Today was the day. Three long weeks of practicing with Tutshill had gone by so quickly, especially the last two, after having been given the shot of a lifetime. Today he would be trying out for the Falmouth Falcons, and he had been sober two days for the occasion. It may not have been horribly long, but considering his tendencies, it was a long time. He smoothed himself out and grabbed his bag. Today was the day he changed his life. He first apparated to the Tutshill pitch, a letter in hand, but he was already running late, so he knew this would have to be a quick trip. He was spotted, first, by Daniels who landed, and upon seeing Marcus in different colors, he glared. "Wrong colours, Flint." Marcus waved his papers and shoved them into Daniels chest. "Check again, Daniels. This is my letter of resignation. I'm on to bigger, better, things." He said before stepping back and apparating again. The paparazzi was swarming the pitch, but Marcus ducked through the crowd with ease and into the pitch itself. He saw the team lined up, and he brought himself over with the other papers. "Sorry I'm running a bit late." He apologized to the owner and the manager first. They smiled though as he handed them his papers. "It's quite alright, we are aware as to how Tutshill can be. Please take your place in line beside Miss Bell." He said, motioning over to the blonde he knew so well. A smirk came over his face, and a collection of looks were shot his way. None of them seemed to like he was there. Oh, but they we're about to love how well he played, especially when they got at Puddlemere and Tutshill. He was so ready for this, He had been busting his ass off and on the pitch to prepare for this. "Break a leg, jungle bell." He muttered to her, taunting her more or less. He knew that a few weeks earlier that this team would have never been expecting someone like him to walk onto their pitch to try out, but that was weeks ago, and here they were. And he was so ready for this second chance.

It had been a long three weeks. With work, piles of paperwork to go through to know the case in and out, up and down, like the back of her hand, and with the other trials going on, Ryan Lockwood was glad the trial for Kearney Stevens was today. But damn her normal punctuality for one day, and by far the hardest case she had to help fight. She sighed, swaying in the Ministry elevator beside her father, who had decided to tag along because he knew what this could do to her. The only trial she was making a physical appearance for, aside from Dolores Umbridge's that would take place in two weeks time. "Are you sure about this?" Her father asked, and Ryan nodded. Her hair was tamed in a side braid, and she was wearing her normal slacks, blazer, and flats. "They need me their, father. The Wizengamot is going to fight this hard. I barely got the trial set for today." She said, stepping out of the elevator, her briefcase in hand. "I will be fine." With that she turned and practically ran towards the room... but at the entrance she froze. "Ms. Lockwood?" An inquisitive voice came from the head of the Wizengamot. "My apologies for being late." She said, giving a gentle nod towards Oliver and Manpreet. She opened her briefcase and flicked her wand as a small table came out and set itself up and she allowed herself to gather up some files for the court. She could barely look at any of them as the files were levitated about to the head of the court. He gave her an inquisitive look before he sighed, "And the trial regarding the release of Kearney Stevens release from Azkaban prison is called to order. You may present your case." Ryan looked to Oliver and Manpreet who both looked worn, and stiff. She knew she could feel the weight of her last visit to this room weighing on her, but she was doing her best to remain composed. "I would like to as, why you believe this man deserves release. He was obviously placed in Azkaban for a reason." A member of the court spoke, and Ryan recognized her from her husband's trial. She decided to speak before the others beside her could, because Oliver was not known for his calm temperament when practically attacked as they were. "Well, there are countless reasons, to be quite frank. First and foremost, Kearney Stevens has never broken any magical law, and if you would look in the files there are many letters of recommendation from his school years, before he went into professional Quidditch for possible employers. I have also provided you with his complete history of educational achievements and honors he earned on behalf of his peers. She moved a bit and her face remained calm as she continued. "Second, amongst the cases that have been tended to on the charges set forth by the Muggle Born Registration Commission, about 2 percent have actually been sorted through, and those 2 percent were half bloods or those considered to be blood traitors. I understand that yes, there are other pressing matters, but why leave the innocent to rot or worse?" "What worse could happen?" The woman snorted, and for a moment Ryan nearly lost it. "You very well know what I am referring to!" She near shouted before she regained her composure. "Ms. Lockwood, answer the question." The head of the court spoke, and she sighed. "Most of the Muggleborns sentenced to Azkaban under he commission were sentenced to Azkaban, but the extremists, the ones who fought they were..." she trailed, her eyes falling where it happened. "A kiss." A few brows rose, "A kiss? As in a Dementor's Kiss?" Ryan nodded, her eyes closing as the images replayed in her mind. "How could you possibly know this?" The woman snorted, and Ryan felt the tears come. "I witnessed it." She spoke, "But that isn't the point in the matter. The point is that an innocent man has been locked up for how long with such creatures around him, and my final point was that, the paperwork from Azkaban from his sentencing is signed by one.Dolores Umbridge who is facing her own trial for war crimes very soon, and known Death Eaters were witnesses." The court watched as Ryan stepped back, and wiped her eyes, in an attempt to regain her composure. "Alright, Mr. Wood, Mrs. Bellmakonda, please state your pieces."

Katie Bell would never have guessed thatMarcus Fucking Flint would have been their final candidate. Not for all the gold in Gringotts. She grit her teeth, knuckles whitening around her broomstick. No. Fucking no. She would not play with that son of a bitch. She knew exactly the sort of man he was. Assholes like him had torn England apart. If Santiago had been a Death Eater, then why the fuck was Flint here? Because fate was a cold hearted bitch, he was directed to stand next to her. She fixed him with her most withering stare, jaw clenching. Rage and adrenaline began surging through her. Good. That would help in the air. “I’d rather break yours, fucker,” she hissed quietly, directing her eyes to Fenrir. The white haired Seeker had unfurled his parchment, his face placid. “This is our final drill,” he called, voice crisp and even. In the past year, Katie had never seen him angry. He was likely the single most composed human being in the world. Even on the pitch, in a team that thrived on violence and dirty play, he was calm. “Good luck. I want two teams of six. Team One: Khan, Haggerty, Llewellyn, Pucey, Flint, Bell. Team Two: Meza, Weller, Tabtiang, Miller, Perth, Davies. Everyone else, you’re dismissed. Petyr will contact you with your paperwork. The rest of you, in the air.” Katie grinned fiendishly. She’d made the first cut. She found Kamala, eyes dancing. The dark haired woman looked just as wickedly thrilled. Pucey was a surprise; she always thought she and Perth and Miller had played better together, but she wasn’t complaining. Douchey Slytherin though Pucey had been, he’d made his way off her shit list at the last team Christmas party. And he managed to play both tactically and viciously. He was good people. Flint, however… she pursed her lips as Pucey greeted the man like an old friend, with none of the resentment a blood elitist deserved. Sure, Flint hadn’t picked a side publicly—hell, she hadn’t either. But she had used her pureblood immunity to smuggle a few muggleborns out of the country. And she’d fought at the Battle of Hogwarts. He had kept “neutral”. Katie was convinced that his involvement with Death Eaters would come to a head eventually. Mounting her broom, Katie took to the air. As much as she hated Flint, she had to play with him. She was getting on this team, come hell or high water. “Kitty cat, you take point,” Pucey was saying as she joined the weirdest circle of Chasers she’d ever played with. “Run interference on Miller and Perth, but don’t let Tabby fence you in.” “Come on, I wasn’t born yesterday,” she purred, ignoring his nickname for her. What was wrong with Katie, or Bell? Did Slytherins just hate real names? However, with Pucey it was remotely tolerable. “Flint—you know what to do. I’ll run mid and travel between you two. What side does Khan favor?” Pucey looked at her expectantly, and Katie answered automatically. “Middle-left, but her right is solid in early game. She’s doing better, but she needs to tighten up her late game.” She nodded to the other Chasers and Keeper for Flint, even as she wanted to set him on fire. She wouldn’t risk her position on the team over an old grudge. “Miller’s good at long range, he’s fuckin’ quick, usually comes in from the right. He and Perth are almost always on the same page. Perth’s slower, but solid. Good right arm. Davies is the weak link. He’s arrogant, you can probably piss him off if you press him. Meza's a solid Keeper all around, we'll have to press the goal hard.” Pucey nodded, clearly trusting her analysis. He nodded to their Beaters, “Haggerty is solid defence, he prefers to come from below. Llewellyn is a fuckin’ psychopath with a bat. If you’re in the way of a good shot, he’ll take you out. Tabtiang, tall one over there, he’s the best fuckin’ Beater in the league. Smart and brutal. He’ll make the team. Weller’s simple, but he’s got endurance. Ready?” Katie grinned viciously, her body humming with anticipation. "Lets kill 'em."

Lockwood arrived only moments after he and Manpreet had settled in. He watched her from his seat cautiously. For a moment, he wondered if she would side with the Wizengamot. Perhaps he had misread her; but she surprised him. Her defence was crisp and polite, but pure logic. No bullshit. Oliver appreciated that. He studied the Wizengamot as Lockwood spoke. Several, mostly those he recognized from Manpreet’s original trial. Several of them had fixed his manager with foul looks. He grit his teeth, squeezing her shoulder. She looked so pale. She sat ramrod straight, her hands folded in her lap. When the court called for their testimony, Manpreet rose quickly, before he could stop her. Her heels clicked down the steps as she reached the courtroom floor. Oliver swallowed, every muscle in his neck rigid with tension. “State your name for the record,” a woman called coolly, her quill suspended above parchment in midair. “Manpreet Bellamkonda, Manager for Puddlemere United,” her voice was calm, and Oliver was reminded just how lucky he was to count her among his friends. “And how do you know the accused?” A large wizard, with a moustache that reminded Oliver of a walrus, queried. Oliver didn’t recognize his face, but he didn’t appear to be hostile. “I’ve worked with Kearney for seven years, when he first joined Puddle—“ “Mrs. Bellamkonda, you were recently released from Azkaban yourself?” The same woman who had derided the Kiss interjected, her eyes sharp. Oliver wanted nothing more than to hex her. “Yes,” Manpreet’s voice took on a small edge, her shoulders stiffening. “I was imprisoned for refusing to submit muggleborn players to the registration committee.” “So you knowingly broke the law?” The woman scoffed, exchanging looks with some of her fellow members. Oliver counted nearly eighteen of them. How many blood maniacs still sat on the court? How many of them would be tried for war crimes in the years ahead? “Yes,” Manpreet held her head eye, black eyes blazing. “My players were all law-abiding citizens, none of whom had ever been charged with a crime. I had been urged to refuse submission by their teammates due to rumors of inhumane conditions at Azkaban. Charges which have recently been confirmed by no less than three independent investigations—“ “The Ministry has failed to substantiate these charges,” the same woman insisted. The walrus-moustached man spoke up suddenly, his eyes dark. “Mirren, the Commission is still in progress. These reports are, until the completion of the investigation, valid as evidence.” Oliver watched as the large man looked to his compatriots. Rather more of them appeared to agree with him, and he began to feel the stirrings of hope. An elderly dark skinned witch leaned forward—a Shacklebolt, he recognized suddenly, Regina if he remembered correctly. Thank Merlin. As one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, her voice carried the weight of pureblood privilege. If she was anything like Kingsley, he mused, they were in good hands. “Mrs. Bellamkonda. You said you had worked with Mr. Stevens for seven years. What kind of man did you find him to be?” She spoke smoothly, watching Manpreet with polite interest. “Dedicated and kind. Kearney always looked out for his teammates. He often mentored new players and helped them integrate into the team.” “Thank you,” Regina Shacklebolt nodded regally, looking up to Oliver. We might just get him out, Oliver realised. “Mr. Wood, if you would please?” He nodded, descending and smiling tightly at Manpreet as they passed each other. “Oliver Wood, Keeper an’ keptin fer Puddlemere United,” he stated as instructed, willing his temper to calm. Luckily, Shacklebolt had appeared to have taken over the proceedings. The vicious witch, Mirren, seemed to have been neutered. “Mr. Wood, how long have you known Mr. Stevens?” “Five years. He welcomed me tae Puddlemere when ah first joined th’ team.” “And you found him to be a good man?” “Th’ finest,” Oliver insisted, “Ah consider him one a th’ bravest men I’ve ever mit.” “And why is that?” The walrus-moustached man asked, reading through a sheaf of parchment. “Kearney insisted oan playin’ th’ season wi’ ouir original team, even efter muggleborns had bin banned frae th’ League. He knew he was riskin’ his life, but he wanted tae send a message. He wanted other muggleborns tae know they hud a reit tae be a part a our warld.” Oliver stared down the vicious little witch, eyes scanning the crowd. Where Manpreet’s testimony did not seem to have convinced them, Oliver suspected his did. He, after all, was a Quidditch hero, a pureblood, and a darling of the public. It was an awful truth to realise.

Marcus was almost as pleased with Bell's reaction as he was being called on the first team. Granted, he knew it could mean very little, he also knew that when he had been captain, what felt like ages ago, in Hogwarts that it meant something to be on the first team. He moved when the others did, seeing a mixed range of emotion on the team's faces when he had been called into the try out period. But Pucey... he remembered and was glad to be greeted with some warmth. He may be vicious and an arrogant ass hole, but he did enjoy human interaction on occasion. And not just in fights or drunken sex benders. He grouped with his team, and though making a mild mental note of jingle Bell's new nickname, he took in the information. Right now making the cut to this team, no t on reserve, was his priority. He listened more and more, but he had his.own opinions. He had played against this team before, even if some were on his own team now. However, most of the information was new, and he drank it in. This wouldn't be easy, he knew that much and when Tabitiang was mention he sub consciously rubbed his ribs. Oh, he knew that much. He happened to fly into a bludger he had hit, and since had vowed to never do it again. When they broke off, he mounted his broom and let out a long exhale. It was now or never, and soon they were taking flight and his mind gauged onto the game at hand. He had way too much riding on it to take it lightly. He had to do this to the best of his ability, and soon the world faded and he felt it begin. He didn't have to see it happen, he could feel it in his bones as he zoomed through the skies, and it felt like time was melting around him. It was happening so quickly and he rarely get like this, but his eyes were fixated on the quaffle, and soon he saw his opening. The pass was thrown, and it was almost too easy as he caught it and took off. He hated this next bit though. There were few.openings for himself, but his best chance had to be hos worst enemy... well, next to worst anyway. Bell. He got as close as he could, knowing how easy distance could throw it all off and he passed to her, barely seeing it get to her before he.lunged himself to a better opening, as the.others were so heavily guarded, and he was about to be too It seemed. Not today. Not when he was.already so invested into this.opportunity.

Ryan listened intently to the testimony being presented. Mirren was definitely.the one to worry about, despite her silence at the large man. Paul Reaver if she remembered correctly. He knew her father, and he was well known to the Ministry, as he had been with them a long time. But she still worried, even as Regina came. Mirren wouldn't likely take this well. The personally presented testimony always.won over the largely neutral parts. Because they had hearts. And as Oliver spoke, Ryan could recall Trent. Not three weeks after Kearney had been imprisoned had Trent taken his stand, and most had no clue that she had been with him because he insisted she take her maiden name back and change Ayden's to protect them. Kearney had been familiar with Trent, gave him the courage to stand as he had, and soon Oliver was allowed away, as Mirren had grown dreadfully quiet. "If that is all, I believe-" Reaver began, but she knew it. Mirren spoke up again "Well, Paul, I believe we are missing personal testimony from Ms. Lockwood. I mean, I am sure she has.some to present to further back them." Mirren said. Regina spoke, "Mirren, Ms. Lockwood surely presented her case-" Ryan, however, seemed to shock even Mirren as she went back down to the floor. "For the record, as I didn't speak it earlier, I am Ryan Lockwood, auror assigned to the Puddlemere United team." Mirren was almost too pleased, but Ryan was about to make sure she regretted this. "Well, Ms. Lockwood, how did you know Mr. Stevens?" "Though, I must regret to inform you I have not formed a personal relationship with Mr. Stevens, I can speak on him from what I know of him through my late husband, Trent Day." She said, and Paul looked down on her as a Few shot looks around. "My husband, like Kearney was Muggleborn, but he was a great man. Worked closely with th e Quidditch league where he had made many professional relationships with the teams. One such was with Mr. Stevens. Trent had heard of Kearney's sentencing three weeks before his own trial, where the same courage Kearney had exuded for muggleborns had become embodied." Mirren was vicious. "And why do you say that?" Ryan minded herself for a.moment, but not Soon enough. "Oh, but don't you remember? As Umbridge always did in her trials, she pushed his weak point. She threatened our son, and he turned wand on her, seeing as he had to have another when his first changed loyalties once he married me. He protected a child, he wanted to show that there is no reason to be afraid that you are being isolate because you aren't pure bred. He took the message Kearney sent and made a fool of the very woman who tried to say that Muggleborns are a dangero our way of life, and his reward was a dementor's kiss. Why should a man who became a lightning rod in the hope of Muggleborn rights be left to suffer the same fate?" Mirren was silent and once Ryan was allowed off the floor, she closed her eyes. Oliver had them won over, she had seen it there, but shutting Mirren up was worth the extra testimony. Paul spoke, "Now, I do believe that all of the testimony has been presented. All in favor of keeping Mr. Stevens in Azkaban?" Four hands went up almost immediately, the first belonging to Mirren, and Ryan was surprised herself to only see six more come up. Paul nodded. "All in favor of his immediate release?" Ryan couldn't hide her smile at the.amount of hands that shot up. "And the ayes have it, Kearney Stevens will be immediately released from Azkaban. Of course, an owl will have to be sent, unless, you have someone who can gather him." Ryan nodded. "My father is waiting for the verdict." She spoke. "Ah, Gerard Lockwood." He said, and he stood. "Here you are Ms. Lockwood, you are all dismissed." Ryan took the papers before she looked to Manpreet and Oliver, "Good work, an innocent man walks free because of you two. I promise, Kearney will be in good hands with my father." She gave Oliver a gentle, barely there smile before she left and found her father, exchanging a few words with him before she leaned against the wall nearby and looked back towards the door. She was honestly surprised at herself, her rage had been oddly constructive. She Knew Mirren would be at Umbridge's trial, and she knew that her.testimony there would be harder, as she would.almost relive it all, but she avoided It for today. Now, she wanted to see her.son, but it occurred to her. This painted a largely more obvious target on Puddlemere's back, and it would stir some conflict, but she was ready.

It was So. Fucking. Weird. to be playing quidditch with Marcus Fucking Flint. Every instinct Katie had told her to block his passes, to get in his face and return fire for years of brutal play at Hogwarts. How many times had he broken her nose? How many times had he fouled on her? It only seemed fair to give him a taste of his own potion.

Except she couldn’t. This was too important. If she didn’t make the team, her career was as good as over. What would she have left? Katie lived and breathed quidditch, and if this was taken from her, the dream she’d chased since she first rode a broom at four…It wasn’t an option.

Instead of getting up in Flint’s grill, she focused on her role. She had to take point, had to keep Miller and Perth busy and out of the way. Which was proving a little difficult. The three of them had been playing together recently, and Katie had to rethink her tactics when Miller dodged her elbow. She turned sharply, grazing his face with the tail of her broom, shooting forward.

Flint—they caught eyes—the quaffle was coming to her, she had to arc up to snag it, pull it flush, slip it to her other arm, Perth was there and a bludger, drop elevation sharply, the world falling away from her, that rush of exhilaration as she plummeted down ten metres, sprinting away, loop past a bludger—Pucey was traveling, Davies close on him before a bludger nearly unseated him from his broom.

The pass connected, Miller sweeping in from the right, but Pucey shoulder checked him, anticipating, snapping out of Perth’s range, he and Flint snapping the quaffle between them through the pitch. They were good together. Katie was already weaving out of Davies’ path, spiraling upwards to push towards the goal, the world a blur. Tabtiang’s bludger caught her in the ribs, but Katie knew pain, knew how to block it out, and she redirected the momentum to avoid Weller. She heard the crack of a bat, Llewellyn’s blow missing the bludger entirely but catching Weller’s chest and sending him towards the ground.

Katie didn’t bother to watch. Falling off a broom wasn’t something that stopped the Falcons. He’d be caught and return to play before long. She was too busy following Miller. His reach was longer, but she was lighter, faster, and though his elbow found home in her ribs, she’d tackled the quaffle away from him, the pair of them tumbling. A wayward kick and she was free to chase the goal.

Meza was a problem, but Flint, fucking Flint was there, and his arm was stronger. It pained her to admit it, and Pucey was on her right, running interference. The wind was too loud to hear any shouts and Katie turned on a dime, slinging the quaffle towards Flint. Catch it, you son of a bitch.

Ten months—Kearney Stevens had been locked up for ten months and it had taken less than an hour to clear his name. Oliver Wood could not remember having ever been this angry before. Maybe when Fred had died—brave and good and too vibrant to be gone—or maybe when little Colin Creevey—too young to die, too valiant and kind—

Now that Oliver thought about it, he had been this angry for the past two years.

Lockwood’s testimony had been another misery to stoke the fire of his fury. She congratulated them, as if she hadn’t just spoken about the fate of her late husband to that hag Mirren. She was composed—too composed, with that edge that Oliver had seen in others. Percy looked like that sometimes, perfectly fine until they were six drinks in at the Hogs Head and his hands started to shake. Angelina as well; she never so much as blinked with grief, just worked her hands to the bone hunting down the Death Eaters on the run. She’d save the world and everyone in it before she so much as admitted to an ounce of pain.

Oliver hated that they lived in a world where tragic heroism and grit teeth had become the norm.

“Yoo’re th’ on ‘at got thes trial, Lockwood. We owe ye a debt ‘at cannae be repaid,” his voice was even, steady. It would do no one any good for him to lose him temper, to give the verbal lashing to the Wizengamot they so deserved. So many fat and vile blood maniacs among their numbers—ten men and women who thought that Kearney ought to rot in Azkaban. It was reprehensible. He offered a parting nod as Lockwood left them in the rapidly emptying courtroom.

“Thank you,” breathed Manpreet, her voice less solid, her hands trembling at the edges. Oliver laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, I—“

“Go oan, Manpreet. Pass oan th’ team’s hellos tae Gaelle. We’ll tak’ cair ay Kearney until ye gie back.”

“I—okay. Make sure he gets his—“

“His gauld an’ his hoosin’ sarted. I willnae lit heem starve oan th’ streets. Go.”

“Thank you,” Manpreet took a shuddering breath, squeezing his hand tight. Oliver joined her, holding the door before she scurried off to the lift, shooting the courtroom a withering look.

Lockwood wasn’t far—Oliver was surprised to see her lingering, leaning against the wall as if she might not stand without it. He tilted his head, approaching cautiously, hands finding a home in his pockets.

“Ye alrecht thair, Lockwood?”

The game was growing intense rather quickly. Just. How. He. Liked. It. Good, this was just what he was used to. Once the quaffle had left his hand and seeing Katie catch it, he couldn't help the odd feeling that washed over him. But it quickly left as he dodged a bludger, catching an elbow in his ribs. Really? It was returned, twice force and he zoomed.off into the sky. An elbow hadn't ever slowed him down before, but the bludger rushing towards his head would have. He plummeted, quickly, and one of the other players whose names he would eventually have to learn got in him. Luckily, Pucey was there and it was then that they broke off of him.

Bell had been fighting for the quaffle, and with what felt like less than a blink it was huddling towards him. He saw another coming in and he whipped his broom into theirs, catching the quaffle before he nosedived away and moved back a bit before quickly whipping around and slinging the quaffle with all his might before moving to the other side.

It missed, but the fling back had proven a bit less than what the keeper intended as he quickly found himself tussling for the quaffle. Pucey was still off, and Damn the fact that Bell was the closest one to him. It didn't due.much to have pride right.now, and as an elbow him him in the face, he shoves himself closer and hit the quaffle out of the other player's hands before grabbing it and whipping his broom upward. He passed.to Katie, moving himself between her and one of others.on her.

Luckily, Pucey was there too, and.Katie would have a clear shot as long as they kept it up, but Perth, at least that's who he thought it was, was.closing.in fast, but Pucey managed redirect him.

This was Quidditch, alright, and.Marcus had never fought so hard for it in his life.

(Sorry it's short, I lost.my Original when my phone wonked out on me)

The feelings washing over Ryan were almost suffocating her. Being in that room again, going through small bits of what happened, it made her wish she could have it removed from her mind... however, it would only affect her conscious memory... at least that was what her mother had told her. She would probably never be able to produce a patronus again, and her mind would haunt her subconsciously if she did remove it... It was the biggest draw back to seeing a dementor's kiss. It was traumatic, especially with it being someone she was so close to. The first person who really saw her, just short of her few close friends. The first...

A voice drew her back, and she looked to see Oliver there. She hadn't fully realized she was still standing against the wall. "I'm fine." Her voice was quiet, and she moved away from the wall, looking towards the lift. She smoothed out her clothes and picked her bag up. She had barely realized she had dropped it on the ground. She gave a small nod. "I figured I stick around until my father returned with Mr. Stevens. See if there was anything I could do to help out more."

It wasn't necessary for her to, she was sure, but she also knew that above all, though the whole team would be targeted, Kearney would.need extra forms of protection. And he would probably need to meet with a healer. She began towards the lift. "I shall be arriving to practices earlier, setting up more alarm perimeters slightly further out, among other measures. Once word reaches the public, Puddlemere will have a large target on them. Don't be surprised if other aurors are coming along with me, and in three weeks I will have a stand in for a day or two." She informed him, her hands were a bit shaky, but her voice didn't show it.

Once in the lift, she grabbed hold of one of the hanging bars as it zoomed off and once to the floor with the Floo networks, she stopped besides on of the chimneys, looking to her watch. It may take some time, but she knew her father would return her for Oliver to collect Kearney and.get through everything.

Then the silvery light appeared before her, the Bear stopping before her. "Meet us in Diagon Alley. Mr. Stevens requested to not to travel to the Ministry." The voice said, and Ryan looked for Oliver. She gave a nod, she understood.

"Alrighty, Diagon Alley it is." She said, entering a chimney and disapparating and appearing near the Leaky Cauldron. Her father wasn't far off with the frail form of a man under her father's jacket. Her eyes softened as she approached. Oliver couldn't have been far off, so she stopped before her father.

"Thank you." She said to him, and he kissed the top of her head.

"Remember, if you need me..." He trailed off before looking to Kearney. "Get a hold.of me, I will see what I can work out."

She gave a nod, and he disappeared. She remained silent, not wanting to speak with Kearney just yet. He needed food, and perhaps some medical attention, but she could see it could take a while to fully recover. And she would see to it that no one did this to anyone again. Ever.

The shot missed—Katie didn’t have time to be pissed off. Flint had managed to regain possession with judicious use of brute force. Her ears were numb in the wind as she spiraled upward, catching the quaffle shot her way. Pucey and Flint were more than a match for Perth and Miller. Suddenly, Katie was grateful she wasn’t playing against them. They were a well-oiled machine, still in-sync after the years outside of Hogwarts.

What was strange was how easy it was to fit into their dynamic. Tucking the quaffle beneath her arm, she dove out of the arc of Weller’s bat. The world was a rush of colour and instinct, her dark eyes snapping over the pitch. Davies flew up in front of her, but Katie was smaller and faster, snapping back and forth, back and forth until she found her opening to kick past him. Now—she threw the quaffle with every ounce of strength she had—

“Ten points to Team One,” echoed throughout the pitch. Meza offered her a lopsided grin and a lazy salute. Katie found herself grinning back, nearly laughing as Pucey clapped her shoulder when she passed him.

“Meow indeed,” she thought she heard him yell. Their banter was cut short—Meza hurled the quaffle deep into the air, hurtling towards their side of the pitch. She sprinted forward once again, blood screaming through her veins.

Ryan composed herself swiftly, stepping away from the wall and smoothing out her robes. Oliver nodded simply, choosing not to push the issue. People needed time—he’d learned that lesson after pushing Angelina to talk (and having his nose hexed off for six long hours) before she was ready. She explained the situation, a knot rising in his throat.

It was happening. It was actually happening. Kearney was coming home, where he belonged, and Oliver took a moment to steady his breathing. They’d gone so long without a victory. It was a charged moment.

Following Ryan, he to admit—he was impressed with her dedication to the team. She hadn’t had to stay after the trial, hadn’t had to even push it forward—he considered her in silence, nodding as she explained the situation. He’d expected as much. The war was still fresh, and muggleborns were still scapegoated by the community. Change wouldn’t happen overnight. That wouldn’t stop Oliver from strong-arming the world into growing up.

It had been months since Oliver had communicated by patronus. He blinked at the sudden appearance of a silvery bear, truly massive in scope. He didn’t recognize the voice it spoke with, but evidently Ryan did. Personally, he was pleased that the exchange would happen elsewhere. The Ministry gave him the creeps—they were still in the process of trying to tear down the statue of subjugated muggles. Annoyingly, it repelled most of their attempts to destroy it. Bloody Death Eaters.

The journey to Diagon Alley was surreal, and before he knew it he was joining Ryan, the man who had presumably sent the patronus and—

“Kearney, mate,” Oliver greeted warmly. His old friend looked up with tired eyes. He was gaunt—had lost most of his muscle mass—and looked in need of a bath. But he was here. He was home. Oliver strode forward, embracing the man with a firm clap on the back. Kearney huffed in laughter.

“Hey, Olly,” he greeted, his voice thinner than usual. Oliver pulled back, grinning wide. Even with all the work ahead of them, he hadn’t felt this light in…since before the war, easily.

“Guid tae see ye again. Ye hungry?”

“Starved,” Kearney nodded. Oliver dropped an arm around his shoulder, as if letting his friend go would risk his capture all over again. It was his fault—he should have pushed to smuggle their muggleborn players out of the country, shouldn’t have done such a stupid stunt. Never mind that Kearney had pushed for it. It had been so daft.

“Kearney, thes is Auror Ryan Lockwuid. She’ll be helpin’ us gie ye sorted. Now, lunch. Padma’s should be quiet the time ay day.”

He gave neither of his companions a chance to protest before steering Kearney down familiar streets towards the quiet restaurant. They needed food, the three of them.

The first score. It couldn’t have been more perfect, and Marcus could feel his confidence setting back and a bit of cockiness coming over him. This was going to be a hell of a match that was sure. Especially with the teams being near evenly matched. Aside from chasers. Marcus had to admit, that even though it was bruising his pride, and he would never admit it aloud, he and Bell made a damn good team. He had played with Pucey before. They fell into an old groove, but Marcus used to terrorize Bell on the pitch. She surely was more vicious now though… And she had been vicious then too.

He didn’t have much time to reflect though as the game continued, and with a fair bit of force and some tricky broom work, he managed to get behind the chaser with the Quaffel. Seriously he would need to learn their names at some point in time. It was pure adrenaline coursing through him, and he managed to see the seekers in an all-out war for the snitch. Merlin, had it been a long time since he witnessed this form of Quidditch. No one on Tutshill gave a shit. They all knew they wouldn’t go anywhere unless they quit. The only reason he didn’t get blackmailed for quitting was because they had nothing on him.

Nothing.

He pulled up quick on his broom to dodge a bludger hit his way and then snaked past and managed to ram the quaffel holder hard enough to take possession again. His initial plan had backfired and he ended having the same done to him relatively close to the hoops, but once the quaffel was thrown, he managed to reach up a long arm and barely knock it back down to himself and take off in the other direction as fast as he could, but he could easily tell it wasn’t fast enough.

He managed to pass off to Pucey, but he soon got bombarded with it seemed like the entire other team. Perhaps it was because he was flying to close to damn near all of them, so he chucked it back and Marcus knew he wasn’t close enough to make so he chucked it as hard as he could, seeing Bell possibly had a shot. God let her make the shot again, and once he turned his head he could see the seekers were damn near neck and neck with the golden snitch and they flew directly under him.

In ten minutes he went from not seeing them at all to seeing almost too much of them, but it was a relief oddly enough. This was Quidditch. This was real Quidditch.

Ryan watched the reunion, her heart warming at the sight, but soon she was following them. She reached into her bag and began scribbling down some things on a piece of parchment as she walked and once they were inside, she folded the it into a paper crane and tapped it with her wand, watching it take off.

She finally offered her hand to Kearney. "As Mister Wood has said, I am auror Ryan Lockwood, but feel free to call me Ryan." She said, directing the statement to the both of them. She shook his hand with a firm, yet gentle grip. He needed some serious medical attention, she could see it. Charlie had Ayden for the day, and she was meant to meet them after Katie's tryouts, hence the letter she sent.

She closed her eyes, briefly, and soon her eyes fell on the shrines. "Excuse me." She said, getting up and pulling a small photo from her bag and placing it among the others before.using her wand to light a candle. Trent deserved much more, but at least justice had been served today. Long awaited Justice.

She returned to the table, and only ordered herself some tea. "So, Mister Stevens, I have to ask... for the sake of my own nature, would you like for me to contact a healer? I know quite a few who would come to you if you didn't want to go to their offices."

Perhaps it was the mother in her, but she couldn't take seeing someone so... wounded
So battered. It bothered her.

Katie took to helixing around the mess of chasers and beaters, chasing after the quaffle. Flint was in the thick of it, Pucey not far behind. Tabtiang caught Haggerty in the ribs, and she was certain she heard a crunch of bones. There was no time to worry—Flint and Pucey were taking a lot of heat. Miller and Perth were trying to interfere with her teammates, and they were doing a damn good job of it. Flint’s eyes moved, found her, and she nodded, sprinting forward and down to where he threw the quaffle.

Davies nearly caught it, but Katie had literally divebombed the red ball, snatching it away and tucking it beneath an arm. She spiraled away, leading the chase again towards the goals. A bludger narrowly missed her head, catching Davies in the face as he tried to reach her. She grinned at Llewellyn, who looked positively psychopathic. Thank Merlin he was on her team.

Meza was quick, but she knew his feint well and countered it, sinking the quaffle through a goal. A bell dinged and she laughed, elbowing Pucey in the side as she passed. “You’re falling behind, pumpkin,” she cooed before darting forwards again.

The game was brutal trading of blows. There would be no quick victory, not at this level, and Katie relished it. She’d longed to play real Quidditch for months, and though her leg was throbbing an hour in, she kept pushing just as hard. She’d pay for it later tonight—right now, she had to win.

Four hundred and twenty to four hundred—to Team One. Katie swore as another ten went to Team Two when Kamala missed the block by the tips of her fingers—but then there was a rush, a bellowing voice—Harrigan had caught the snitch. Her stomach plummeted. No. No—they had played so much better than the other team, but the fucking golden snitch…
She winced as she landed on the pitch, waving off Kamala’s glum, concerned look, slinging her broom over her shoulder. Katie joined the others around Fenrir, who was discussing something with the team manager.

“First string,” Fenrir called when they had fallen silent, “Yuthee Tabtiang and Rhys Llewellyn for Beaters, Joel Meza for Keeper.” He paused for a moment, appraising the chasers. Katie couldn’t breathe, muscles burning, sweat dripping down the back of her neck. She tightened her grip on her broom. “Adrian Pucey, Marcus Flint, and Katie Bell for Chasers. The rest of you can accept reserve contracts or buy out your remaining contract. Dismissed.”

Katie shot Kamala a sympathetic look, but the dark woman had closed herself off, hands clenched into fists. Katie bit her lip briefly, before dropping a hand to her friend’s shoulder. “Hey, you played well. There's always next season.”

“I know,” Kamala murmured, before excusing herself. Katie meant to go after her, but Pucey was bright eyed and laughing, sweeping her up into a spinning hug before tucking her beneath his arm, knuckles mussing up her hair.

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful season, Kitty Cat,” he taunted. Katie swore and laughed, elbowing him viciously in the ribs, scrunching her nose.

“Ugh, you smell like dead kneazle,” she complained, pushing him off of her. Ewww, he’d sweat all over her. Katie snorted, looking at the pair of men she’d be training with. Pucey was, well, not too bad, but Flint…she grit her teeth. “You…played well, Flint.” she offered, in a strained attempt at civility.

Kearney was twitchy. Oliver recognized that jumpiness, the eyes darting from corner to corner, the tension of muscles poised to leap away at the first sight of danger. He kept his motions smooth and let Kearney put his back to a wall in the corner. He’d regarded Ryan with barely concealed suspicion, and Oliver had noticed Kearney’s other hand lingering at his wand when he’d shaken Ryan’s. It was infuriating, agonizing, to see one of the best men he knew reduced to pure survival.

Padma was gracious, accepting Oliver’s orders for the table and welcoming Kearney with soft words. His knuckles were white as parchment, and Oliver found himself glancing over his own shoulder. It was like he was back in the war, like nothing had changed. Oliver shook his head to dispel the thoughts. He needed to stay grounded. He needed to be the rock.

“No,” Kearney said automatically. He tensed, and then slowly unclenched his fist. “I mean—I don’t need one, I was seen—“

“Kearney. She’s one a’ th’guid ones,” Oliver said in a low voice. Kearney met his gaze, searching for a moment, before his shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly.

“I…alright. It’d—if it’s not a hassle,” Kearney relented. Some of the tension had drained out of his posture, and he leaned back against the wall. After a deep breath, he offered a wan smile. “So…what’d all I miss?”

“Whaur tae start?” Oliver offered a bark of laughter, launching into the lives and drama of the team, grateful for the chance to fill his friend in on their misadventures. Food was served as Oliver recounted how Martins had managed to set himself on fire at Manpreet’s welcome home party, leaving Kearney snorting in derisive pleasure.

Kearney ate like he’d never eat again, and sometimes Oliver could see his old Chaser in those gaunt cheeks and empty eyes. It was a start. Kicking back in his chair, Oliver linked his hands behind his head, a fond grin on his face.

It was, all in all, a damn good day.

Marcus hadn't been this nervous in ages. Sure, this tryout session had ended, and sure everyone was jumpy... it wasn't hard to see. Even Bell was white-knuckling her broom, but he was trying to keep a oil facade. Inside he was more jumpy than his first time to Hogwarts. There was a giddiness in him, but once his name came for first steing, he released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He smirked to Pucey and spoke, "Just like old times, eh?" He said. He watched as Pucey brought Bell into a spinning hug and rolled his eyes a bit, though a chuckle escaped him. Nice, Pucey.

He walked over to the two of them and offered a look to Bell when she spoke to him and he gave a nod. "Did pretty well yourself, Bell."

Pucey noticed the tension between them, knowing himself that this bad blood went for miles, but still he threw an arm around each of them. "C'mon guys, you two play pretty well off each other for only playing again at each other before." He sang, and Marcus tossed him a look.

"No kidding? Couldn't be why we got first string." His snark chuckle made Pucey laugh too.

"So, Kitty Cat, you going to join us for a celebration?" Pucey asked as he nudged Marcus in the ribs. "It'll be fun."

Marcus just shook his head a bit, the small smile still on his face. He was thrilled that he was finally away from Tutshill for sure. On a team that was actually worth a damn too. This definitely called for celebration, but he wasn't sure if he'd be all too welcomed just yet.

Ryan couldn't help how her body language softened to the man before her. Aurors had received a horrible name once the bad ones were brought forth, and she couldn't blame him. If she didn't need a job, and of she didn't have an in with the auror's office after leaving the Department of Mysteries, she'd not have taken it. But things were going to be difficult for a while and she did need the job. She didn't flinch at his hesitation to a healer, but oddly enough, Oliver's words to him made a small, barely there, smile to twitch at her lips.

"It's no hassle, really." She assured Kearney as she opened her bag and wrote a bit on a piece of parchment before watching it fold and fly away on its own. She now had more paperwork to fill out, something she had took to as she sipped at her tea.

Kearney, himself, would need to be in a place that was well equipped against those still loyal to you-know-who, and he'd need every bit of protective measures. She'd have to arrive earlier than usual to practices now and check the grounds before setting up her enchantments. It was going to be a lot of work, but she knew that it was worth it.

An innocent man was free, and she was glad she could help with it. She looked over a few names in her file before moving the page aside. Her list of 'recommended stand ins' for while she would be at Umbridge's trial. She already asked her father to take her place for the days, and he had accepted. However, the auror's office insisted she pick a name on the list and she didn't trust any of them.

She shook her head slightly, looking up from her work as the door opened and she saw a rather petite woman come through the doors. "Ryan, darling! It's been an age!" The woman smiled a bit before nudging her ribs. Her dark hair matched her eyes near perfectly as she beamed. Ryan moved her things aside. "Oh my! Manners... I'm Dria Andrews, healer."

Ryan gave a sigh. "Forgive Dria, she's just happy to be back practicing. She worked under my mother before she went on the run..." she trailed and Dria just gave a nod.

"I came as soon as Ryan here said I should. Things have been slow at our practice. What with all the hype going around, and elitist pigs still thinking just cause your..." Dria trailed off feeling Ryan nudge her. "Sorry... I get a little angry about it still."

Ryan looked over to Kearney. "I'm sorry she came rather quickly, Mr. Stevens, but Dria is an excellent healer. If you want to wait a little while, she'll understand. She just likes to meet her patients first."

Dria nodded and smiled a bit, taking Ryan's paperwork and moving it away from her. "Quit with the formalities, Lockwood, you can catch up later, by Merlin woman." Ryan shot her a look. "Anyway, so, a chaser eh? I remember Trent going on and on about Quidditch when they'd come in. I have to know how you got into it? I can watch the sport all day but can't fly worth a damn."

Ryan gently nudged Dria. "Forgive her please, she really does like to meet own her patients."

Ryan was now regretting her choice, but hopefully Dria being a little more social than the others would help a little more too. Perhaps. Maybe. She wasn't even sure anymore.

Pucey, Katie realized, was going to be terribly obnoxious about this. He was clearly trying to get them all to be friends. Katie pulled a face at him as he slung an arm across her shoulders. Of the three, she was the shortest. Pucey only had a couple of inches on her, but Flint easily stood a head taller than her. It pissed her off, irrationally she knew, but still. It was desperately unfair. Marcus had apparently hit another growth spurt since leaving Hogwarts, and Quidditch had clearly done him great favors for his physique. And he'd gotten his fucking teeth fixed. If he hadn't still possessed that arrogant, douchey attitude, she might not have recognized him. He was definitely not attractive though, she reassured herself. Definitely not.

It was still fucking rude of him to have upgraded from troll status. He had the audacity to have grown into a man. Katie still got mistaken for a Hogwarts student sometimes, short and petite as she was. Although training with the Falcons had given her strength, she was often dwarfed by other players. Fenrir had commented that she had a seeker's build, but admitted that she made a better chaser after seeing her play. She loved being in the thick of things, fighting every bit as viciously as her teammates.

Sometimes Katie wondered if the cursed necklace had stunted whatever growing she'd had left to do those three awful years ago. Maybe she would have been taller, would have looked older by now, would be taken more seriously. So many people underestimated her. It pissed her off.

One thing that she did know--her fucking leg wouldn't hurt all the damn time if Draco Fucking Malfoy hadn't nearly killed her with his stupid fucking necklace. That he wasn't in Azkaban still pissed her off. He'd used an Unforgivable on her, had stolen her free will to try and kill Albus Dumbledore, had nearly killed her, had nearly ruined her dreams of Quidditch. She wanted nothing more than to hex him six ways to next Tuesday. Or punch him. Definitely punch him.

Pucey's voice derailed Katie's maudlin train of thought. The scowl twisting her features faded slightly as she looked up at her friend. It still felt weird sometimes, thinking of Pucey as a mate. He'd never been too horrible to her in school, or on the pitch, but he'd been a Slytherin and they'd kept to their own back in those days.

"Well," she purred, batting her eyelashes as over-exaggeratedly as she could manage, "Since you're asking, Pucey-Poo, how could I say no?"

Pucey's bark of laughter made her lips curve into a shit-eating grin. She liked that about him--he gave her shit, but he could take it in return. There was no malice in his teasing, no resentment. Not for her, at least. She'd seen him rip people to shreds before, always with a charming smile on his face. She'd asked him about it, once, when they'd had a little too much fire whiskey after a long night of practise. You're one of mine, he'd said, giving her a strange look, like this was as obvious as the sun. Everyone else can fuck right off.

"Be still my heart," Pucey mock swooned, forcing Flint and her to support his weight for a moment. Katie made a sound of annoyance, forcing the blond idiot back to his feet, but she was grinning brightly. "Don't do that to me, it's unfair. You know I can't resist you."

"Shut it, you twat," Katie rolled her eyes, pushing away from him. Pucey rolled his head over to look up at Flint, his most charming grin in place.

"Well, that's settled. C'mon, lets get these contracts signed so we can make this celebration official. Leaky Cauldron at seven?" He looked back to Katie, who waved a hand almost dismissively.

"I'll be there. For now, I need to wash your stink off of me, you disgusting git."

"Ooh, I like it when you talk dirty to me," Pucey was laughing again, steering Flint off to the cheery sound of Katie's "fuck you!"

Kearney nearly bolted when the Healer showed up, legs tensing to run, hand gripping his wand fiercely. Oliver was surprised at he tensed himself, immediately wary of the stranger. He knew a good portion of Healers, enough to know that their ranks had contained a surprising number of blood elitists.

It became quickly apparent that this Dria was not one of them. She was lively and bright eyed, but the way her eyes had darkened when Ryan said on the run was familiar. Muggleborn, then. The fury in her voice was familiar to him, a raging fire, and that, more than anything, comforted Oliver.

"Ye dinnae need ta apologise fur bein' radge," Oliver directed towards Dria in a surprisingly even voice. The last thing he wanted was people putting aside their anger. They needed that rage, that burning desire to fix their world.

Kearney was still wary, looking a little overwhelmed by the sheer force of Dria's personality. He looked to Oliver cautiously. It was such a change from the man Kearney had been before Azkaban--confident, open, and although quiet, never fearful.

"Err...Hogwarts," Kearney managed. "I played for Ravenclaw."

"Manpreet scooted heem at hogwarts. He cam tae trials an' oot-flew th' whole damn crew, sae we strong-armed heem intae signin' wi' us," Oliver elucidated, beaming with pride. Kearney shifted a little uncomfortably, but looking a bit pleased at the praise.

Ryan apologised for Dria's forwardness and Oliver chuckled. After several moments, Kearney shook his head.

"It's alright," He said finally, before clearing his throat. "But...can I go home?"

Oliver paused, exchanging a long, quiet look with Ryan. Breathing deep he turned to Kearney, dropping a heavy hand to his shoulder.

"We got ye a new place, kearney. Th' death eaters...they burned yer auld place."