modesty. His Beating partner was laughing while patting him on the back in a celebratory manner.

Dominique smiled a little. Giggleswick had been taken out. She glanced around the pitch in search of him but he didn't turn up. Perhaps he'd gotten hurt and they'd ushered him away to the medic. Or maybe he was embarrassed and walked off under his own volition. She didn't know or care. She'd beaten him. She'd gotten the better of him today.

"You almost got a nasty little Bludger to the head yourself," said the other Beater, gesturing to her head before looking at Tree Trunks. "That's your fault. You were supposed to be covering the left side."

"I was distracted taking out their Seeker," said Tree Trunks. "Maybe pick up some slack, Gunnar. I can't do everything."

"I was tailing a Chaser..."

The two began going back and forth as to whose fault it had been, but Dominique had already tuned them both out once she'd heard them talk about the left side. It had come from the left side? She knew exactly who always covered the left side.

She pulled away from the group, already seeing that the blue team had dispersed into their own directions and were peeling off their heavy robes and equipment. Jack had done the same and was actually pulling his shirt up from the bottom to use it to wipe his sweaty face. But no matter how nice she found the sight of his sweaty, bare torso, she was now too angry to enjoy it. She walked straight over to where he was standing with his back to her, talking to the other Beater, and letting his bat dangle lazily at his side. Without hesitation, she plucked it out of his hand and caused him to round on her.

She pointed his bat at him as if it were a sword. "Give me one reason to not bludgeon you with this? One reason!"

"Nic, I had to try," he said, backing up a bit, but not looking particularly scared. He actually seemed amused. He was somewhere in between laughing out right and knowing that if he did that, she may very well swing on him.

"You almost took my bloody head off!"

The other Beater who was standing there seemed a bit alarmed and looked as if he should do something, but Jack quickly waved him off. "She's my friend."

"Some friend! Friends don't try to take each other's heads off!"

He stepped forward, closing the gap between them as much as he could. He still found himself a bat length away since she hadn't bothered to lower it. "If I wanted to take your head off, I would have taken your head off."

"If I had so much as sneezed, it would have connected with me."

"I accounted for that," he said earnestly. "I mean, not sneezing exactly, but when I hit it I made sure there was a really wide berth. It wasn't going to hit you."

"I don't think you realize how close it came," she said through gritted teeth, poking him hard in the chest with the bat.

"I had to try," he said, reaching out to take his bat back. She didn't resist and let him have it, though she rolled her eyes as he did. "Once your Beater got Giggleswick, I had a clear shot of you. You were going to win the match. If I sat there on my broom, everyone watching is going to wonder what was wrong with me."

"There are so many other ways to come after me without coming this—" she held up her index finger and thumb centimeters apart from each other and put them right in his face, "—close to giving me a concussion."

"I wanted it to look real. If it was anyone but you, I would have hit them."

She felt her jaw clench and looked away. If what he was saying was true, he probably could have knocked her well off her broom and she'd have missed the Snitch. The match would still be going on and she'd be out. "Well, I hope you're not looking for a thank you. You're not getting one."

"I'm fine with that," he said. "Great catch, though. That makes you four for four. And you beat Giggleswick."

"Yeah," she muttered, glancing around the pitch. "Where is he anyway?"

"Probably with the medic since he got pummeled," he said, his face stony. "The bloke that hit him is an absolute beast. Invitation from Durmstrang. He dominated the Beaters group and I'd be shocked if he didn't get a perfect ranking."

"Glad I had him on my side, then," she said, looking back at him. He threw her a silly smile in an attempt to get on her good side again, but she wasn't having it. He may be cute, but he wasn't that cute. "You're still an arsehole."

"That's alright," he said. "Once you calm down and decide not to kill me, the Quidditch player in you will see I did what I had to do."

"If you actually did what you had to do, then I'd have a concussion right now and the match would still be going on. You don't need you to take mercy on me. I don't need special..." she hesitated, "privileges."

"So wait, now you're giving me shit for not hitting you?" He laughed. "Call it what you want, but I'm not going to break you—the Seeker I need next season—for a stupid scrimmage match. Let me get a deduction." He shrugged. "I've been playing really well the last few days, I can afford it."

She took a deep breath as she turned to leave the pitch, Jack on her heels. "If you're that bloody accurate all the sudden then why aren't you taking out Giggleswick every time we play Ravenclaw? You know how easy that would make things?"

"Because you can handle Giggles on your own. Plus, at school, I'm usually busy handling all of their Chasers on my own. Tommy's well and good, but when it's me and him I'm spread a little thin. Out here with people who know what they're doing, it gives me more time to pay attention to everything else going on."

She was silent for a moment as they exited through the gate. Once the two of them emerged back onto the path and proceeded to walk in the direction of the Square, she glanced over at him. "You played really well."

He smiled in a modest sort of way. "You played really well. I could have done better. I was distracted." And before she could ask by what, he added, "Yes, by you. After four years of defending someone and knowing their movements around the pitch, I had to keep reminding myself that I'm supposed to be after you—all while defending the other Seeker who I've spent the last four years attempting to blast off his broom. It's an adjustment."

"I honestly thought you did fantastic," she said. "If that was a shit match for you, then I'd like to see your better ones."

He grinned at her, though he quickly changed the subject as they approached the center of camp. "Rankings are out in less than an hour. Moment of truth."

She sighed as a feeling of dread swept over her; Sabatino's words began playing in her head once more. "I ran into Sabatino after one of my earlier matches. We had a chat."

"What's that mean?"

"He seems to think I deserve a three. Which, with the bookwork, puts me at a five—if I'm lucky."

She then gave him a quick recap of she and Sabatino's entire discussion as they approached the auditorium, where people were milling around in the Square waiting for the doors to open and rankings to be made available. Jack suddenly stopped in his tracks to gawk at her. He'd almost seemed at a loss for words—until he finally found some.

"Fuck. Him."

She shrugged him off. "He's apparently got me all figured out."

"No, Nic, seriously. Fuck him. He doesn't know anything about you. He's making a load of assumptions based on…" He looked angry as he shook his head. "I want to go and curse him."

"I wouldn't stop you."

"Who is he other than some arsehole who cost his team the World Cup? Seriously?"

"I mean, he's an arsehole, but it doesn't change that he's one of the best Seekers in the sport right now."

"I don't care," he reiterated. "He's one Seeker. One idiot. Fuck him. There's absolutely no way you're a three. You were incredible out there. If you played half as well in your other matches as you did there, there is absolutely no way he can justify giving you a three. Fuck him."

She smiled at him, always appreciative of how he really could be counted on to have her back whether on the pitch or not. "I told him I knew I was better than that, even after he told me one bad performance can define your legacy."

"Well, he would fucking know, wouldn't he?"

"I may have actually said that to him. Asked him if he'd been drunk the night before the World Cup and what his excuse was for fucking everything up."

He smirked as if he was happy to hear that, though his smile quickly slipped off as he said. "Wait, did you actually?"

"I mean, if he's going to give me a three, I'm going to give him a proper reason."