Dominique didn't speak for the rest of breakfast, which no one seemed to take notice of. The green drink that the Slytherin girls drank had started working for them; over the course of the remaining time they sat, and they both brightened up to their usual, annoying selves. Michael had gotten his fill of potatoes and Ellibit was attempting to figure out how much time they needed to give themselves to get down to the pitch and get the best possible seats they could. According to her, it would have to be soon.
It was still on the earlier end of things once they took to the path that led toward the main arena, and the crowds heading in the same direction weren't bad. Zara had asked if anyone had even seen Jack that morning, her eyes on Dominique as she said it, but she offered no answer. It was Michael who'd mentioned that he was already gone well before any of them had gotten up and that he was probably off getting into match mode. Even though Dominique suspected that Jack had to be inside warming up already, it didn't stop her from scanning every single face they passed on the off chance that he would be amongst them. She was now anxious in ways that had nothing to do with Quidditch.
At the entrance to the arena, they stood in the small queue to enter and followed the crowds up the stairs into the seats. Once they were up and elevated well above the ground, Dominique could see over the top of the arena and out to the path that they'd just walked. It was full of people now, all moving en masse toward them. This place would be filled in a matter of minutes.
"Do we want to go higher or lower?" Michael asked, looking around. "I prefer lower."
"Me too, let's go to the front row," Ellibit agreed. "I like to be eye level with the rings."
Erin and Zara agreed, and it seemed Dominique was the only one who preferred to be higher up, considering that view gave her a better view of the Seekers, but she didn't say anything either way. She was with a bunch of Chasers and a Keeper—of course they wanted to be eye level with the rings. That's where they spent all their time.
Michael led the way, having found a decent set of open seats about halfway between the center of the pitch and one team's rings. He counted out five seats and immediately took the first. Ellibit followed, and Dominique took the seat beside her. Zara and Erin took the seats that remained and almost immediately after they'd sat, two more people took the seats next to them. As far as Dominique could tell, the entire front row was now occupied—as was the back row. She craned her next high up, shielding her eyes despite it being very overcast outside. Both teams Seekers—Jere in blue and Valentina in green—were flying around and practicing their drop-ins and dives.
She let her eyes fall back down to the rest of the pitch. Chasers were zipping around at impressive speeds as they passed the Quaffle back and forth as if it was an extension of their bodies. Both Keepers were actively watching and making impressive stops with precision and skill that she would expect to see in a professional match. Then the Beaters—well, they weren't in the air. She looked at the ground.
She took a deep breath the moment she finally saw him. All four Beaters were there in a huddle of sorts, all talking and seemingly chatty with one another. Jack was in green, talking to a Beater in blue who she recognized as the boy who'd been in her room the other day—Diego, she wanted to say. The other Beater in green she recognized as Tree Trunks—the one who hadn't done his bookwork and had a tantrum in the common area. Her eyes went back to Jack, whom she watched laugh at something Diego must have said before the two of them were now mounting their own brooms.
"There's Jack," Ellibit offered. "He's in green. Over there."
"Oh, good," Erin said. "I can get behind cheering for a green team."
"He looks awful in green," Dominique mumbled. "Dreadful color."
"Please, everyone looks awful in red," she countered. "Probably why they haven't had any teams here wearing it."
"I think it's actually because the red would confuse people since the IQA officials are always in red," Ellibit said earnestly. It took her a moment to realize that Erin had been taking the piss and didn't care for a proper explanation.
Dominique scanned the area below, where lots of official looking people were standing around, glancing up into the sky. It was there that she also noticed Giggleswick, who was lazily holding his broom and looking rather bored with the other alternates—some of whom were stretching or actively engaging their bodies to be ready to play. None of them had been given a robe color to represent since they were supposed to fill in wherever they were needed. She couldn't help but think he looked even more out of place out there without a proper robe on.
The arena continued to fill up as they continued to watch the warm ups; a noisy bustle and excitement now filling the air. There was a tension surrounding them that made it feel so much more serious than the matches they played at school. It felt like a professional match, which was completely mind blowing when she thought about it. She'd honestly have given anything to be out there—even as a bored looking alternate.
The players had begun landing now, seeing as it was roughly ten minutes before things were to get started. They were drinking water, checking their brooms for any last minute issues, fixing their shoes, adjusting their robes. Dominique's eyes were entirely on Jack, who was now absently rotating his bat around and around in his hand almost like a baton. She knew that move—it was a nervous tic of his.
The spinning bat was a tell. Whenever he had nervous energy before a match, he spun that stupid bat. At school, she often would walk up and knock it out of his hand while he did it, which she knew annoyed him given how superstitious and precise with his routines he was. But she also sensed that it calmed him in a strange way—as if it had become its own superstition. He'd come to expect her to do it. It was all part of his pre-match process—one that he would have to adjust now that he was on his own.
The green team seemed to be on the side of the pitch that they had chosen to sit on, and they were now all congregating around a man who was addressing them. Jack wasn't far away now. If she yelled, she probably could have got his attention—and she might have done that had she not been told what she'd had at breakfast. As it were, she didn't want to provide any unnecessary distractions—
"Ians!" Michael yelled out, cupping his hands over his mouth to project his voice even further. "Hey! Up here."
She involuntarily slunked down in her seat, not that it did anything to disguise her as they were in the very front row. Short of her lying down on the ground under everyone's feet, she was completely visible. Jack had turned to look briefly—she'd been right, they were close enough for him to hear—and he seemed amused to spot Michael, who was standing and waving.
He didn't respond right away since his attention was still on the man speaking. After another minute or so, the meeting broke up and his gaze travelled back over to them and down the row, where he very clearly stopped on her. It felt as if a giant light was shining directly on top of her; she suddenly had no idea what to do with her body.
He smiled and waved a little, which she awkwardly returned. He had started walking over toward them, though for what reason she didn't know. They all sat forward in their seats to look down at him as he approached the wall below them. He stopped, now pointing at her before pointing over toward the stairs.
"What's he want?" Ellibit asked.
"Dunno," said Michael.
"I think he's—" Zara stopped to watch him before yelling, "What?"
He was pointing toward Dominique and then over toward the stairs. She had a feeling he wanted her to go over there. She pointed at herself and mouthed, "Me?"
He nodded in an obvious way before pointing at the stairs again. He started walking in that direction.
"I think he wants you to go down," Ellibit said.
"Go," Zara urged. "This thing starts in a few minutes."
"I...alright," Dominique said, slowly starting to stand. Everyone moved their legs as she scooted past both Zara and Erin, as well as the tens of other people she had to pass awkwardly before reaching the open stairwell. People were still coming up to find seats, though no one was walking down. That made things easy.
What could he possibly want? She knew he wasn't crazy enough to want to talk to her about what he'd heard last night right now. He couldn't possibly. He had about five minutes until this match started and he better have more important things on his mind. If that was what this was about, her crush might very well disappear in an instant because that would be the stupidest use of his time ever. Priorities, afterall.
She got to the bottom and turned to face the pitch. There wasn't a clear entrance, though as she came to the opening that led out to the pitch, she did see a small barrier set up to keep random people from walking out. It was there that she spotted him approaching on the other side. She supposed this was as close as she was getting.
"What do you want?" she said, her tone more harsh than it probably should have been, but she was genuinely confused and definitely anxious. "Doesn't this match start in a few minutes?"
"Yeah, sorry I know you're busy," he said sarcastically as they met at the barrier. "But I needed to see a familiar face."
She forced an awkward smile. "Well, here it is."
"Tell me this isn't that big a deal."
"Oh, this is a huge fucking deal."
She'd been half joking; attempting to get a small laugh out of him, but it was clear that wasn't what he wanted to hear. He looked a little pale and was staring at her as if he needed something from her. Some sort of confidence or words of wisdom. On the plus side, she knew immediately that this had nothing to do with what had been said the previous night. This was entirely him needing someone to straighten him out.
"I can't get myself out of my head," he said.
"Jack, you're brilliant, come on. You don't need me to tell you that. You earned every bit of being here. Just go out there and do what you need to do. You'll crush it."
He was still staring at her. That apparently hadn't been it.
"Alright, let's go the other way," she said. "Stop being such a tosser and get over yourself."
That at least made him smirk a little.
"That? That helps?" She sighed. "If that is what you expect from me, I really must be a horrible person."
He was running his top teeth against his lip in a fidgety sort of way. "No, it's not that. I'm a creature of habit, and oddly enough, when you've listened to that day in and out for four seasons, it becomes sort of expected."
"Well, then," she shrugged. "I can call you names all day."
He'd stepped back from the barrier and was back to absently spinning his bat again, not even looking at her. "Why am I so fucking nervous?"
"Because you're you and you always get nervous," she said. "But now you're legitimately fidgeting and making me anxious. You've got to get out of your head."
"How?" he asked. "This is the biggest match I've ever played in my life. If I do well—"
"Yeah, yeah," she said, waving him off. "Well aware of what amazing things could happen. It doesn't matter. You're as good, if not better, than all of these other Beaters." She pointed up into the sky. "Except for maybe the big bloke from our match the other day. He's mental. But at least you're on the same team."
"Yeah, well, Diego may not be as big as him," he said gesturing across the pitch at him with his free arm, "but he can literally hit the Bludger clear across the pitch. And his aim is good."
"Your aim is good," she said immediately, her encyclopedia of Quidditch knowledge now ready to bubble over. "Jack, you're a left-hand dominant, ambidextrous Beater. The only one out there—I already checked. Right there you've got an advantage on the weak left side of the pitch. You have no weak side."
"You're saying that as if my right is as strong as theirs. I'm only at maybe 60% accuracy with my right. Which is far lower than anyone out there."
"And with your left, you're at 95%," she countered. "Which is 90% better than anyone else out there." She paused. "And in that match we played the other day, I watched you. I'd put your right arm closer to 70%."
"You're being generous," he said, still twirling his bat around in circles in his hand. Dominique knew that the faster he rotated it, the more anxious he was—and right now she felt inclined to step back a bit for fear of getting clubbed even with the barrier in the way.
"You're not giving yourself enough credit. Trust me, I sit above you during these matches and watch. I've seen it."
His expression remained unconvinced.
She doubled down. "Stay on the bloody left as you always do and you'll be fine. That's why you're so highly ranked and these scouts are looking at you. You dominate the left and defend the right. Two for one. You know this. I don't have to tell you this."
He seemed to consider that. At least something seemed to be getting through that skull of his.
It was also then that she reached out and put her hand in the path of his bat, letting it smack her rather hard on her palm and watching as it tumbled to the ground. He also watched it hit the grass before turning to give her the look—the very clear mixture of annoyance and amusement that she'd come to expect every time she did it.
She smiled. "You know that's annoying."
"And you know it calms me down," he said, picking up his bat and pretending to playfully club her over the head. "But I need to go."
She nodded. "You do. But, one last thing." She held up her fist. "Don't fuck it up."
He stood up straighter and mustered the first actual smile she'd seen out of him since she'd walked down here. Famous last words. They seemed much more appropriate now than before, despite the fact that she wasn't even getting on a broom.
"Don't fuck it up," he said as bumped her fist with his. A loud whistle sound signaled then that things were about to begin. He threw her a smile before he turned and jogged back across to where he needed to be.
She watched him go, a collection of emotions now coursing through her. She was jealous, she was proud, she was smitten—it was all a bit overwhelming. It was mad to think how far they'd come. All she could do was be a bit nostalgic for the simpler times as she walked back to her seat.
A memory from her third year of a fifteen year-old Durrin, who was a little more spotty and sporting longer hair than his current self did. He'd approached her in the tunnel of the arena at Hogwarts, just as they were about to fly out for their first match of the season—Dominique's first match ever.
"Right? You two ready?" he'd asked.
A smaller, skinnier, and thirteen-year-old Dominique nodded. She'd combed her hair super neatly for once and pulled it back into a long ponytail. She'd wanted her first photo in her new Gryffindor robes to look polished and put together just like the women on her collectible Quidditch cards. She waxed her broom handle and clipped all of the stray bristles the night before. She was ready for her debut as Gryffindor's newest Seeker. She'd never been more ready.
Beside her, Jack, also smaller and more baby-faced, looked like he was about to be sick. His nerves had apparently gotten the best of him and Dominique could visibly see his hand shake while he held his broom. He didn't answer Durrin, but he didn't seem to care one way or another.
"Listen up," he said, addressing the rest of the team. "Season opener is always a high pressure match. We want to establish ourselves as the best in school, but so does Hufflepuff. Everyone's going to be trying to score more, block more, hit more. We just need to be the ones to do it faster and better. We've practiced and we look good. Gryffindor's got this." He nodded affirmatively. "Now everyone queue up."
Dominique wasn't quite sure what that meant, but one of the sixth-year Beaters—a boy called Rolly—pointed directly behind him and motioned for Jack to stand there. "You," he said to Dominique, "go behind him."
"Every match?" she asked.
He grunted as if to say yes. "captain's first. Chasers, Beaters, Seeker, Keeper. That's how we fly out every match. Every time."
She made to quickly get in the right spot, realizing that with their Keeper also being the captain, she was last. She grinned, happy to be the last to fly out. It seems like a special spot. If she couldn't be first, she may as well be last. Her grin was short lived when she noticed Jack slowly getting into place. He really did look like he was going to vomit.
"You look awful," she said to him.
"The entire school is out there," he said, barely above a whisper. "What if I make a fool of myself or do something stupid? Fall off my broom or swing and completely miss? I've never played a proper match before."
She shrugged. "Then don't do any of that."
"Good tip," he muttered. "Thanks."
"Everyone's got to have a first match," she said. "Everyone's going to mess up. Don't be dumb about it." She stopped and considered him. "Who knew you were so anxious? You need to get it together."
He didn't say anything. The gate that separated them from the entrance to the arena had slowly started to open, and Durrin cast a cursory glance behind him. "Here we go!"
"Hey, Jack," Dominique said, poking him quickly. He turned slightly and she raised her fist up to him. "Don't fuck it up."
He stared at her, those words seemingly not helpful at all. He looked down at her fist and begrudgingly tapped it with his. "Don't fuck it up," he repeated, clearly talking more to himself than her.
And it had been a decent match for the both of them. She remembered they won that game and she'd caught the Snitch, but the other details were gone in an adrenaline fueled blur. Jack didn't vomit everywhere, and his nerves decreased with each following match. For some reason, he'd said that being told to not fuck up beforehand had helped.
Fourth year. Durrin had been panicking; madly pacing up and down the tunnel before the flyout.
"Nicki, if you don't catch the bloody Snitch!" he was practically shouting in the tunnel before the final match against Slytherin. It was the end of the season and they were the closest they'd ever been to winning the Cup. She'd caught every Snitch that year, and she wasn't quite sure why Durrin was suddenly scared she wouldn't.
"I will, relax," she said, adjusting her fingerless gloves and getting into her position at the end of the queue. Her neat ponytail from that match ages ago had now replaced with a sloppy bun that was piled on top of her head. She'd forgotten to brush her hair the day before and it was knotty and unmanageable, so this was the easiest way to deal with it. "When have I not?"
"I don't think I've ever seen Durrin this stressed," Jack whispered as he too got into position. He was twirling his bat in very slow circles in his hand, another new pre-match superstition he'd picked up to calm himself. Though, given the magnitude of this match, she was even a little nervous.
"He's fucked in the head today," said Rolly, who was a lot less intimidating these days. "I'm this close to clobbering him myself." He glanced at Jack and his rotating bat. "If you hit me with that…"
"I won't," said Jack, watching his bat with the utmost intensity. "I rarely even drop it anymore."
"You're so annoying with that thing," Dominique said, watching as he continued to spin it, his speed getting slightly faster.
"I'm getting better," he said, "soon I'll be able to—"
She reached out and knocked it out of his hands, snickering as she did so. They both watched as it crashed loudly onto the stone floor. The entire team looked back at him.
"She did it," Jack said, pointing at her.
"Last I checked, that's a Beater's bat," she said, pointing back at him.
"Stop fucking around!" Durrin snapped, causing Jack to scoop up his bat and sheepishly retreat back into queue.
Dominique laughed at him. "You heard him. Stop fucking around."
"Me? How about you?"
"I'm not a nervous wreck. I know I'll get the Snitch."
"Fine, then do it."
"I will. Don't worry about it."
"Gates going up!" Durrin yelled. "Remember the plan!"
Jack held out his fist to Dominique. "Good. Don't fuck it up."
"Don't fuck it up," she repeated as she bumped his, and quickly added, "And I won't."
And she didn't. She caught the Snitch that match—a perfect season for her—her only one—and Gryffindor had won the Cup. The first and only time while at school that they'd managed to do that thus far. It had been the most amazing season. It was a shame that the following season couldn't have been the same. And that had been entirely her fault.
Fifth year. She sat in an armchair in the Gryffindor common room, watching as everyone flitted around with excited energy about the final match that afternoon. Not far away, Jack stood talking to Whit and Victoire, presumably saying goodbye before heading down to the pitch. He was dressed in his robes and ready to play.
Nearby, the new fourth-year Beater they'd acquired at the start of the season, Tommy, seemed anxious but focused. Two of the three Chasers were now coming down from the dormitories in a hurry, while the third Chaser was already down at the pitch trying to get in as much practice time as possible. And Durrin—well, Durrin was down at the pitch doing everything in his power to help train that Chaser into what it took to be a Seeker. That was because Dominique, sitting in her regular, everyday clothes, was preparing for her detention.
She'd fucked up earlier in the week. She and her sister had gotten into a fight with Colleen, and Dominique had cursed her right in the middle of the common room. Her hot-head had gotten the better of her and now she was paying the price. Longbottom had given her three Saturday detentions in a row—right up until the end of term. They started today, and despite begging and pleading with him, he'd refused to bend to allow her to play in the final match. She'd completely burned her team—they had no backup Seeker—and today, their weakest Chaser, was now filling the vacant spot.
Durrin had an absolute meltdown. The entire common room had heard him; Dominique wouldn't have been surprised if the other Houses had heard him. She'd never seen him so upset. He'd actually gone and almost gotten his own detention for following Longbottom around for the past few days, begging for him to reconsider. It was all for naught, and as it were, he'd barely spoken to her over the last week; the exception being when he was telling her to train their Chaser on how to be a bang-up Seeker in six days time. It was the least she could do.
Louis appeared next to her, wearing his standard scarlet and gold Gryffindor gameday wear. He didn't say anything. He knew better. Maybe it was a twin thing or maybe just a regular sibling thing, but he knew when to not talk to her.
"None of them are talking to me," Dominique finally said, not looking at him. "Whole team hates me."
"Jack doesn't."
She shrugged. He barely counted. He was part of the reason Dominique had tried to curse Colleen in the first place. He and Whit and Victoire and Louis: she'd been standing up for all of them. Jack at least owed it to her to not freeze her out like the rest of her team was.
"You said it yourself," Louis continued, "Ravenclaw only got in on a technicality. Should have been Slytherin."
"Technicality or not, they're still really good," Dominique said. "And Giggleswick will absolutely destroy Huxley."
"You'd think Durrin would have picked one of the faster Chasers to replace you."
Dominique finally looked up at her brother, her eyes cold. For someone so brilliant and clever at everything else in the world, the boy barely understood Quidditch. "You're aware we still need Chasers to score points? You take the best ones away from that, then we're basically not scoring or catching anything."
Louis made a face, as if to say "so sorry," but said nothing else as a small group of people now gathered around Dominique's chair. It was her sister, Whit, and Jack.
"We've got to get going down to see Professor Ivanson," Victoire said. "I'm sure he's going to make us copy lines. Everyone always says he does."
"Why isn't your detention with Longbottom?" asked Whit.
"Because he's going to the bloody match!" Dominique snapped, not at Whit but rather out of anger. "Which is complete bollocks, but oh well! Hope he has a fantastic fucking time."
"But she's not bitter," joked Louis.
"We'll work it out," said Jack, showing a surprising amount of calm, all things considered. "I have faith we can still beat Ravenclaw."
Dominique glared at him. She was in no mood for la-dee-da positive thinking right now. "Well, good on you. At least someone does."
Victoire motioned for Dominique to go, which caused Jack to check the nearby clock. "I should go down. Make sure Durrin hasn't gone and thrown himself in the lake."
There was a murmur of agreement as the group began to disperse, with Louis and Whit deciding to follow Jack down to the arena while Victoire was already halfway to the portrait hole. Dominique sluggishly pulled herself up out of the armchair, silently wishing for this day to be over. She tagged along with the rest of them down the stairs, though hung back the entire time and dared anyone to speak to her. It wasn't until she and her sister had to split into the opposite direction that Jack had stopped.
"We can do it," he said to her. "It's going to be hard, but we can."
"Dunno what any of this 'we' nonsense you're rattling on about is," she muttered. "But good luck anyway."
He held out his fist to her, which actually looked like a completely foreign object at the moment. She knew what he was waiting for, but it didn't seem entirely apt considering she'd already gone and literally fucked everything up.
"No."
"Come on. It's tradition."
"It is when I'm playing," she said. "Also, I did fuck it up. A little late now."
"You know I'm superstitious," he said, still holding his fist out.
"You're mental is what you are." She begrudgingly hit his fist anyway. "Don't fuck it up. One of us doesn't need to."
"Don't fuck it up," he repeated.
"Again, mate, seems unnecessary at this point."
But they did fuck it up. The match was a mess and Ravenclaw dominated them. Not only did their Chasers score almost double what Gryffindor did, but Giggleswick caught the Snitch in record time. He'd actually set a record for the fastest Snitch catch in a House Cup match in over a hundred years. From what Dominique had heard, the Snitch had appeared a mere feet away from him—which was the best luck a Seeker could ask for. He'd barely had to try. It was a fluke, and who was to say the same thing wouldn't have happened had she been out there, but there was a chance it wouldn't have; a chance Giggleswick would have been busy stalking her around the pitch to keep her from getting it. But instead, he hadn't been concerned; he'd essentially had the pitch to himself and Ravenclaw won because of it. The worst loss in her entire Quidditch career, and she hadn't even played.
Sixth year. First match of the season. Dominique hung back in the tunnel away from everyone, her expression cross and her mood sullen. She was quieter than she'd ever been for a first match, but she had nothing to say. This was usually her favorite day of the year, but instead she was gripping her broom unusually tight as she listened to Jack address the rest of the Quidditch team—his new captain's badge affixed to the front of his robes.
"We've got this," he said with a confident smile, a completely different person from the thirteen-year-old who shook like a leaf in that very spot three years before. "I believe in each and every one of you, which is why you're on this team. Let's go out there and show Slytherin who's getting the Cup this year. Alright?"
There was a collective cheer and agreement from everyone—well, except for Dominique. She and Jack hadn't been speaking much lately. She didn't know it then, but those weeks would stretch into months.
"Everyone queue up," Jack instructed.
"Queue up how?" asked their new fifth-year Keeper, Kenley.
"Chasers, Beaters, Seeker, Keeper, in that order," Jack said, pointing for her to head toward the end. Dominique watched as Jack took his spot at the front, which—despite her being annoyed with him—made the void that his now vacant spot had created seem ever larger. She stared at the back of Tommy's head. She'd only ever known Jack to stand there. She bit her tongue and took slow, even breaths.
Kenley suddenly got behind, which caused Dominique to give her a long, slow once over. "What are you doing?"
She seemed startled and, frankly, a little terrified. "I...I was told I stand here."
"I've always been last—" She stopped, a huge sigh escaping her. Durrin was gone. Keeper wasn't the captain anymore. She was no longer last. Jack becoming captain was literally changing every single thing she knew about this team. She felt as if she was about to scream.
"Nic," said Jack, stepping out of the queue and calling her over toward him. "Quick word."
"Yes, sir," she mumbled under her breath before she joined him off to the side.
"Look, I know you're not exactly thrilled about this," he began, his voice more familiar and without all the stupid captain-like authority she'd been forced to listen to. "I can actually feel your anger radiating off of you like heat."
"I don't know what you're—"
"And," he said sharply, cutting her off. "I get you're probably hoping a Bludger to the skull puts me out for the season."
That was a lie. She didn't wish him bodily harm; at least nothing serious or season ruining. He was still their best Beater. Replacing him would be a nightmare.
"But you and I have always been a team," he said, sounding sincere and almost sweet. It was the last thing she wanted to hear and she was now reconsidering the Bludger to the skull after all. "I'm sorry you weren't chosen. I really am. But I'm also not sorry I was."
She bit the inside of her cheek. What the hell was the point of this conversation?
"I just want this," he gestured between the two of them, "to work again. That's all I'm asking. This team doesn't work if we don't."
"Fine," she said, though she was only saying it to shut him up.
The sigh that came out of him at that moment made it clear to her that he knew exactly what she was doing. She didn't know it then, but this would be one of the last actual conversations—not including arguments—that they would have for months. It would also be the last time they would do this until this until well into the new year.
"Don't fuck it up," he said, his tone deflated.
She almost didn't do it; she didn't want to do it. But her ability to get in a quick jab outweighed her desire to ice him out. "Don't fuck it up," she said. "You're in charge now, so all the fuck ups belong to you."
She'd walked away and hadn't looked back for months. And he'd been right, of course, the team didn't work when they didn't. They'd lost every match to every house in the first half of the season and tossed any chance at the Cup out the window by Christmas time. But when they did make up, it was amazing how much better things got. She wasn't even sure how it was possible seeing as they two of them had so little to do with each other on the pitch that it really shouldn't have affected things, but when they got along, the team was better. Perhaps they really were a pair of Old Marrieds in their own weird way—though not in the actual, textbook definition, of course.
After being forced to awkwardly climb back over everyone's leg to return to her seat, Dominique made it just in time for the start of the match. The handshakes were taking place now and the Seekers and Keepers were flying off to their posts. The Chasers and Beaters lagged briefly before mounting their brooms and flying off into the air. A man in a bright red robe stood holding a Quaffle in his hand, ready to release.
When the whistle blew, the crowd erupted into cheers and the Chasers made a mad dash for the Quaffle. From the front row, everything was a complete blur—she could barely keep up. When she found Jack, she noticed he'd cracked a few good shots right off the bat, nailing one Chaser in the leg and slowing down her run at the rings.
"What'd Jack want?" Ellibit asked, her eyes not leaving the sky.
"He just needed to be smacked around a bit," Dominique said, watching as Tree Trunks sent a Bludger at what seemed like lightening speed across the pitch toward a blue Chaser. "It's what I'm here for."