Author's Note:

This story was always met more than anything else as a story to write when the mood struck. Being an anthology work, it's easy to do that.

All of the Quidditch teams listed are canon, along with the shop Spintwitches. This is a shorter chapter, but I feel the message is important.

Rights belong to J.K. Rowling.

Marius Wright, at 49-years old, has had his share of strenuous conversations. But the one he was about to have, he sensed, would be far more trying than most.

He rearranged the papers on his desk, though it was nothing more than idle motions. Marius marked something off his calendar, and glanced to the fireplace on his right. Sighing, he rubbed his temple, and didn't even flinch when right at 1:30 PM, a figure stepped into the office from the aforementioned fireplace.

24-year old Owen Price, five-year Beater for the Caerphilly Catapults, stooped in front of Marius' desk, his muscular arms crossed, and a concerned look on his face.

"First thing's first, Marius," Owen coolly began, "are the rumors I'm hearing right? Are you working on getting me traded to Tutshill?"

Marius, far be it for him to feel panicked under pressure, conjured a chair up. "Please sit down, Owen. I get the sense that we'll be here a spell."

Moodily, Owen sighed, and sat down, his arms crossed still. "You're my agent. You can't send me anywhere I refuse to go. If that's what this is, I'll hire another one."

"Dammit," Marius cried, banging his hand on his desk. "I have been working my bum off for you the moment I saw your final match at Hogwarts. If you don't remember, Owen, it was I who approached you about going pro. Without me, you'd be stuck stocking brooms at Spintwitches. I wouldn't send you to another team unless I got your permission. Have some faith in me."

At this, Owen again sighed, giving him a glance over. "I'm sorry," he replied after a few seconds. "I really am. You're right - I need to trust you, mate. You've done alright by me my whole career. I owe it to you to not jump to conclusions."

Before Owen had finished his statement, he waved his hands. "Think nothing of it. I remember when I played for the Wanderers. When I heard I might get sent over to the Meteorites, I got right worked up too."

"Moose Jaw ain't too bad though, innit," Owen replied, a sly smile on his face. "I mean, for Canadian Quidditch."

Shrugging, the older man replied, "I've been in Scotland my whole life. I'm wasn't leaving them, no matter what they offered me."

Owen nodded. "What was I summoned here for, then, mate?"

Marius stalled. "Much like you, I've heard some rumors too, and I wanted to see if there was anything to them."

A stoic expression appeared on Price's face all of the sudden. "What rumors," he asked, attempting not to betray his concern.

"I want to say first," Marius began slowly, "that none of this, if true, changes anything between us. I consider you a good friend, and fantastic Quidditch player. I want you to know this."

"What rumors," Price repeated.

"Aw, bloody hell," Marius groaned. "I've heard that you're a queer, Owen. A homosexual."

Owen froze, a slight blush crawling to his cheeks. "Where did you hear that rubbish?"

"Is it true," Marius asked, brushing aside Prices' question. "Are you gay?"

"Yes, I am," Owen replied, gulping afterwards. "Who told you?"

"I've heard mumblings from multiple people, Owen. Coaches, players. A manager. How I only heard this last week, though, your bet is as good as mine."

"So that's what this is," Owen asked heatedly. "I like men, and you're-"

"That is not what I'm doing," Marius firmly replied, shaking his head. "I wanted to talk to you, to come up with options. Like it or not, this is something we have to deal with, and now."

"If it slips out I sleep around with men, what of it," Owen growled. "It's 1973. I don't think anyone cares anymore."

"If you believe that, it's blissful ignorance," Marius stated, sharper than he had intended. "Remember Justine O'Connell? When it came out she was a lesbian in '64, the Kestrels tossed her out that day. And despite being one damn fine Keeper, England wouldn't touch her. Sure, the Kestrels are a religious lot, but it still damaged O'Connell's career beyond repair. She eventually took a job training kids over in France. It might not be a big deal to you, but the League, not to mention the fans, still care."

Owen contemplated this. In a small voice, he replied, "What should I do, then? I love this game. And I want to stay with the Catapults. I can't imagine that they'd sack me for this."

"As a team, no," Marius agreed, "but should public pressure force their hand, they very well might. You're not a big player, no offense meant, but you do have a strong following in Wales. And once parents find out their kid's Quidditch hero is a poofter, all bets are off."

Owen cringed at the word, but let it pass. "Do you have cause to believe that it is likely to be leaked?"

"Direct cause? No, I don't," Marius admitted. "But too many people know. And we need to get ahead of this as best we can if we want to make sure the Catapults keep you on when it does come out. I need to know, how many Quidditch players know?"

At this, Owen blanched. "Marius, I won't lie to you, but I want to be clear: Are you asking me to name all the players I've slept with?"

"A rough estimate, merely," Marius replied. "I don't need or want specific names. That doesn't matter to me."

Silence filled the room as Owen considered his answer, a sign that struck Marius as slightly ominous.

"21."

Unable to stop himself, Marius quickly replied, "Merlin's beard! Did you say 21?"

The blush, at first just noticeable, became significantly more pronounced. "Yes, that's right."

"I wouldn't have believed," the older wizard began mumbled, trailing off. He sighed, and looked back up at Owen. "How many different teams are we talking?"

"Listen, I've been with men from the Wasps to the Stormers to the Quafflepunchers to the Kites. Hell, I even got with a Chaser from Giant-Slayers. Believe me when I say I've pretty much covered the spectrum."

"So you've been, well," Marius started, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, "busy, I see."

"But none of those people would risk their own careers by threatening to out me."

"No, I wouldn't expect so. But if one of them is offered a pay-out by another team? You think these men would be so loyal then?"

Angrily, Owen shook his head. "Some, yes. Some, no. What are my options?"

"If you don't want to leave the Catapults, and stay in the League, the only thing I can think of is this, but it's not bloody likely you'll want to do it."

His face stony, Price merely asked "What?"

"A press release and conference. Tomorrow. Or a few days, whatever works best for you as long as a week doesn't pass. You come out as gay to the public."

Owen's cringe almost made Marius cringe. "If that's all I can do," he began, "then I'll do it. Do I need to write some fancy speech to give?"

"I've worked out a rough draft for you to work off of," Marius gently replied. "Fill in the blank spots, add as much detail as you want, but just try to stick to the script."

Owen closed his eyes, and put his hand on his head. "My family doesn't know about this, Marius. You're really forcing my hand."

"Then I would recommend talking to them."

Mournfully, the young man sighed. "I didn't know I was gay 'til my third year at Hogwarts. And when I found out, I didn't let my friends know until halfway through fourth year. But they were all cool with it. They never let it get out. And now, I've got to tell the world."

"Listen, Owen," Marius began, and the young man looked up at him, "I know it won't be easy. But I do think that most people will let it go. Most Quidditch fans aren't going to make up their minds that they hate you over this, and most players will still think of you first as a Beater, and not anything else. Remember, it's not the League that cares if you're a woman, if you're gay, if you're a racial minority, whatever. It's the fans who can screw that up for the players and make it an issue. You get ahead of all that, and you're home free."

Marius pulled out a piece of parchment, and handed it over to Price. "This is what I have. Let me know when you can give the conference."

Owen took the parchment in his hand. "Thanks for not thinking any differently of me, mate."

Marius nodded. "I won't pretend to understand it, Owen, but I do know it doesn't make you any less of a Quidditch player or any less of a person. In a perfect world, it shouldn't matter."

The young player stood up and walked toward the fireplace, grabbing some Floo powder off the mantelpiece. "You're right. It shouldn't."

He threw the powder into the fireplace, claimed his destination, and left. Marius Wright, 49-years old, sat there, running his hand through his powered-gray hair in silence.

I've not had the easiest life, he considered to himself. But Merlin, I'm lucky my life isn't as hard as his.

And he continued fiddling with the papers on his desk, sorting both his mind and his trinkets. All-the-while, the young Owen Price never left his thoughts.