Storybrooke Sirens have won the League Championship title in one of the greatest Quidditch tales of all times.
Their 270-120 win over the Camelot Knights at home, a mere formality after their thumping victory at Misthaven the previous week, sealed what was already a stunning achievement for Emma Swan's side. Storybrooke started the campaign as 5,000-1 outsiders for the title, after managing being demoted to League Two by a whisker for two successive seasons.
Their victory has been described as a "fairytale" and the "most unlikely triumph in the history of modern Quidditch".
- US Quidditch Quarterly
A full-house stadium at Storybrooke witnessed history as the Storybrooke Sirens capped a brilliant season with a win in their final game at home. Storybrooke Sirens had already claimed the series title following a victory at Misthaven last week.
Storybrooke Sirens captain Lancelot Morgan hoisted the League Championship trophy aloft to a burst of fireworks on Sunday as one of the sport's most captivating stories reached it giddy climax.
Following a 270-120 win over Camelot Knights in their final game, the outsiders, whose exploits have captivated fans across America and beyond, got their hands on the prized trophy.
After the players had been called up one by one — the biggest cheers reserved for the season's breakout star, Seeker Hua Mulan — Morgan was handed the trophy by the Chairperson of the American Quidditch Association (AQA).
Regina Mills, President of the Storybrooke Sirens, thanked the fans in an emotional speech, and read out parts of a touching dedication written by her young son.
- Quidditch Weekly
CHAMPIONS!
- Storybrooke Mirror
The morning after bringing home the League Championship is a remarkably normal one.
Regina wakes up in her own bed, to the sound of her regular alarm. Granted, she's curled up next to Emma Swan, who mutters something unintelligible and rolls over, her mouth falling open as she lies flat on her back — but that's a normal morning, now. Regina didn't see this coming.
She pads barefoot to the window and pushes the curtains open, delighting in the sunlight that lights up the entire room and fills her heart with a radiance that she cannot name. She stands there, looking out at her beloved apple tree in full blossom until Emma groans, "Too much light. Please ."
"Get up," Regina tells her, unable to wipe the wide smile off her face. "It's morning. Rise and shine."
"I hate mornings," Emma says, covering her head with a pillow. "We don't have practice today, I'm not getting out of bed until noon."
Emma has earned that, if nothing else. Regina pulls the curtains close and pads over to the bed, pressing a brief kiss on her cheek before heading to the bathroom.
It's a normal morning, but nothing feels impossible anymore.
There are a dozen owls waiting for her downstairs, all of them bearing messages that congratulate her on their victory. One message is from Snow White, bearing an insipid note that says,
Dear Regina,
Congratulations! Fairytales do come true, after all!
My heartiest congratulations to the entire team, and to your coach, Emma Swan, for making this happen.
Thank you for this wonderful season of Quidditch, and for teaching me to believe in miracles again.
Yours,
Snow
She sets that one on fire, ignoring the disapproving glare of the owls.
"She's lucky I'm not sending her a Howler back," she tells the nearest owl, a small white one that regards her with suspicious eyes. "It's none of your business, anyway."
There will be more of these messages at work, no doubt — all sorts of nonsense from her worst enemies about how much they love her and the Storybrooke Sirens. There will be so many things to think about, and a new season to prepare for, with all the new challenges that it will bring. There will be the World Quidditch League qualifiers, an honor she can scarcely comprehend.
But today, for now, Regina wishes to bask — bask in the glory of the fairytale, yes.
She's frying up some bacon when Henry shows up, sleepy-eyed and tousled and happy, judging by the wide smile he flashes at her.
"What were you doing up so early?" He says. "I heard you in the morning."
"I couldn't sleep," Regina says. "Would you like some eggs?"
"Yes, please," he says, eager. "Can I also get some coffee?"
"Absolutely not," Regina says sharply. "Pour yourself some orange juice."
Henry shrugs, not particularly disappointed. "It was worth a shot. Did Emma sleep over again?"
That has her fumbling, nearly dropping the plate she places in front of Henry with his bacon and eggs. "She did," Regina says, careful to keep her voice even.
"Cool," Henry says. He takes this in his stride like everything else, as though Emma sleeping over is something as ordinary as his mother making him bacon and eggs.
She hasn't shared further details of her… her relationship with Emma, whatever that relationship might be. She hasn't found the right time or the right words for it.
"You should ask her out," Henry says, casual.
"What?" Regina nearly chokes on her coffee.
"Ask her out," Henry says. "You like her, don't you?"
She could lie and tell him that theirs is a professional relationship, nothing more. Nothing at all. But she thinks of Emma curled up in her bed, sleeping until noon because there's no practice session to attend, the sleepy warmth of her smile and softness of early morning kisses —
"I do like her," she tells him, entirely honest. "I like her a lot."
Henry seems pleased with the response, and digs into his plate with gusto.
"I was thinking of going to Dr. Hopper," he volunteers after a moment. "To talk."
"You were?" Regina says, trying not to get ahead of herself.
"Maybe," Henry tells her.
His journey — if this is indeed to be his journey, that of a boy without magic in a community that sees the lack of it as a curse — is not going to be easy, for sure. It won't be a bed of roses, it won't be easy like Regina wants everything in his life to be.
But maybe is good. Maybe is a start.
There's an entire world outside that does fine without magical abilities, and who knows what it holds in store for Henry, who has his entire life ahead of him? What if he can have the best of both worlds?
Regina isn't one for false hope or platitudes, but on this morning, the morning after their grand fairytale, nothing seems impossible.
The truest magic lies in Henry's believing heart.
She's still thinking of Henry's words when Emma finally stumbles downstairs, a little before noon. She's freshly showered and very pleased with herself, going by her wide, wide smile.
"Henry said I should ask you out," Regina tells her. It's easy to smile back today, easy to reach for her press a chaste kiss on her lips, comfortable and familiar.
"He did?" Emma says. "He told me I should ask you out, that little nerd."
"My son is not a nerd, Miss Swan," Regina says primly, even though she agrees with Emma's assessment. Henry takes after her that way. At his age, she was very much what Emma would call a nerd. "He's a curious young man who likes to know things."
"In other words, a nerd," Emma says, grinning.
"I have decided to follow his advice," Regina says. Tomorrow, they have a grand feast to attend, courtesy the Storybrooke residents who want to celebrate their victory. Following that, it's one thing after the other — meetings with the financiers, plans for the next season, so on and so forth.
Tonight, she thinks, should be theirs.
"Funny thing," Emma says. "I was planning the same thing. Meet me at the grounds at seven?"
"The grounds?"
"Do you want to go out with me or not?" Emma tells her.
There's no arguing with that, because Regina, heaven help her, does .
The grounds are dark, deserted, quite the contrast from the events of the day before.
It has been a conscious choice to keep no portraits of her father, nothing that will remind her of a loss that she can never, ever make up for. Her father, unlike her mother, chose to move on and not linger, so all Regina has is her memories — riding atop his shoulders while he took her around the stadium, telling her stories of the time they brought the League Championship home.
If she closes her eyes, she can imagine him in the stands, smiling at her in that familiar way of his. You've done well , she can imagine him saying. I'm proud of you.
"Shall we?"
She turns around to face Emma, who's grinning down at her from that accursed flying carpet, hovering just above ground.
"Really?" Regina says, raising an eyebrow. "That thing again?"
"Come now," Emma tells her, her smile growing even wider. "You can't tell me you never considered a ride."
She stretches out her hand, and Regina takes it, hopping onto the carpet.
"I have something for you as well," she tells Emma, reaching inside her pocket to fish out the wooden box.
"What is it?" Emma says.
"Open it."
She's caught Emma by surprise, Regina can tell. Her eyes grow wide with shock as she figures out what's in the box.
Emma picks out the card, her face glowing with childlike wonder. "You've kept it all this while?" She holds it with reverance, like it's something incredibly precious.
"I told you I asked you for your autograph, didn't I?" Regina tells her. "I'm hardly at fault if you were too drunk to remember."
To the beautiful woman who hates losing, the card reads. Your fan, Emma Swan.
"Well," Emma says. "My flirting game was spot on."
"You had no game," Regina tells her archly. "You were drunk."
"I got the girl, though," Emma points out, her smile as brash as that of the little Emma figure in the card. "Give or take a decade. But it worked."
She's right on that account, Regina supposes, unable to keep the hopelessly fond smile off her face.
The carpet takes off at the flick of Emma's hand, and then they're going up, up, and away, Regina's hand in Emma's and all of Storybrooke beneath them, stretched out like a town from some fairytale.