Clockwork

Whitehall hadn’t changed. Granted, it had been modernised but little in the way of drastic change to its appearance had been undertaken. It still held many of the features of the time in which it had been conceived and erected, giving it a timeless quality that made those that travelled through it or specifically to it in the mornings look upon it with a certain amount of fondness. Much, in retrospect, had been changed but those changes seemed to pale in comparison as mere specks on the main piece - not necessarily as mistake but just a revised part where the oils had blurred a little oddly. The stalls were still about, littered with the country’s flag as they tried to sell royal memorabilia and the like. The street had been merged with the pavement, allowing for vehicles and pedestrians to coexist in a relative amount of peace. Even nature seemed to thrive in the trees and troughs of flowers and bushes. Creepers of course were still a menace but no one seemed to mind them much. There was peace about the place, a bustling monotony that was somewhat beautiful despite itself.

One thing of course that had not changed was the red telephone box not quite hidden from Muggle view that, at any given time of day, hundreds of witches and wizards would pour through; either resigning themselves to the fact that they had to go back into the Ministry of Magic or heaving a terrific sigh of relief at the prospect of returning home to a waiting hungry cat and/or husband and a bottle of wine. Many huddled together in little groups on the street near the telephone box, smoking away their break as they discussed plans for the weekend or complained in dramatic fashions unique to the different departments about their managers or about people in general. More often than not now it was the former, managers being far from the easily pleased nonce that they’d been years before. They were slave drivers now but practically so and had quite the distaste for slacking. None seemed to take kindly to breaks much either which meant more often than not, the interns were covered in glamour spells and instructed to man the desks while their superiors whose job it was to man their respective desk snuck out of the department for a cigarette or a pint in the pub a hundred yards or so down the road.

Despite the need for improvement in terms of work rate, much of the paperwork had put on the backburner as the Department of Law and Enforcement busied itself with the massive expansion of Azkaban Wizarding Prison on “that bloody great rock in the North Sea.” The stress had leaked into many of the other compartments and the managers had become even more insufferable. Bad enough already that they could no longer be plied with biscuits or a large slice of chocolate cake, worse still that they were growing ever more difficult to work with. It was unclear as to why the Ministry wanted the expansion. Much of the work done by the Department was for rehabilitation of offenders and reduced sentences with rounds of therapy and more their fair share of community service for repeat offenders. There were no hardened criminals or ruthless Dark Wizards hell bent on eradicating Muggles around much anymore. They were around of course but they weren’t really up to much. The expansion was worrying. It suggested that there would be a change of procedure that would benefit no one but the Dementors who had been increasingly absent from the island recently due to the lack of inmates. There would be more sentences, it seemed; many more.

After graduation, Millie had left her post as the secretary for the Minister of Magic and had moved into the Department of Law and Enforcement then headed by a middle-aged Wizard with a pot-belly and thinning auburn hair. She’d started off in a similar job to the one she’d had before: she was a secretary. Despite the mundane nature of it, she grew to enjoy the banter she had with the dark-eyed Witch she was working under. The woman was fair, kept sensible hours and even treated Millie to lunch every couple of weeks. The woman did not hide her favouritism and was disdainful of the interns she had traipsing around after her, much preferring the tall, gangly blonde with a cigarette behind her ear and a pencil between her teeth that would appear at her doorway without fail every few hours. In a way, Millie had been trained to do the job her superior did through those months and when the woman was promoted, Millie found herself with a real office instead of a tiny little desk out in the cubicle section of the department. The promotion ladder was one Millie scaled rapidly throughout the few short years that she spent juggling secretarial jobs and trying to get into Auror training. In the end, she found herself in a much higher position than she ever would have been had she entered the Auror division and though she kept close tabs on them, she was out of the line of fire; something she was immensely grateful for.

It wasn’t until she found herself in that position, peering out of the window into the streets below on a particularly nice day that she began to contemplate a change of scenery as far as home was concerned. She hadn’t made any move to leave her family home - finding her old bedroom as good as place to rest her head as anywhere else. It was the lack of accommodation costs that had allowed her to accumulate quite a bit of money and so with that in mind, Millie began to look through both the Muggle and Magical newspapers in search of any advertisements for flats somewhere in the city. There were plenty in the suburbs and though she knew she could Apparate about if need be, she wanted to be close to the capital and she was well aware of the fact that despite kinda-sorta passing her Apparation test she was dead awful at the whole thing and so didn’t want to take that chance. Plus, she knew one person beside herself that would hate the Apparation to and fro and that was Felicity, her niece who quite possibly spent more time with Millie than her own father which suited both young women down to the ground.

Felicity had been born out of wedlock to a less than pleased Elliot in the July after his eighteenth birthday. His foolish affair with Grace Parker had resulted in something he’d certainly never wanted: a child. It was no secret either that Grace hadn’t so much as a fibre of motherly instinct in her and so the pair made for perfect parents if you wouldn’t mind having money thrown at you left, right and centre in order to shut you up. It was a result of their conflicting w0rk schedules that meant that Grace couldn’t spend as many of the weekends as she ‘wanted’ to with their daughter and Elliot was hardly ever in the townhouse he’d bought himself when he’d started earning upwards of fifty thousand galleons from his job in the Department of Mysteries. He left most of the care-giving up to Millie or the live-in nanny called Drusilla who quite possibly hated Elliot as much as they all collectively did Grace. She adored the bright eyed blonde though and doted upon her with every coin she received from Elliot as payment. Millie was just as careless with her money, especially when it came to Felicity. With no children of her own, she was more than prepared to dote upon her niece.

The group of the girls Millie had befriended in her later years of Hogwarts had all gone into the Ministry. Despite being dotted around the different departments, they all managed to meet up for lunch and dinner mid-week. Over the past five years though, the girls had begun to marry - one more becoming Mrs such-and-such every handful of years. After the summer ahead, Millie would find herself the last hold-out. She’d dated, of course, and slept with more than her share of people but she’d never made any move to settle down and begin to create the family many of them yearned for. Millie, however, had no such leanings, finding all she wanted in the angel her devil of a brother had managed to spawn. The girls had asked her, prodded her about such things and had tried in vain to set her up on various dates. Millie just preferred flings and they knew that; they all knew her record very well. One of the earlier brides, a redhead called Samantha, had told Millie to kick the drug habit for fear of never marrying. Millie kicked the habit, but not because she had any desire to marry.

It was in the summer of her nineteenth birthday, after an explosive match between the Irish National and British National Teams. Of course, Britain won (naturally) and people poured out onto the streets in celebration, drinking and smoking more than necessary - more than they would’ve done had it been a normal night, a normal game. Millie and the girls had found themselves some shags for the night, the miserable Irish National players who begrudgingly drank along with them and sang the songs of victory in their Irish brogues, inwardly cursing the British all the while. It was that night, in the wake of victory, that Spencer died. Millie did not find out until the late afternoon of the day after. Overdose, the healer had said; a lethal mix of hallucinogenic potions and plants. The girls did not miss the difference in Millie after that. The girl seemed to be more worried about what she took, giving all of what she had to Samantha and keeping only her cigarettes. The girls hadn’t been entirely sure how to consol their friend. Still, a year later, the wounds were fresh but she knew Spencer had lived the life he’d wanted to in part. It was always going to be inevitable. She’d always known that. Still, she wish she’d had some warning, even to this day. And it’s suspected she did but her alcohol addled mind, distracted by the talented hands of the Irish Seeker, failed to register it. She doesn’t hold herself accountable for what she did, mind you. No, she knows there was nothing she could do. Prophesies are somewhat self-fulfilling after all.

Recently though, there had been a cause for a mix of joy and apprehension. The most disagreeable of all their friends, Isla, a dark-haired, no-nonsense manager from the Department of Mysteries where Elliot worked, was marrying the star Beater from the Tutshill Tornadoes. At this news, Millie had wrinkled her nose, her Quidditch prejudices shining through, but had agreed to meet him with the rest. She found, much to her delight, that the Beater was an alright kind of guy. Benjamin, or Benny as he preferred to be called, intended on marrying Isla as soon as possible and to sweeten the girls invited them to every game the Tornadoes played, introducing the single ones Millie to the bachelors each team had to offer. It was when the Tornadoes played the Magpies that Millie was especially interested and incredibly pleased when Benny introduced her to the Keeper of the Magpies: Stewart Hoffmann.

The tall, dark haired young Keeper was, on first impression, built like a brick shit house. He had hair that was thicker than he looked as if he would have liked, fluffed both by his time on a broom and from the way he’d near-constantly run his fingers through it. His jaw was firm and chiselled, speckled with the slightest of facial hair. He dwarfed Millie who by that time had grown into the body that her childhood one had morphed into during her teenage years. She’d gained weight, or rather, gained curves, ones that she’d only just manage to contain in dresses the girls bought her that seemed to drive the Quidditch players, especially that particular Keeper from the Magpies. Their relationship developed rapidly from mere acquaintances to regular bed partners. They weren’t dating, not technically. Steward would buy Millie dinner and they’d go back to her flat where they’d indulge in dessert then he would kiss her on the cheek goodnight and return home.

Isla and Benny planned on marrying in the summer. It was autumn, the start of the season. She was even more irritated than usual, Benny’s absence driving her mad as she wanted to discuss the wedding with him. In fact, her irritation had turned to jealousy and paranoia as she explained to Millie about her accusations of infidelity that Benny merely brushed off, saying she was crazy before finally leaving an hour after the initial argument, exclaiming that he didn’t want to deal with Isla. The next day they were back to normal again, as if nothing had happened. At that, Millie snorted, flicking her cigarette ash into the gutter and taking a swig of her coffee. Isla continued her rant, whining about the way he’d leave his clothes everywhere and get naked at the most inopportune moments - like when her mum wanted to use the loo and Benny decided he was going to shower - cue another snort, flick and swig from Melissa. Isla scoffed before finally taking a large gulp of coffee and declared:

“I really don’t know why I bother!”

Millie contemplated the end of her cigarette for a few moments before flicking it into the gutter and taking the pastry one of the interns had gotten her out of her pocket. She pulled back the paper wrapper and took a large bite out of it in response, causing Isla to sigh irritation and throw her own cigarette into the gutter, promptly reaching for another as she fumbled in her back with one hand, taking quick sips of her coffee with the other. Millie made a face at the pastry and tossed it in the bin, swallowing the mouthful she had with a sip of her coffee. Isla continued her rant as if it hadn’t stopped. Millie watched the woman who seemed to barely be taking any breaths as she spoke, drank and smoked while she paced back and forth up and down the pavement. Truly, Isla gave another meaning to the word: ‘multi-tasking’.

“Because he’s great in bed?” Millie offered weakly, taking Isla’s cigarette packet off of the top of the bin where the brunette had put the packet and her lighter down. Millie lit another and leaned against the lamp post she had found herself stood beside, her robes supplying the warmth she needed. It was far from a warm day. It was early autumn but summer had long since disappeared. Winter was on its way. She knew it was warm up in Montrose, ready for the game that evening. That was where her mind really was, up in Montrose in the crowd...not with her obsessive best friend discussing her less than appealing boyfriend. In fact, at this point in time, Millie wouldn’t have even minded tea with her mother... actually no, maybe not. No, not tea with her mother; she definitely would’ve preferred this conversation, awkward as it was.

Isla brightened a bit at the mention of Benny’s abilities off-pitch and smiled with smug satisfaction written across her face, her lips waiting to form the “touché” Millie knew was coming. The woman didn’t need to, however. She instead took a swig of her coffee and nodded over Millie’s shoulder, causing Millie to turn around. “Lover boy’s here. You should tie him down you know, Mills. Guys like that only come round every millennium or so.” Millie glowered over her shoulder at Isla but didn’t comment, instead taking her cigarette from her mouth and accepting a hug from Stewart who picked her off of her feet a little, wrapping his arms tightly around her and planting a kiss on her cheek. She returned it and smiled when he set her down, reading the look of excitement on his face. She quirked an eyebrow up at him and watched as he produced tickets coloured in black with a white magpie stark against the card.

“You’re joking...” She murmured, placing the cigarette back between her lips as she greedily took the tickets from his hands. Two tickets: one adult, one child. “Jesus Stewart...what are you after?”

The man shrugged his shoulders and smiled, his hands reaching for her waist. He took the cigarette from her lips and covered them with his own, tossing the offending thing into the gutter where, as far as he was concerned, it belonged. Millie smiled and pulled away despite his eagerness, and of course her own. She put her hands on his shoulders and jumped up to place another kiss on his lips. She tapped him on the nose with the tickets and murmured thank you before offering him a sip of her coffee which he gladly took, tossing his arm back around her waist as she wandered over to Isla.

“Jealous?!” Millie exclaimed, her excitement barely contained as she shoved the tickets in Isla’s face. The dark haired woman scoffed and turned her nose up in the air before muttering something disdainful about Quidditch players and wandering back inside the building through the red telephone box. Millie turned in Stewarts arms and beamed at him, her smile stretching impossibly wide. “You had better win this for me.” She told him seriously. He chuckled and nodded, mumbling in agreement before explaining he had to dash, saying something about helping train their new Chaser or something - making sure he was ready for his first game. New, Stewart said, but thankfully not completely inexperienced. Millie smiled obligingly, pleading with him to keep safe before sending him on his way. He promised her dinner after the game and with a kiss on her forehead as a way of parting, Apparated away.

Felicity Finnigan was a Magpie in training. Stewart had gotten to know Elliot through Millie and knew that the weekends was when Felicity was at Millie’s, when one or both of the child’s absent parents were, well, absent. He’d only met the two year old on a couple of occasions, both times people came up to the pair asking them how old their child was. Millie usually indulged them, it was Stewart that stuttered and fluffed his lines. But Felicity was a Magpie and he wasn’t going to miss out on more opportunities to dote on the girls he considered to be his. He already doted upon the pair, having them both love his sport made it all the better. Millie always had but the fact that Felicity was following suit made him burst with pride and so he did not forget to supply the little girl with a ticket to the game. Her first game. So, Millie pulled the jersey over her niece’s head, donned her own and wrapped the former up to brace her for the cold and they Apparated to the stadium where the game ensued.

The door of the changing room burst open, startling half a dozen men who were thankfully all fully dressed, still in kit but fully dressed. They had been bickering between themselves prior to the entrance of the rosy-cheeked and panicked blonde who they’d all come to feel a certain amount of affection for. The Captain, Chaser Jacob Green, approached the girl and placed his large hands on her shoulders smiling at the fatigue that was written across her face. He peeked down at the child hiding behind the blonde’s legs and winked at Felicity, earning a smile from the girl who hesitantly walked out and allowed one of the Beater’s to pick her up. Millie barely registered this as she brought her hands up to rest on Jacob’s forearms. She sighed and felt him begin to rub circles in her back before tugging her to his chest.

“He’ll be fine, Mills. However, we have another dilemma before the health of our esteemed Keeper.” He stepped back and took Felicity from the Beater. He set the giggling girl on his shoulders and kept hold of her feet as the Beater continued to make faces at her and dance his fingers across her arms and shoulders, pretending to be a spider. “You were promised dinner I believe, beautiful. Now, that was the one thing Stew was intent on and that was that you had something to eat because he was sure you didn’t have anything this morning, or for lunch - and that gross little pastry didn’t count,” He added the last part, effectively silencing the woman who had taken off her coat and set it down on the bench before stubbornly placing her hands on her wide hips. “Now, Stew was going to take you to that nice place in Diagon Alley. Krum owns it. Gorgeous place, I took Mia there last month. Anyway, point is...he made us promise, or rather, me promise, that one of us would take you there.” Millie pursed her lips as Jacob continued his spiel, her lack of amusement not bothering the man in the least.

“So,” He started with an air of finality about his tone after warbling on for a few moments. “We decided that Thomas will take you.”

Immediately, a round of chuckles erupted from the men, some of whom had been talking quietly among themselves. Millie huffed, her hands moving to lay on her arms as she crossed them, her mood darkening even more. Bad enough that Stewart had fallen god knows how many feet from his broom, worse still that she still had to attend that idiotic dinner. She’d only come into gather his things. She’d planned on going to St. Mungo’s. Apparently the insufferable sod had other ideas. Millie really didn’t want to go to dinner, no matter how hungry she was. She needed to stay with Felicity and Stewart’s dinners didn’t often cater for three which would mean she’d be alone with a Quidditch player through three courses, his mind no doubt on his significant other, hers on...well...he wasn’t really her significant other...just...a shag....her mind on Stewart.

“We’ll look after Princess Flick here. Give us your keys, we’ll head back to yours. You’re to leave Stewie alone, okay? Mentally and physically. You just enjoy your dinner and the company of our, um, incredibly sociable friend here.” Jacob snorted. “He needs a ruddy good shag that lad,” he mentioned quietly. “Don’t tell him I said that, though.” He winked at Millie, whose face still had yet to crack into a smile, or anything other than a glare. “Well babe. You enjoy your dinner. Grab your bags, lads. We’re going to do some baby-sitting! Thomas is in the bathroom, by the way.”

And with that, the Quidditch players filed out one by one, smirking widely at Millie and some even cheeky enough to kiss her on the cheek. Felicity waved goodbye to her Aunt and Millie moved to protest and go after them, only to be pushed lightly back into the changing room by the Seeker who winked at her and closed the door behind him after ducking out. Millie sighed and ran a hand through her blonde hair. She tugged at the collar of her blouse and popped one of the buttons out of its hole to get some air to her chest. She felt over heated, a result of the worry, she didn’t doubt. Millie sighed shakily again and her hand went to the pocket of her jeans, feeling for the keys that one of them had taken from her pocket - no doubt the nimble-fingered Seeker - on the way out. Millie bit her lip, hearing the sound of the door open and turned hesitantly, her face breaking immediately from its scowl.

“Trent.”

Angus Campbell patted him on the shoulder, a gesture that was both firm and friendly, extending a sufficiently satisfactory welcome to Trent, but also asserting authority in that invitation. The manager meant business, of course. Years ago, Trent had been in the spectator stands watching in horror as the Montrose Magpies dominated the game against his Puddlemere United. The Puddlemere Seeker had caught the snitch, but the gulf between the scores of both teams meant that the game still ended with Puddlemere’s defeat. Then, even in dismayed anger at the loss, Trent had reluctantly been blown away by the heroics of Angus Campbell. Before him, Alasdair Maddock had been the star Chaser. Campbell was the substitute that was only supposed to fill the Chaser position until transfer season, when Cormack McLeod would have to plough into the team’s finances to acquire someone as good as Maddock, had Campbell not took the Quidditch world by storm when he exceeded the talents of the former Chaser. At that time, Trent could not appreciate the fact that he had just witnessed history being made. He was heartbroken. Puddlemere United were the favourites to win the League Cup. And as (mis)fortune would have it, a little-known substitute would come on to turn the tide to the favour of the Magpies.

Angus Campbell became an overnight star, the poster-boy of Quidditch, and Trent hated him. The superficial loathing, however, gave way to a concession that Campbell was probably one of the best Chasers that Trent had ever watched. That was important to the boy, who had emulated the styles of his favourite players as a Quidditch player for Gryffindor, before he was offered a place in the Wigtown Wanderers about a year after graduating from Hogwarts. The Wigtown Wanderers had been a sufficiently decent team in the days of old. Recent times, however, had only seen the team struggle against the possibility of relegation every season. With the lack of money and silverware, it was impossible for the manager to reinvigorate the team because there was nothing there to attract talented players. Instead, the team comprised of old players who were all approaching retirement. When one of the senior Chasers broached the subject, Blythe Parkin was thrown into a frenzy to replace the old and injury-prone player with a decently-skilled young player. Fortunately, he remembered a tall and dark-skinned boy with hair so unkempt that he could give the famous Harry Potter a run for his money. Parkin had found time to attend the finals of the Under-Twenty Quidditch League, and the agility and accuracy of this Chaser had made quite an impression. Despite the consistently poor performances of the Wigton Wanderers, they were still a team in the league. Parkin’s casual compliments after the game which Trent had helped to win, then, had been a welcome affirmation to his game.

The boy had, after all, failed to impress all his life. School was a struggle. Trent was only interested in Quidditch and his emotions. His poor showing at school was made worse by the eager disappointment that his parents did not fail to lavish on him. There were constant questionings on why he turned out so unimpressive, when both of them had stridden through their years at Hogwarts with ease. Home was the place that had passionately labelled the boy a failure, and quite possibly a mistake that was made. Unfortunately, Trent believed it almost wholeheartedly. After all, won’t there always be a part of you that trusted what your parents reiterated, even if you knew that they could be wrong? Constantly brooding, only Quidditch could adequately take his mind away from his negative dwellings long enough for him to perform satisfactorily at. Trent’s OWLs scores were miserable. Apart from obtaining Acceptable for CoMC, Charms, DADA, Muggle Studies, and Transfiguration, he failed the remaining seven subjects. Furious, Dean had told Trent that it was getting too difficult for him to accept his son’s failings. Having fought with Demelza more than usual, he had left a year later in search for a new life that he was convinced would not entail him to wake up to massive flaws piercing his eyes every single day. Trent had been rendered a spectator, helpless to his father’s abandonment, and his mother’s spiralling alcoholism, before she brought him to his grandmother’s one Sunday, and disappeared herself too. It was all his fault, he was told. His dad leaving, it was his fault. His mother giving up, it was his fault. Trent didn't understand how and why, but he believed them.

For a boy who believed the world in his parents only to be made into a sort of orphan from what was told to him was his entire fault, Trent did not handle the consequences well. How could he? He wanted his family. He wanted his dad. He wanted his mum. But, it seemed, he did not deserve to be wanted in return. He was rotten to them from the very moment the neighbours had told them that they spied him with a bunch of kids that Dean and Demelza fervently disapproved of. What was worse was that the neighbours reported the fact that Trent was sharing spliffs and alcohol with the other equally under-aged teenagers. That fateful night was the very stuff of nightmares. Everything in his room was flipped over, and the boy returned home delirious from the puffs he had indulged in earlier, to find the beginning of the path of the end of his world. Given, Trent did not give up his “lifestyle” even after the dressing down from the parents, when they produced his stash of illegal spliffs, alcohol, and porn magazines. They were “astounded” at the “disgusting” state of the boy who they couldn’t even call or look at as their son anymore. Trent, in return, was shocked at the intensity of the change in his parents’ attitude to him. This gem of the house was a disease now, one that, if not gotten rid of, must be left to rot alone.

Certainly, Trent plunged himself into the cold waters of addiction and emotional torment. Quidditch was the only time that saw him functional. He had destroyed friendships and his state of mind, not to mention his academic performance. He had ceased believing in a general good, and the bad faith manifested in his life in so many different ways. If family meant that you would be trashed when you failed expectations, what was everyone else? What was the state of the world? People offered to love him – friends, a particular girl he cared so much for. But he didn’t deserve it. He deserved the pain. He had a lot of faults to suffer from. Dad had said so. So did Mum. His grandparents were too befuddled to know what to do for this boy who became so difficult to deal with. All he wanted when he came back from Hogwarts during the holidays was to hang out with the ill-behaved Muggle kids from the neighbourhood. At home, he didn’t speak more than a sentence. The walls he had built had become unassailable, both in school and at home. He was only open to the things that would destroy him and give him pain. Quidditch was the only positive place he channelled his energy towards.

Trent had jumped at the offer when Blythe Parkin requested to have him train with the Wigtown Wanderers to see if he would fit in with the team. He did that easily, impressively. Two months later, when the older Chaser really retired, it was not a difficult decision on Parkin’s part to name Trent as the new Chaser, parading him in front of the Wigtown fans before his first game, where they narrowly defeated the Appleby Arrows. Subsequently, the Wanderers lost all of their games in the season bar six of them, but Trent was just glad to officially have become a player in The League. It was still a dream come true, even if he was not playing for his Puddlemere United. In the six games that the team won, however, he was surprisingly the reason why they did. It was exceedingly hard to work with a team full of players that were tired and disenchanted. Trent’s enthusiasm could only do so much. Still, he impressed enough to, on one exceptionally day of surprise, be informed about an offer from the Magpies, who were urgently seeking young players to add speed and talent to their pool of substitutes. Despite the team’s rivalry with Puddlemere, Trent was not stupid. He knew a possibly big break when he saw it. Just after a season with the Wanderers, he officially accepted being donned in the Magpies kit, even as a substitute that was warned beforehand that he might not see opportunities to play in a long while because of the robust senior team that the Magpies boasted of. Still, a substitute with the Magpies was better than any position with the Wanderers. Things were thus looking up. For once, Trent could possess a mild sense of pride over himself.

Not masking his admiration for Angus Campbell, Trent stared openly as the manager spoke to him, explaining the urgent need for him to play for the Chaser who had received a concussion from a nasty fall from the broom from the last game, and who was diagnosed to be needing some time at St. Mungo’s for observation and a good rest. The season was only half-way done, and the manager was anxious. Trent needed to overcome his nerves, perform like he did during team trainings, and do his ultimate best. That was repeated as the manager seized his shoulders in an attempt to knock the words into the young man who had the capacity for immense talent, but who always seemed so far away in the distant regions of his mind, so that Campbell could not trust that he had registered what was always said to him. Still, the manager was willing to take a gamble with the best Chaser out of the substitutes. Right there and then, Trent wished he could light up a cigarette or a spliff to calm the nerves. Of course, though, that was out of the question. He had arrived early at the Ilkley Moor Quidditch Stadium at Campbell’s request, but the manager was adamant to keep talking and not to leave his hope of a Chaser away from his sight.

The roaring of the fans in the stands, mostly of the Magpies, gave Trent a rarely seen genuine smile. He felt a part of something that was wanted by so many people. That simple but hard-earned gesture of validation made him beam. Of course, by this time, he had taken position on his broom as everyone waited for the release of the Quaffle that would commence the game. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to calm himself from the enormity of the situation, before quickly opening them, anxious to see if he had missed the Quaffle. Trent caught sight of the Captain of the team, who gave him a thumbs-up sign, and he remembered how Green had earlier patted his back and told him to keep calm and do his best. Not surprisingly, Green rushed to grab the Quaffle a millisecond after the referee’s release. It was swiftly thrown to Trent, who fumbled, causing it to slip from his grasp only to be gladly caught by the Kestral Chaser. With a quick breakaway, the Chaser rushed to the goal to put it successfully through the hoop. Half of the crowd roared, excited to have their team kick-start the goal-scoring. Furious at his mistake, Trent intercepted a pass to break down the attack when the Kestrals urgently worked for a second goal. Too bad for them, the Quaffle was stolen, and Trent instantly located Green who turned the assist into a goal. Fans of the Magpies roared in the stands.

Green gave another thumbs-up sign to Trent as the goal was announced to the ecstatic crowd. Feeling more confident at playing with the senior team of one of the top clubs in Quidditch, Trent began to focus more on the game instead of his nerves. His agility and accuracy came through most of the time, and it was certainly much easier to work with a driven team rather than the previous downtrodden one. He was possibly best at avoiding the Bludgers and assisting with the goals, which obviously made Green, who scored the most, very happy to have a partner who could work with him to make their game better. Trent’s attempts at intercepting passes worked extremely well for him. It seemed as if he was always positioned where the Kestral Chasers did not expect him to be at. Still, he was far more comfortable in playing Green’s sidekick than score the goals himself. The Kestral players were active and aggressive, but could use some help in their accuracy. The Magpies dominated the scoring as Trent assisted immensely. At a score of 300-90 to the Magpies, Trent dived for a passing mistake between two Kestral Chasers, and directed the Quaffle to Gibbs, who made for a breakaway to add yet another 10 points to the score. The noise of frenzied celebration made by the fans was, however, abruptly halted. Trent was still happily flying on his broom in a zig-zag motion in celebration before he noticed the fall in volume, and he turned to see his Keeper at a free fall before landing with a thud on the ground, unconscious. Green rushed to call for a time out, and the players rushed to the ground just as the referee attended to Stewart Hoffmann. Trent watched just as a Healer rushed to the Keeper’s side, wincing as the other man was turned to reveal a gash at the back of his head, where a Bludger had obviously been directed to. His concussion and a broken arm undoubtedly left him with no choice but to be diagnosed as unfit to play, and to be rushed to St. Mungo’s.

Steve Clyne was Hoffmann’s substitution. And therein laid the weakness of the Magpies. The older Keeper had severely lost the form he could boast of in his heydays. He certainly had experience behind him, but it failed to overcome his lack of reaction agility. From dominating most of the game thanks to a previously superb Keeper, the Magpies struggled to keep up with the scores, where the comfortable gulf had closed up to 320-200. Because the game had worn on for a long time, there was a growing possibility that one of the Seekers would soon have the Snitch proudly in his hands. Both were still chasing for it, but it was inevitably risky. The Kenmare Kestrals could jolly well come from behind to grab a win with a 320-350, should their Seeker get to the Snitch first. The Magpies were struggling to compose themselves. Without the confidence they could place in Hoffmann, the other team began to dominate the game. Trent was adamant. He desperately needed to win his first big game. He had to make it count. Campbell was counting on him. The other players were counting on him to make up for the loss of Roy Boudebouz, the Chaser he was supposed to replace for the rest of the season until the former could return to the game. The fans were counting on just anyone who was going to be the hero. And Trent wanted to answer all of their wishes. He had waited so long for this opportunity, he would fight for it. After all, “every accomplishment starts with the decision to try”. Mentally prepped by the words of, ironically, Blythe Parkin, Trent found himself working with Gibbs as they flew closer and closer to the Kestral Chaser with the Quaffle, ensuring an impending ambush where Green shot up from below to pry the Quaffle away before hitting it straight through the Kestrals hoop. With obvious relief, the crowd and the team cheered as their stagnated score was reinvigorated.

With urgency in his speed now that the team was enjoying a breakthrough again, Trent swooped for the Quaffle that the Kestral Keeper had thrown back into the game, beating the other Chaser to it. Trent shot for the skies as the opposing team’s Chasers made a mad rush at him, hoping to ambush him to break down his attack before he could get to their hoop. However, Trent dived almost blindingly back down and hurled the Quaffle in a quick diagonal fashion, before the commentator read his name with much enthusiasm to announce a score of 340-200. Almost knocked away by a Bludger, he made a quick enough spin to have it miss him by a hair, before finding that Green had stolen the Quaffle and had decided to direct it at Trent for a goal opportunity. As fortune would have it, Trent found himself in a good position as the Quaffle was deflected off his broom to enter the Kestrals hoop before the Keeper, and even Trent, even knew what had happened. As the Keeper attempted to recover from the whirl of the action, Trent dived for the falling Quaffle, threw it with force and direction over his shoulder, and a rushing Green made for it to put it through the hoop almost just a second after Trent did so. The stands thundered, with fans going over their head at the speed of the latest three goals. At the abrupt halt of the sound of the fans celebrating, Trent’s stomach felt a moment of free fall, as he expected the worse. True enough, the commentator announced that the Snitch had been caught. Kestrals fans went ballistic in the stands. Any team would be happy to call a win over the Magpies. Any team would be proud of victory over the top ones. Trent sighed, trying to strain his eyes for the score. He was too high up for it, and he did not want to make his way back down yet. The game had ended, after all. And the Snitch was caught by the other team. Trent squeezed his eyes shut, exhausted and dejected.

“What a game! What a way to treat us to the few minutes of our lives where we all had to hold our breaths. I mean, not all of us can, you know. This has got be the one of the most exciting games we have witnessed. But! Even the heroic efforts of Danny Hargreaves could not hold back the mammoth force of the Magpie Chasers. At a score of 360-350, the Montrose Magpies take the win!”

Campbell’s firm shake of his hand and the beam in his smile told Trent sufficiently of the delight in the manager’s gamble. With Green leading the way, too, the team lifted Trent as they burst through the doors of the changing room, singing as they made their way, before dropping the young man lightly on the floor of the shower stations, and directing the water that soaked through his kit. It was his inauguration to the team, and Trent was delighted at the welcome, which was obviously also because of the expectation he had not only satisfied, but exceeded. Whatever it was, everyone was in a jovial mood. Why not? They had expected a loss. Thanks to the quick sequence of goals before the end of the game, they pulled off a win, even without Hoffmann. Campbell dismissed the players with an upbeat debrief, before Green took to say a few words to congratulate his team with a single mention to Trent, before the players made quickly for the showers. Grinning from ear to ear, Trent sat on a bench, still donned in the kit that was now drenched. He was happy, and this was surely a minor problem. Chuckling to himself, he stood up to take his wet attire off as the sounds of men showering, talking, and laughing loudly filled the entire changing room. He was glad for the camaraderie. Sure, he was still always in his own world, but he was sociable enough to always be up for the presence of others.

Trent hung his kit up on one of the metal hooks behind the bench, willing for it to drip dry. But really, he couldn’t be bothered with it much now. Whistling, he made for the showers too. By this time, most of the guys were done, but he decided to take his time. The young man let the warmth from the shower fall comfortably on his face that had been exposed for far too long to the rushing winds of cold. A suspicious hush fell upon the changing room. Though Trent could not see the other men from where he stood, it was almost difficult to not believe that they were plotting something, probably more for him to squirm about as they intend to welcome this young man to the senior team. He grinned. Nothing could worry him much. He had just won the game with the Magpies. How awesome was that? Sure enough, Green popped his head into the shower stations, telling him that the team had decided that he should take Hoffmann’s girlfriend to some snazzy restaurant. Trent turned to swear in a good-humoured manner at the proposition, before he just had to accept the task. It was an odd request, but it wasn’t as if he had anyone to go to in celebration of his success. A dinner out would be decent, he thought, even if he didn’t know the girl and things were certainly going to be awkward. He could never live up to the charmers, even during his years in Hogwarts, who easily had girls at their feet. Trent was in love with one, but like everything else with life, it was a bubble that was destroyed. That was what happened to you when you loved someone more than you should. You become a fool. You become weak. And when love leaves, you become an empty shell of broken dreams. Even right now, as he enjoyed the last moments of the warm shower, Trent thought of her and a still fresh pang of the memory of her pierced him.

“Why can’t I quit her?” was easily the top question that would run incessantly through his head everyday. What looked sure to be his only lifeline of sanity, even he managed to destroy with his emotional brooding, his temper, his passivity, his mistake with Gisele, and the massive fight that ensured afterwards which ensured that he had lost the only one who really mattered to him; so that even three years after graduating from Hogwarts, Trent still could not quit his heart for her. The thought put a damper to his spirits. The grin that was so ready moments ago shifted to a pressing of both lips against each other as he kept from reflecting yet again at the enormity of his rotten life, and to tear in the shower from it. After all, the shower was the only place that allowed him to cry without even admitting to himself that he could see himself resorting to that sort of weakness. Trent waited for the robust chatting to fade from the changing room, which meant that the other men had left. He sighed. He was still better off alone. Left to his thoughts, he knew no one could understand, and he still didn’t want anyone to. No one could share his disappointments. The young man realised that Green failed to tell him where to go to meet Hoffmann’s lady. Hoping, then, that the dare had simply been a joke, Trent made his way of the shower as he suddenly felt the urgency to indulge in something that would made the pain go away. Not here, though, he would have to apparate home, where he could be alone with his own darkness.

With just a towel around his neck, Trent rubbed his eyes and stepped out of the shower to make his way to the lockers. Someone said his name. He dropped his hands from his eyes, only to think, on impulse, that he was hallucinating again. Millie appeared often after a couple of spliffs or some alcohol. And even then, he would reach forth to touch her face, caressing the beauty of that face like a precious gem that he sadly did not have anymore. This time, however, it was odd. Trent was sure that he was sober. He had to be. In preparation for the game, he didn’t even take a single harmful substance the night before. What the … With an extremely confuddled frown and an absent-minded finger that strayed to point towards the doors where the lads had left by, Trent’s jaw fell before he brought it up again to form a puzzling “oh” where he let his lips at the shape of that sound and continued to stare at the blonde girl. He cocked his head slightly to the left and continued to stare. “Hoffmann’s … girlfriend?” Despite the delay in his reaction to seeing Millie in recognition that she was the girl that the Keeper was supposed to bring out to dinner for, the emotional reaction within him was sadly quick enough to hurt. Of course she was going to have someone else. Who was going to be as silly as him? Pining away for a hopeless situation, locked away in his world. Unlike what he thought of himself, Trent believed the world of Millie. She was perfect. She deserved the best, and he had no difficulty in understanding that people wanted her as much as she welcomed them. Still, living without knowing things about her at first-hand was easier than right now, right now when he learnt that his new teammate was her man.

The scowl on the girl’s face told him what he thought was enough for him to know that he was not the person she would have wanted to see, let alone have to suffer dinner through with. He bit his lower lip in an attempt to stop the rushing of his emotions. It broke his heart. She sat there, perfect even in her scowl. And he, he in his ugly state of nakedness. Almost immediately, Trent swiped the towel off his neck to retain a shred of modesty. Sure, she had seen him in the nude before, but that was years ago, and that was when she liked him. Now, he merely felt vulnerable and weak. But, of course, he could not admit it. “Oh, you.” It felt like a lousy attempt at nonchalance, but it was worth its shot. Trent chuckled bitterly. “Hi, I guess.” He made for his locker, back facing Millie. Nothing further was said as he secured his modesty better. Soon enough, he had on a simple white t-shirt and a pair of black jeans, before slipping on a grey-coloured zip-hoodie. Trent then sat down to slip into his usual pair of classic black-and-white Vans, before looking up to Millie again. “Look, I’m hardly dressed for the occasion, let alone for a flashy restaurant. And honestly, I don’t care to be dressed, nor do I care to be flashy. If you’re still interested, I’m up for it. I’m doing it for the lads. If not, we can lie and said we went, so we don’t have to spend hours of tolerating each other’s faces.” He spat the words out bitterly. “Your decision.” Why was he so angry? He knew, even in his miserable rage, that he actually wanted this. If not for the fall-out, he could have easily been celebrating with Millie, possibly lifting her in his arms, smothering her with kisses, and telling her that it was her that gave him purpose to win the game for her. Now, though, she was not his, she was not pleased to see him, and he was feeling spiteful.

Spencer had once philosophised about the end, something Millie thought of more often than not. Spent, and suitably intoxicated, he’d lay and contemplate his own demise, plotting it out and fantasising about the lines, about the shows of sudden affection from the people in his life as if it were some macabre play. The irony was that it played out exactly as he’d intended, bar the involvement of Millie of course. She’d been absent, the guilt of leaving him in favour for the Irish Quidditch Players too much for her. The guilt was destined never to subside, and surely wouldn’t have done if she hadn’t gotten a letter that had been posted by the unreliable Muggle mail. Spencer never got a new owl after Rina had died. So he’d used the Royal Mail, pressed down the stamp askew on the envelope and tucking the lip of it inside itself. It had taken her a week before she’d finally plucked up the courage to open it. The paper was thin, not at all like parchment, but his scrawl was the same. Addled with confusion and, no doubt, drugs, but it was still Spencer...he was in there somewhere. She couldn’t read it though. She implored with Samantha to do so. The redhead had been sceptical but eventually slowly read the letter to the blonde, allowing for the girl to finally begin forgiving herself for something she was not at fault for.

Much had changed since Hogwarts, Spencer’s death being the most shattering of all. Millie had witnessed more than her fair share of things in the few short years since she’d left the only place that really felt like home, a place that really wasn’t filled with much happiness in the last few years. She’d never really connected to girls as she had done the lads she’d hung around with. However, after the falling out she had with Trent she deserted the clique of Gryffindors and found a mix of the other three houses that seemed to work perfectly in synch with each other, a group Millie wouldn’t have even considered before the falling out. But that wasn’t the only thing she’d had to contend with. Her parents’ divorce that had finally taken place in her sixth year ended with her going to her father and Elliot adamant that he say with their mother. Occasionally, when both were home, they’d switch but after the Christmas holidays, Millie flat out refused to talk to her mother, let alone spend a weekend or a holiday with her, and hadn’t since. Much of the same went with Elliot and Seamus though they only talked when Elliot needed money. Millie had stayed much more loyal to their father. He’d put her up until she’d gotten her flat but she made sure to drag him out of his haze of intoxication long enough every Sunday for the pair to have lunch in a local pub where he’d drink water, she’d hit the beers.

Initially, her going into the Ministry had been something Seamus had opposed to; especially the Department of Law and Enforcement. Millie became something he could be proud of, something that Lavender never could be. Elliot took to the web of secrets and deception that came with working in the Department of Mysteries. His only child, the only potential light of his life, was an unwelcome burden. By comparison, the blonde whose wide eyes filled with intrigue at everything new she set her eyes upon, was the only thing that brought true happiness to Millie’s life. With Felicity she became something she never saw herself becoming: a mother. This made her take caution when out in the field. Her position required her to observe Aurors and in the field. She also had a hand in their training, having been able to establish what they lacked in the line of fire and replicate the situation for them to practise in. Her careful nurturing both in and out of work had brought out in the best of those she worked with. Felicity had become incredibly level-headed and mature for her tender age. The Aurors had never been a better side.

She’d busied herself with work and loathing her brother. She filled her time with weddings and girl talk she didn’t want. She’d passed the time with beer and lazy days in bed with her lovers. It was all enough keep her head out of the future and in the present. He didn’t want to go looking for him. She didn’t want to have to relive that fateful afternoon when their lives, the connection between them, had fallen apart because of a mistake. She couldn’t forgive him for that. She’d tried. Merlin knew she’d tried. Millie couldn’t bring herself to do it though. She couldn’t let herself forget what he’d done. She couldn’t shake off her feelings of guilt either. She couldn’t prevent herself from hating Gisele. She’d made her choice. Millie, of course, hadn’t wanted the Frenchwoman but she’d warmed her on a rainy day. Trent, for all Millie knew, could’ve delighted in Gisele’s company more than once. That idea alone was enough to make her stomach plummet. So she did her best not to think about it, to put what happened to the back of her mind. She’d done well, surrounding herself with those that weren’t associated with either of them. It was only when she met someone like Roxi in the street or a nervous Sevastian in a passing when visiting a shop in Diagon Alley did she relive that terrible day.

She’d never stopped loving him. No matter how hard she’d tried, she couldn’t stop herself from having a peek into his future.

It wasn’t until she’d been subjected to the Welsh Green Itch that Millie realised exactly what she could do. She’d always had the snapshots, the little visions that would tell her what was to come next. She hadn’t realised what they were until she was swathed in fever, moaning and straining against its hold, desperate to break free. It was then that she’d slipped into a dreamland that seemed to hold so much potential. She’d had Trent next to her then, her condition having improved somewhat then plummeted but the lack of room prevented them from moving her back. No words were passed between them, just looks of desperation from one pair of eyes onto the emaciated frames that made up the magically redundant bodies they had when one thought the other wasn’t looking. She’d seen enough of what was to come of him, dismayed by the disaster that was draped over success. She only ever wanted the best for him, only ever hoped for the greatest outcome. She remembered a time when his death terrified her to the point where, if it was to happen, she considered dying with him. Little had changed even then. Little had changed now.

After the disease, Millie worked with healers to rehabilitate herself. She had a string of health issues beyond the Itch, something which crippled her for a good couple of years afterwards. She had the leftover results of the disease, the inability to eat, a general fear of green and the muscle wasting that only potions could aid the repair of. There was nothing left of her by the time she was discharged and was instructed by the healers - ordered being the more apt word - to eat; and eat she did. It was then that she finally properly filled out, gaining curves and finding she possessed and arse and breasts. She finally made the transition from the awkward never-left-childhood-stage to, well, a womanly stage. Under the care of the girls she finally began to understood the art of dressing one’s self properly. That didn’t mean she took much notice but she definitely accepted and took on board the rest of their advice. Well, she tried anyway. Put it that way. It was the girls that had dressed her that night. Well, dressed her for the dinner, that is.

But when Stewart had fallen from his broom, dinner hadn’t been what Millie had been worried about - it had been the furthest thing from her mind in fact when she saw him hit the floor. She’d raced to the medical tent, leaving Felicity in the care of the chairman, an elderly man called Earl Thomkinson who adored the small blonde and doted upon her with the most expensive of items. What she found when she was there were healers raced off of their feet having to deal with a brawl that had taken place half-time. One irate healer had managed to tell her where Stewart had been transferred to and that it would be helpful to collect his things before going to deal with the rowdiest of all the brawlers, taking her wand out before she entered his section of the tent, his shouts falling silent as soon as she entered. Millie had smirked at the time but it had done nothing to calm her - not in the slightest. When she’d arrived in the changing room, having collected Felicity from Earl, she’d had every intention of taking Stewart’s things and heading to St. Mungo’s. She certainly hadn’t been expecting this; far from it in fact. Never in a million years would she have expect such a clash of destinies. She’d wished she’d seen it coming. She could only suppose it had been the beers and lunch time - it had left her hindsight a bit foggy.

Trent hadn’t changed. Well, he had but not in her mind. As she looked at him, she couldn’t help but feel the tug at her heart that had affected her those years ago which really wasn’t all that long ago. She felt the yearning she thought she’d buried once again; she felt the ghost of his touch burn against her skin, the desire to feel it again building steadily. Millie swallowed, closing her eyes for a few moments before rising to her feet. She reopened them and looked at Trent, her eyes falling to his manhood which she had not previously registered. Millie bit her lip and averted her eyes, bringing them up to Trent’s when he spoke. Millie laughed and shook her head, reaching down for her coat where she fumbled in the pockets in search of her cigarettes.

Isla had a habit of plotting against her when it came to Stewart. She wanted the best for Millie, of course and in her mind that was Stewart. She knew his distaste for Millie’s smoking and would often snatch away the cigarettes from the blonde’s pockets if she knew they would be meeting. Stewart hated it. Millie didn’t know well enough to care. Isla wanted Stewart to propose to Millie. For the blonde in question, it was the furthest thing from her mind. It wasn’t what she wanted from him. Finally, Millie breathed a sigh of relief when her hands came across the silver cigarette case that she had tucked into the inner coat of her pocket. It had been a gift from her grandfather, an heirloom that he didn’t dare pass to Elliot simply because they all collectively believed he was a prick, in short. Millie took one of the cigarettes from the case, placed it between her lips and felt around her pockets as Trent spoke, continuing to feel around, even tucking her hands into her empty jean pockets in search of a lighter. No such luck.

“High class fuck, actually.” She corrected him, out of the corner of her mouth. “He takes me to dinner, I take him home, we shag, he goes home -- everybody’s happy! Seeing as I’m his regular shag that technically makes me his girlfriend; as far as his team are concerned anyway.” Millie snorted before giving up on her quest and turning around to face him, now finding him in a bizarre pair of pacman trunks. She smirked a little and shook her head before gesturing to his locker. “You wouldn’t happen to have a lighter, would you?” Millie frowned a little at him and shrugged her shoulders. “Yes, me. Terrible, I know. These things happen. Believe me, I don’t want to inconvenience you any more than absolutely necessary.”

Millie stalled at his following words, reaching up to take the cigarette from between her lips as she took in his face, the anger she hoped she’d never again see written across his features. Millie dropped her eyes to her feet which had already begun to change from her comfy steel toe caps into the dress shoes to go with the frock Isla and Samantha had charmed her clothes to transfigure into. She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest as she did so, absorbing the feeling of childhood inadequacy once more. It had been a long time. She had never quite felt as misplaced since leaving Hogwarts. Being in the changing room with Trent...it felt like they were back in the Gryffindor changing room again celebrating a game, lazily contemplating what they should do with the rest of the day, already knowing it meant spliff and a few drinks down in the Hogs Head if the Willow was obliging enough.

“Have you ever been to Eli’s?” Millie asked quietly, bringing her eyes up to Trent again. “It’s not flashy, Trent. There’s no outward show of money and it certainly doesn’t cost a fortune if you’re a couple, especially not a young one like we are,” Millie winced, deciding to quickly press on, hoping he wouldn’t catch wind of her mistake. “And Elijah loves the company more than anything. It’s a mixture of family and fine dining, is Eli’s. Kind of made me feel out of place the first time but Felicity was there with Earl bizarrely enough.” Millie laughed a little. “She’ll be a heartbreaker. Would you like to see a picture?”

It is true, time heals all wounds. It was unclear quite when it happened but Millie forgot momentarily what had happened between them and found herself smiling as she reached for her coat once more, digging her hands into her pockets for her wallet which she pulled open and fiddled for a few moments with the pictures before unfolding one that had been collapsed and resized so she could see it in the wallet and crossing the changing room to where Trent was, her clothing transfiguring fully as she walked into the dress Leigh, Isla’s sister, had picked out for her earlier in the day.

Millie sat down beside Trent and held out the picture of the thin, round-faced blonde whose eyes seemed to sparkle with the smile that lit up her face. Millie smiled, admiring the full fringe and the slightly gappy smile the girl possessed where her teeth were still coming down into line. The image had stalled but restarted itself, the shot pulling out to show her levitating her toys out of the toy box with large hand gestures. It showed the toy soldiers marching along the edge and jumping into the box, the last one falling in, before zooming back in on her face that she’d turned towards the camera. Millie looked over Trent’s shoulder at it, glowing with pride at the girl she knew would depend on her influence far more than she ever would her father’s. It would be difficult to tell who the parent was out of the twins, Felicity having taken her father’s looks and almost nothing from the devil of a mother she had. Millie could have quite easily passed as the girl’s mother and often did; though she never hastened to correct the assumption.

“Gorgeous isn’t she?” Millie beamed. “Totally irrelevant now though, thinking about it,” Millie rose from her seat and crossed the room again, her hips swaying gently in the frock that the girls had poured her into earlier in the day. Millie folded up the picture and slotted it back into her wallet. She tucked it into her coat before straightening up and turning her eyes to Trent. She smiled a little despite herself, her heart and mind rejoicing in his company more than anything else, allowing her to truly for the first time in five years forget what happened that day -- to the point where Millie found herself rushing towards him, throwing caution into the wind, and grabbing his hand in order to heave him up. But then she remembered, just like that. The memories came crashing down around her and she dropped his hand, only just managing not to spring away. It burnt, his warmth had ached in her grasp. Millie bit her lip and brought her hand to her chest, giving it an absent minded rub before looking at him hesitantly, innocence in her gaze.

“I’ve missed you,” She admitted quietly. “Please come with me Trent.” Millie laughed a little. “I don’t want to have to sit there by myself, or go home to an empty flat either. Lucius will have buggered off by now, no doubt. Um. We don’t have to go to the restaurant. We could order take-out or something. I have beer in the fridge. I...” Millie wrung her hands together. “Just...please? Please, come back to mine, have dinner with me. I only ask for...I don’t know, four hours of your time at the most. It might not even be that long! You’re right, you’re not dressed for somewhere crazy and flashy...I am a little but believe me I’d rather anything other than these heels.” Millie laughed and rubbed the back of her neck. “They’ve gone, the guys. Let the keys under the mat. Took Flick to Earl’s for the night. She prefers it there with his grandson. She loves the guys but, um...I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Just...please Trent? We never have to talk again. Not if you don’t want us to. I mean obviously we might run into each other but we don’t have to talk! You don’t have to, I suppose,” She allowed finally. “I just thought it would be nice. I mean...” Millie inhaled shakily, not having realised she’d wound herself up as she’d spoken. “I’ve missed you. That’s it. That’s all. I guess I’ll go shall I?”

Trent winced at a mind that was far more imaginative than he would have liked it to be. He could not have expected otherwise, though. Besides, he had no right. Not anymore. Even so, the thought of Millie with anyone else had always unsettled him like nothing else can. It was certainly not the first time. Years ago, even in the supposed innocence of Hogwarts, and way before he discovered the enormity of his affection for her, the thought of someone else with Millie was a little more than acceptable in his mind. He would imagine her hands, even in the innocent caressing of another face. He would imagine her eyes, bearing intently into the eyes of another, letting the flood of their beauty penetrate another. He would imagine how she would hold onto another, clinging on as if all of her being was locked up in a moment of pleasure that rested on another. Worse was when he would imagine another merely using, and devouring, her. It was as if, despite his failings, he thought that he was the only one who knew how to do it properly. He thought that he was the only one who could worship all of her beauty, serving her before himself. But of course, that was just him, wasn’t it? There was a certain sort of narcissism in his assumption. That was undoubtedly shattered after the fall-out. He had hurt her. He could never forgive himself for the pain in her eyes, their splendour clouded, as retorts were traded and he yelled at her. He had yelled at her. Part of why he turned away to leave was his inability to handle what was his own unexpected reaction to her. He thought that, and he blamed himself for, destroying the very last (and the only one) beacon in his life.

Trent did try to move on. Try was, however, even an understatement in this case. He could not. That was it. He told himself he was trying. But even if he ever did find himself in the company of another girl, he could not even indulge a tiniest bit of his attention on her. His mind was too distant. The girls usually left after just one conversation. Nobody wanted to converse with an empty shell. Those who did were too desperate for the warmth of any human being; it did not matter in what shape and form. Trent was, in truth, looking for Millie in every woman he saw. It was easier in the beginning. He could manage to keep a few of them long enough to distract himself from mulling over the past. He could even manage a couple of shags. After all, he had natural needs to satisfy, didn’t he? But, increasingly, it got harder and harder. With everything else, his latent emotional response to losing Millie became too much, so that it impeded him to the point of giving up on any form of intimate human relationship. Green wasn’t wrong when he joked about Trent needing a lay. Trent needed it, but he had resigned himself to not being capable of it until … he did not know when. Even if he tried, having to deal with involuntarily seeing Millie’s face on another woman was not what he could handle. And so, he gave up. Spliffs were the next best form of achieving some semblance of ecstasy that was sufficient to take him through the motions of daily monotony. Of course, Quidditch was the only thing that could make up for a lot of things that he lacked.

When Millie sat down next to him, the smell of her arrested him. He turned his head ever so slightly, drawn to the source of nostalgic security and pleasure. Trent was, however, confused. From the manner in which Millie beamed, there was an unfamiliar maternal pride that wasn’t there before. Puzzled and annoyed, he was quick to misunderstand. Yet, he had to rein in his anger. He didn’t know if it was wise to ask about the girl. He really did not want to find out who she belonged to. He expected the worst. Reluctantly, he indulged in Millie’s attempts. The little girl in the picture looked so much like Millie that it brought a fresh wave of pain. Yet, there was no denying the angel of a beauty there. Trent bit so hard at his lower lip that he began to taste blood. He had acquired this nasty habit whenever he had to hold himself back from a major disappointment. He, however, nodded at Millie’s gushing about the little girl, not trusting himself to speak. Of course, he wouldn’t expect this Felicity to be Elliot’s. Falling out with Millie meant falling out with her twin, of course. In the first place, it was the girl that Trent was closer to anyway. Only she had managed to get to the bottom of him. He was, unfortunately, not even bothered to have lost contact with Elliot.

“Have a fag later. Campbell won’t be pleased. Might get into shit from him. Besides, my place isn’t secured with the Magpies, not really. Let’s just … not jeopardise that.” Trent didn’t know what sort of tone he used in that, but even in his irritation, he hoped it didn’t sound as bad as it did to him. He was increasingly pleased to have Millie around. The smell of her was enough to convince him of that. Yet, he could not let his pride down. Then, suddenly, her hands … Trent’s eyes shot to them before they dropped his as quickly as they took his up. He was mad at her. Why? Could she not see how his emotions were already bursting through his shirt? And then, she had to pile on the weight of three Land Rovers on them. Of course it was not even her fault. But it was easier to blame the madness in him on her. Trent stared at his hands for a moment. They had Millie for that split-second, and they did not want to be the way they are anymore, even now. So alone. Trent shot a look at Millie, softening it only when he had her face in the composition of his vision. He held her gaze, for once not looking away, not wanting to look anywhere else. He watched as she began to talk, not taking in the bulk of it. He, after all, was tragically bad at multi-tasking; and the task at hand was to stare at her lips.

“No, Mills!” He had shot up. She was leaving; he could not let her go. In reflex, he had stood up. Of course it had to be an impulse. If Trent had the luxury to deliberate on it, he would never have done anything except to passively watch her walk away as he fought the silent battle within himself. And then, inevitably, an awkward moment ensued. He stared at his Vans, shuffled his feet a little, and tucked his hands quickly into the pockets of his jeans. And then, he lifted his head slowly before he ran his hand nervously through his hair – a mess that he obviously did not notice, having callously ruffled it up with the towel and not bothering with it once the towel was thrown into the hamper near him. Trent ruffled his hair forcefully as he tried to compose himself. It was a wonder how it managed to not all fall out from this incessant habit. It merely fluffed to the state it was in, with bits sticking out, and Trent not caring enough to notice them. “I … “ Trent pressed his lips together. “Beer and pizza?” He shrugged. Her words replayed in his head. She had said it twice. Was it twice? She had said she missed him. Of course, he could not help the joy that surged in his heart. She actually missed him. He was thick. But he couldn’t be that thick to turn the opportunity away, not when she told him those words with such a look on her face. For the first time since she appeared, Trent was ready to apologise. Yet, of course, his pride held him back. He felt bad, though, for his tone, his words, his spite. She stood there, looking ready for a cuddle. He stood where he was, ready to be wherever she wanted him to be at. Trent reached into the left pocket of his hoodie and brought a lighter out, then put it back in again, as if it was a delayed apology for his curt reply to her request for it earlier. “At yours?”

In times of crisis there were cigarettes. Not that talking to Trent again was considered a crisis, mind you - more like a bloody catastrophe. After that fateful Friday five years before and the subsequent quarrelling that never seemed to cease, Millie had left with the hope that she’d never have to talk to him again. She’d sought the company of Spencer at first before finding she couldn’t even entre the boy’s dorm without her eyes drifting towards Trent’s bed in the hope he’d be there, in the hope he’d have a smile for her. She couldn’t bring herself to apologise, no matter how many times the apology felt heavy on her tongue. She’d thought perhaps Spencer would help her push Trent’s actions to the back of her mind. Nothing Spencer did could achieve that, though. His eager, clumsy and bruising touch did little to pleasure her, let alone distract her from the image of Trent and Gisele in bed together, their modesty just barely covered by the bed sheets, that seemed to be burned across her mind, doomed to be eternal in its residence there. She’d sought better things afterwards, letting the love struck fool down gentle before directing him towards Sarah, feeling irrationally spiteful towards her brother who was still vying for her affections to no avail. It was after that, perhaps a month or two later, that Isla introduced her to the Beater on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Content with his abilities off of the pitch, he became useful to Millie in more ways than one, his sister even being able to help her identify her Seer abilities; the studious girl recognising it in Millie the minute the blonde had told her brother to raise his bet during a card game one evening in the common room.

Begrudgingly, Millie took the cigarette from between her lips and tucked it behind her ear, brushing a bit of her hair back with it and reaching up to make sure her bun was still in place. Her hair had grown out in length, falling now to somewhere around her waist in soft blonde curls. She preferred for convenience sake to have her hair up out of her face and did very little with it in terms of styling. Millie only let it down when she was safely tucked away at home, preferring then the comfort and the weight of it. It was only when Lucius sidled up to her in search of a cuddle or a pet that she hurriedly threw it back up again. The cat was old now but not to the point of disability like he enjoyed suggesting with his slightly staggered movements and pitiful howls. He still drove Mille crazy, they was no doubting that. He especially detested her ash tray despite it sitting out on the balcony on the table mostly empty. He would do anything to inconvenience her in terms of that, his favourite thing being to leave his half-eaten kill there as if his dish wasn’t inside, as if she’d gone to the trouble to give him an ‘outside’ food bowl as well. Not bloody likely. The cat had been increasingly irritable since she’d stopped talking to Trent. It had betrayed her of course in the first eighteen months but Lucius had learned after the first few baths upon smelling Trent on him that he wasn’t to see the dark haired Gryffindor. So, his visits ceased and though Lucius had his favourite, Millie was still his Mistress and his source of food. He wasn’t going to give that up for all the tea and china. He wasn’t stupid, however stubborn he was.

Millie scoffed but didn’t move to take the cigarette out again, deciding to heed his warning but did not forget to arrogantly proclaim that, “Campbell loves me. Besides, turn the shower on and it’ll go out with the steam. Nethertheless, I can wait.” Millie pressed her lips together with thinly veiled irritation and turned having announced her departure in a slightly shaky tone, with the intention of fetching her coat and heading for home. Just as her hand came to the material, Trent’s voice resounded around the changing room. Millie’s hand closed around the material and she straightened up, unwilling as of yet to take him anywhere, his bitterness and difficulty making her begin to regret her offer of dinner at her apartment rather than Eli’s. She bit her lip, her gaze wary of him, almost afraid of the poison in his tone. She didn’t want to have to hear much more of his spite. She wanted to be in the company of the Trent she remembered, the Trent she’d never stopped loving. But then, if she loved him as much as the fluttering of her heart would suggest every time she set her eyes on him, she wouldn’t resent his actions as much as she did now. Or perhaps that was why she did, because she couldn’t bear for him to be as unhappy as he appeared, to be as resentful of her as she was of his attitude. The idea terrified her. She’d put to the back of her mind what had happened upon first meeting his gaze, finding herself desperate to start anew. Now though, she wasn’t so sure.

Millie winced a little as he finally came to his close. She let a moment of silence stretch between them before finally nodding slowly, busying her hands with folding her coat and slinging it over her arm. Millie lifted her gaze to Trent again and licked her lips anxiously before cocking her head towards the door. She smiled in a way she hoped would be reassuring and walked towards Trent, whispering for him to grab his own coat before taking hold of his hand and thrusting them upwards into the suffocating tube of bright white light. Millie closed her eyes as she felt the air get sucked from her lungs, the Apparation was a long distance one that would take them from Montrose to her home that was far further from the stadium than she had first thought. She kept firmly in her mind the image of her home as she drew herself towards Trent, a reflex of Side-Along Apparation on her part. No matter who she was with she sought safety in their arms. Of course, Trent would be the unwilling party so she settled for just reaffirming her hold on his hand and leaning her body towards his, hoping to Merlin she’d aimed right and that she hadn’t managed to splinch them in the process.

The Irish Sea lapped leisurely against the sandy shore of Holyhead’s beach, one that wound round the northern spire of Wales. A light breeze floated off of the water, chilling the air and dancing in through the open windows of one of modest bungalows on the shorefront. Not all were inhabited but those that were had been taken up by Wizarding folk. The floor plans of the bungalows were expansive to compensate for the single level but with plying bits of magic, rooms were expanded and floors were created above and below the homes without the exterior appearance being altered. They were all vaguely unassuming homes but they had a charm about them that could not be placed by passersby or even by the residents - a side effect of excess magic floating about in the area. Millie’s home especially seemed to crackle and buzz with magic, hers and the erratic bursts of her niece’s combined made for a house that thrived off of the energies from their cores. The wards surrounding the house also added to the excess, making for formidable barriers against intruders.

It was upon the sand in front of Millie’s bungalow that the two haphazardly landed with an audible crack. Millie’s back slammed into the sand and though it mostly absorbed the impact, she still felt the pain of it, the sand being quite solid in its own right. Millie gasped, throwing herself into a sitting position, suddenly finding herself desperate to fill her lungs with oxygen again. Her eyes watered a little bit as her chest heaved but gradually, her breathing returned to normal and her chest began to rise and fall at a less manic rate. Millie licked her lips and winced a little before reaching up and rubbing her neck, feeling the many hours bent over bits of parchment; the cruel reminder of the office work she did. Millie hummed a little before throwing herself back onto her feet in a motion far more fluid yet incredibly unbalanced for what she wanted to do. She stumbled a little but regained her balance and managed only just to right herself before realising it was the shoes that had caused her the trouble that had presented itself when landing. Millie shoved the offending articles off of her feet and bent down to pick them up, squatting a little like Felicity did both out of habit of mirroring the girl to make her laugh and to make sure she didn’t aggravate her back any more than necessary. Finally, she stood properly, devoid of embarrassment but sure the flimsy material of the dress had ridden up or done something to give her cause to be. Millie merely smiled instead, rubbed her arms and began to trudge up across the sand towards her home.

The steps that lead up onto the veranda hadn’t been sanded in a long time, Millie noted, but she paid little attention to that as the wood did not afflict her in any way so she had no cause for concern. Upon reaching the top, Millie surveyed the area and allowed the shoes to drop to the floor. She nibbled her lip and peered in through the French doors that had been left open, the thin curtains left to blow gently in the breeze. The house wasn’t as in much of a disarray as she would’ve thought. The large living room-cum-study was covered in post-it notes, yes, but presented no immediate need to be cleaned. There were books everywhere, mind you, stacks where the bookshelves in the library could not fit them. She’d had three spare bedrooms upon moving in; one had been turned into a study, the walls extended and the bookshelves used as a partition to separate her bedroom from the others. She wanted a point of reference as close to her as possible but she also wanted the biggest room - make no mistake of that.

Millie laughed a little and flicked her wand at the ash tray on the table. With a flourish, it emptied itself and the ash disappeared into the night. She peeked at the book page down on the table and decided to leave it upon seeing what it was but did have a sneaky look inside the packet of cigarettes laid next to it with her favourite blue lighter. She tossed her shoes into one of the wicker chairs that didn’t at all appreciate being abused in such a manner and absent mindedly tapped her fingers on the table top glass before floating into the living room where immediately she began to gather things up, putting books into some sort of orderly fashion - or towering pile as was the reality - behind the low cream couch, the back of which was covered in a bright orange throw with a purple cat on it with pillows coloured in hues Millie could barely recognised let alone name pressed into either end. She bit her lip and pushed the turned up rug which laid across the wooden floor between the study area and the living room with her foot. She whirled over to the computer and took the folders off of the desk, shoving them onto the shelves before fiddling momentarily with her computer, shutting it off. She scribbled another note on a fuchsia post-it note and pressed it onto the computer monitor before turning around and bit her lip.

“Sorry!” She exclaimed, looking around at the hopeless mess, her eyes falling on the doll’s house that she had yet to tidy up from where Felicity had been playing with it down by the fireplace. A television was mounted above the mantle which held dozens of photographs, some magical, some muggle. Some even had Trent in them though she hoped he wouldn’t notice. Millie crossed her arms over her chest and licked her lips before turning around and moving up through the hallway towards the kitchen. She opened the double doors, pleased to find that the doors that lead out onto the beach just like the ones in the living room were still open. She eyed the breakfast table warily but was pleased to find it was clear and that the fruit had been topped up either by Fay who’d stayed the night before or by Seamus who often swung past to make sure his daughter was still alive even though more often than not the shoe was on the other foot. Another book of course was laid pages down on the table and though Millie had a quick look at the title and where she’d gotten to, she didn’t make any move to put it away.

Millie took the beer from the fridge and took the tops off of the bottles before wandering barefoot back into the living room where she hoped Trent had lingered. She held out one for him to take and smiled gently before taking a swig of her own to calm her nerves. Millie gestured to the couch before rethinking and pointing towards the veranda where the wicker tables were sat. “Outside or in?” She asked him. “You can tell me what you’ve been up to since Hoggies.”

The one person who saw Trent the most since his days after Hogwarts was, perhaps, Severin. That wasn’t her real name, of course. It was safer that way. After all, she managed to stay out of the eyes of the law, thanks to that name. Years ago, when Trent was merely fourteen, Ceth had introduced him to the gang. No one knew who or what Trent really was. It was carelessly assumed that he was just a boy who went to a school too far away to even matter to them. Besides, Trent knew better than to tell a bunch of Muggles that he was a Wizard. They certainly would have appreciated it, but only because they would have laughed as if it was the best joke he had managed to crack. They wouldn’t believe him. Ceth might have punched his arm affectionately and told him to lay off the drugs that, after all, were introduced to Trent by the group. Whatever it was, no one would have taken Trent seriously. He liked things that way, though. Summers with the Muggle gang, to him, was a sort of escape which grew increasingly important as things at home were in shambles. He joined Ceth and his friends during the summers, and they accepted him in his surprisingly light-hearted passivity. He was a friend of Ceth, someone Ceth bumped into at the skate-park. Slightly younger than everyone else in the gang, Trent was easy to include, and the girls took to him in a rather maternal fashion.

Leah Balotelli, however, had let her affections for the younger boy traverse further than she should have. And so, before he was hit by the train of his love for Millie, he had fumbled around in a confused fashion with Leah, who rather adored the inexperience she found in him, and then the innocence she took from him. The shenanigans lasted a whole summer, and then Trent had to leave for another term at school. Leah, on the other hand, was close to dropping out of school. She was tired of life, and certainly saw no point with school. All she needed in her (OOC: cue Bonnie & Clyde) life of “sin”, was her and her … Trent. The months without him gnawed at her, and she was ever so ready to sit on the boy and let loose the tide of her feelings. Unfortunately, when he returned for the summer with them, the deliberate distance he kept away from her was increasingly obvious. He had made a conscious effort to not place himself next to the girl. As puzzled and hurt as she was, Leah decided to let it go. Of course, she wouldn’t have known that Trent had found himself increasingly stumped by his affections for Millie. He was his passive and agreeable self, and although she didn’t stop trying to snuggle up beside him, she didn’t think it worth it to bare her heart out to the boy.

Now, after the many years of wasted teenage life, Leah had become Severin, the one you would call for a fix. She knew people who knew people who knew people. She was involved in the trading of substances that required her to be known by a pseudonym, and to never leave her place without her trusty pair of shades and a rather suitable wig. It all suited her well. She didn’t have to resort to demeaning her body, and she still had a fancy income. Besides, being a girl in the trade meant she could pose as a prostitute whenever there were suspicions about what she was really up to. It was an easy and exciting life, which made Leah feel quite smug towards all the people who told her she would never make it out alive in this world if she didn’t complete school. Of course, she didn’t count on the fact that what she was doing was illegal, shady work.

His father had left first. And when his mother told him that she was also going to leave, she had the decency to bring Trent to her parents, ascertain that the old pair would look after him, and then buggered off to live the next better half of her life. The family house was sold, and so although Trent wanted to return to it to live there on his own, he could not. Living with the grandparents was hardly his cup of tea. They could not discipline his “wayward ways”, but that didn’t stop them from fussing over him. There was no such thing as privacy in that house. The doors had no locks, and there was no practice of knocking before entering. Too many times, grandmother had walked in while he was in the midst of sorting himself out. That had put Trent in furious combustions of moods, so that just about half a year after graduating from Hogwarts, he packed what little stuff he had, and went to look for his old friend, Ceth. Ceth’s place, a poor excuse of an apartment, was a pod-hole of mess and dirt. Despite the chaos of the place, it was so tiny that Trent could see every part of the place clearly, as soon as he took the first step into the apartment. It was also then that he spied Leah, naked, wrapped up in the yellow sheets of Ceth’s bed.

While Trent’s Muggle gang still existed, only Ceth and Leah knew of his plight. Thanks to some sort of prospect in the beginnings of his Quidditch career, Trent had come into a decent bit of money, just enough to allow him to pay the rent for an equally tiny pod-hole for himself. Like the big brother that he was, Ceth found Trent a place, and Leah then began to frequent it, bringingTrent his regular dose of spliffs, alcohol and companionship. Trent could not return her affections for him, but he knew to appreciate her checking in on him. He didn’t understand why she bothered, but he was glad that she did. The visits had become so habitual that she even had her own keys to the place. Sometimes, too, Trent would return to see the mess he had left behind tidied up, and the tiny flat looking a lot more decent than he was capable of. He didn’t think to question her motivations, he didn’t bother. He was wrapped in himself, wrapped up in his own world and his dreams of Millie. Even after occasional nights when he had had too much alcohol, Leah would swing by with a new supply of spliffs, take advantage of his stupor, and leave before he could wake up to realise what had ensued the haze of the night before.

Whatever it was, Trent was relieved that it was Millie’s place that they had decided to head to. Well, she had suggested it, really. Trent wasn’t going to offer his anyway. His place was a disgrace, and he really didn’t want her to see how he had to sleep with a picture of her beside him in bed. It would have been far more than his ego could handle. Trent had grabbed onto Millie’s hand with more urgency than intended. There the comforting promise of her touch, and obviously the prospect of heading to her place intrigued him. After years of estrangement and painful longing, even this was a pot at the end of the rainbow to him. The tightness in the air was, as usual, promising to suffocate. But, seeing how the young man had, even as a boy, not been afraid of anything resembling death (after all, he had been edging himself to it, hasn’t he?), Trent relaxed. Ironically, of course, that only made Apparation easier for him. Easier, not easy. As he relaxed against the pressure, Trent felt Millie’s body pressing against his. Instinctively, he hugged her from her waist and pulled her closer, as if that was the solution to her discomfort from the journey.

Trent landed squarely on his back, all of which didn’t trouble him except for the sudden pain at his tail-bone that was, fortunately, dissipating after the first impact. He frowned and thought about the injury he had acquired there. He thought it would have gone away by now. Still, it was not significant. He stretched before slowly bringing himself up in a lazy fashion. Trent turned at the sudden movement of Millie throwing herself up, reflexively extending a hand when it looked as if she was about to fall. He retracted it as quickly as it was offered, and sat hugging his knees as he watched the girl. He followed suit when she began making her way to what looked like a place of luxury in comparison to his pod-home. He didn’t say a word. He was too busy taking in his surroundings. It was way better than he expected since, after all, it was near the sea. There was, as there should be, a fresh serenity in the breeze and the sound of calm waves lapping up against the shore.

Trent would have stepped into the house eagerly to see more, had it not been for the sight of his favourite furry creature at his feet. He didn’t remember seeing it come from anyway; it was almost as if Lucius simply apparated from somewhere. Trent was instantly suitably distracted. Instead of following Millie in as she sorted some parts of the place out quickly, he had squatted down to scratch at its fluffy neck. The cat’s delight was so apparent that it quickly lay on its back to offer a fluffy belly to Trent. The boyyoung man shared the cat’s delight as he pressed his palms against the floor and nuzzled his nose against the fluffy belly. Lucius purred, and Trent matched his pleasure as he chuckled and grinned in a manner that did not hide his happiness at seeing the cat after so long. It was only with this cat that there was no consideration for his ego. Trent had traded his nonchalance (a delusion on his part for assuming the role to be masculine), as he made gooey eyes and almost embarrassingly squeal-like noises as he lavished his love on Lucius, whose purring sounded louder and louder.

Lucius got up to scowl, however, when Trent abruptly lifted his face away in response to Millie’s voice. Trent blinked. “Urm …” He darted his eyes from her to the veranda, stole a look at Lucius who was now rubbing his side against Trent’s leg, and then back again to Millie. “Out … side? Yeah, outside.” He nodded, hoping that Millie had not noticed his liberal affections, just a moment ago, to her cat. Quickly, Trent reached for the bottle that had been held out to him for too long. He pressed his lips together in a slight smile of appreciation, before turning to head to where she had gestured to earlier. Even after settling into one of the wicker chairs, Lucius followed Trent’s leg and continued to demand attention. Trent took a fair swig of the beer before settling the bottle down on the table next to him. Then he bent down to pick the cat up before placing it gently on his lap, snuggled up against his torso. Trent hadn’t realised how much he had missed the cat, even as he had strived to get on with life without its owner.

“Thi-you’ve … “ Trent stopped to gather himself. He lifted the bottle and drank more beer. “Cool place.” He winced. He needed to manage more than that. “I mean, fantastic … and … all …” He looked at Millie in an awkward manner, averted his gaze to the cat, before returning to the safety of the beer. “A lot bigger than mine. Y’know. The city … one tiny pea-pod of a flat. Not fancy. Not like this.” Trudging along, he was. “Well, …” Trent reached for the lighter in the pocket of his hoodie again, before reaching into his front jeans pocket for what he expected to be a stray cigarette. He placed one between his lips and lit it quickly, before immediately offering the other one to Millie. But in that instant, he held it back. The taste of the one between his lips was that of a stray spliff. Trent contemplated on his offer. He didn’t think Millie would mind, but his ego really did not want to allow her to know the volume of his intake. It was a lot more than he used to have as a teenager, of course. He was beginning to have fewer cigarettes, but it was only because he had spent all his money and time on drugs instead. They took him further, and to a better place, than the former anyway. He had to get by with too much of it these days. Any reduction meant a lot of angst and a lot of discomfort.

The bungalow had been a dream that would not have realised reality unless things had not fallen exactly as they had on that sweltering July day in Diagon Alley. Isla had demanded they go shopping ahead of one of the other girls’ wedding. Millie had tried her best to protest but her attempts to convince Isla that she could get fat in between buying the dress and the actual wedding fell on deaf ears; in the end, she was glad she didn’t get away with it too. The grainy black and white image that made the house only just distinguishable from the rest of the image caught Millie’s eye immediately upon hurrying past the Estate Agent’s in Diagon Alley. Millie, difficult as ever, held up the whole parade by darting into the shop. A handful of short inquiries were made to people of different ranks and that day, Millie not only left with a plum coloured dress but also, much to Isla’s incredulity, a new home. The following weeks were spent decorating the place and plying the walls with magic to make it big enough to house Millie and her junk - and, well, Lucius too. He needed just as much - not really, but Millie felt better saying at least half of it was “Lucy’s shit.”

Millie smiled absent-mindedly to herself as her gaze found one of the pictures Leigh had taken of the girls when they were trying to heave Millie’s things into the house, evidently having forgotten that they were witches - and accomplished ones at that. Millie ran a hand through her hair and looked down at herself, deciding to leave the dress instead of doing anything about it. She was home, now - she didn’t have to worry so much about what happened to it. If it was ripped or something of the like she could always take it to Madam Malkin’s in the morning before fetching Felicity and go in to get it on the way home. That would be the plan, Millie decided, if the situation called for it. She didn’t know anything about material magic and knew she would only make things worse if she took her wand to the fabric. She knew the results of it, many a birthday photograph documenting such clothing disasters. Millie put that to the back of her mind and took a swig of her beer before going in search of a bag of peanuts.

Unfortunately, Millie missed the tender exchange between man and man-cat and emerged from the house onto the deck just as Lucius was settling in Trent’s lap. Millie pursed her lips and considered telling the cat exactly where he could do stuff himself but instead set herself down in the chair opposite Trent, tucking her legs up behind her body as she did so. Millie chucked the peanuts onto the table, the bag making a slight clang against the glass as it landed. She smiled a little at Trent and took a swig of beer before looking up at the building she’d called home for a few years now. A smile rose to Millie’s lips again and she nodded, pleased with what she’d made out of a life that hadn’t been showing much room for anything good or solid or secure. She let her head fall onto the rim of the chair’s spine and wetted her lips a little before taking another swig of the beer.

“Its proof that I’ve done something, I suppose.” Millie nodded before laughing. “This is far from fancy! Merlin forbid...but it’s a home. I don’t think I can move again now unless I run out of space in this place. It’s a great location. There are plenty of places to go for walks. I wanted to get a dog but Lucius didn’t fancy the idea much.” Millie smiled and raised an eyebrow at Trent. “Do you live near the rest of the team or sort of...more inner city way? I suppose the further in you go the more expensive it gets and the less room you have for your money.” Millie hummed thoughtfully before taking another swig of her beer and reaching forward for a handful of peanuts.

Millie watched as Trent fumbled with the rolled bits of smoking guff and she eyed warily the additional cylindrical object he’d produced from his pocket. The smell of the other hit her nostrils immediately and had she not learned much about keeping a straight face then she would’ve recoiled immediately. Instead, Millie brought her hand up behind her ear and took the cigarette she’d put there earlier. She placed it between her lips and cupped her hands together, encouraging him to throw the lighter.

“I quit,” She explained shortly. “The cigs are a little harder. Quit the spliff, more cigs to compensate...quit the cigs and I’ll be a raging alcoholic. It’s bad enough already but Jesus Christ...” The side of Millie’s lips quirked up in a half smile. “It’s a vicious circle but the black guy isn’t the one who dies first, ironically enough. Then again, unfortunately this isn’t a horror film...more like bitter reality. Ah well. C’est La Vie. Pizza or Chinese?”

“This is fancy.” Trent shook his head and drank generously from the bottle, so that when he set it down again, less than half of the beer remained.

“Well, this is the first sign of things to come with the Magpies. Hm.” He shook his head again.

“Who would’ve thought, eh? The Magpies. But, you know, Puddlemere isn’t looking. Or, at least, I’m not what they’re looking for.” Trent chuckled as he contemplated in odd amusement.

“But yeah, didn’t get a lot from playing for the Wanderers. So I’ve been putting up in a pod-hole, the only one that I can afford. The part in town where nothing fancy stands out, really. It’s private, though. Quiet, and everyone just sort of minds their own business even with the close proximity between flats. I don’t fancy the place. But that’s what I get I guess. I would have preferred to have the house, but mum sold it. Did I tell you she buggered off too? Mmm, she did. Whatever.”

Trent picked the bottle from the table and took another huge gulp, leaving just a drop of beer, which he lifted the bottle again to finish it.

“I might be able to afford better, now with the Magpies. It’s been too short a time to make living arrangements. Besides, I’m mostly too lazy to move. But, soon enough, I guess. I’ll find somewhere more convenient … a decent apartment. That’ll be quite good for now. Lucky me, I think. A month as a reserve, and then someone falls to give me an opportunity. Life is weird. It gets so shit, and then some glimmer, and then back to more shit.”

A chuckle, a bitter one, as if he even a good sign was not good enough to convince him that the future was not going to be so gloomy after all. Trent turned to the bottle before remembering that he had finished it a moment ago.

Trent fixed his gaze on Millie. Her face took him to a place deep into the dream sequences locked in his mind. She was there, right there. But he had lived far too long and had grown too accustomed to the ephemeral projections of her, both in his sobriety and mostly when he was plugged. He needed to focus on the present. She was there. Trent blinked and watched the girl laugh. And right there, he was lured into a slight smile, influenced by the effect of her. A small and persistent movement distracted him momentarily. Looking down at his lap, the cat was rubbing its neck against his torso. Almost instinctively, Trent offered his available hand to Lucius, who transferred the attention to the warmth of a palm. The smile that had begun spread a little wider as Trent watched his palm being licked persistently by the cat. Satisfied, Lucius turned to offer his belly, which Trent began to rub to the rhythms of the cat’s purring.

“Pizza.” Trent grinned. “I’m starving.” Then, looking away, he took a long drag of his spliff, enjoying the soothing effect of it on his nerves. He was beginning to get comfortable. Still, he was exhausted. He had, after all, had the biggest game of his life. Sure, there were important games played at Hogwarts, but this was the League. He had given his all, and thankfully, there were rewards to reap. Whatever it was, it was a good day. And, it seems, he was becoming less concerned with the odder part of his day now with Millie, as he settled into safety of his spliff and the warmth of the cat at his lap.
“You pick the flavours, since I chose the food.” Trent turned his gaze to the sights that Millie’s bungalow offered, admiring what she had done for herself, wondering about the lost years of contact.

“What’ve you been up to? How’s Elliot?” Trent remembered the picture of the little girl that Millie had shown him earlier in the changing room. It certainly made him regret his question. He didn’t want to know Millie’s relation to the girl. At least, according to his assumption, he knew it wouldn’t please him very much. He attempted to change the subject. “I mean, look at this house. It’s quite something. I haven’t done anything for myself. Nothing substantial. Just, live by the days I guess.” He was almost ashamed. He knew his father would continue to be ashamed of him. After all, Dean and Demelza both held stable jobs in the Ministry. Trent had nothing to show for, although today’s game could possibly be a sign of promise.

“Fancy,” Millie echoed with a wistful smile on her face as she looked up at the house that had done right by her over the past few years. It had endured much of her sadness, a result of the tensions between family members, but it had also been privy to quite a bit of her happiness, however short and sweet that usually was. She had persevered and despite the attempts at people making roots in her life, the house seemed to be the only constant. Granted, Stewart was giving it his best shot.

It was safe to say that the silly man was enamoured with Millie and he’d not been afraid to make his intentions known. ‘Marriage,’ he’d said, ‘Marriage and babies and a nice house somewhere.’ Millie, though slowly, reluctantly beginning to consider the idea of marriage and babies, had looked around her cluttered living room, from the endless stacks of books that no bookcase could fit to the doll’s house that, at the time, had been played with only mere hours before by a sleeping Felicity who had been put down to sleep in her nursery, and knew just by looking around that she had that nice house i na nice somewhere. Sure the marriage and babies weren’t exactly ticked boxes but the nice house somewhere most definitely was and that was her settled. She had physically recoiled from the idea of moving but that hadn’t shaken Stewart off of the scent; Millie doubted anything would - much to her chagrin. He was an alright shag with a fantastic salary that Millie wasn’t about to give up yet. She was just waiting, biding her time until the right person wandered into her life. Though, part of her knew that person had already done that but circumstance had ensured that they walked out of each other’s lives before their true worth was recognised.

Millie left her reverie and blinked at Trent, hastily taking a swig of beer so as to mask her daydreaming. Millie leaned forward, her mind beginning to register what he was talking about, and placed her beer down on the table. She reached behind her ear for her cigarette and stole Trent’s lighter off of the table. She smirked a little at him as she brought the cigarette to her lips and lit the end of it quickly before chucking the lighter back in his direction with a flick of her wrist, aiming low towards the cat but high enough to make any sort of impact look accidental. Millie raised an eyebrow at the mention of Trent’s mother and shook her head before exhaling a lung-full of smoke, sending it up into the air to mingle with the stars that were twinkling in the sky. She wondered briefly about her own mother before curling her lip and shuddering a little at the thought of the blonde woman.

“Does she still talk to Lavender?” Millie inquired nonchalantly, finding nothing bizarre in referring to her mother by the woman’s forename. She flicked some of the ash into the ash tray on the table and smiled absent-mindedly at Trent before laughing a little. “Well, if you ever need some company you know who to call. Right,” Millie rose from her chair and made for the house. “You still like pepperoni right?” Millie grabbed a piece of parchment and scribbled their orders down on it. Then, she picked up some Floo powder and murmured the address before tossing the parchment into the fire. Millie watched it disappear in an explosion of emerald flames and smiled appreciatively before turning around and striding back out onto the patio. “Ordered!” She confirmed before collapsing into her chair and taking the cigarette from between her lips. “Flicky likes pepperoni.” Millie mentioned with a fond smile quickly tugging her lips upwards. “She’ll be jealous no doubt, if she knew that is.”

Now that he was in a place that safely qualified as a house, there was a certain nostalgia he felt towards the quiet little place that was his grandparents’. Trent had dwelled way more on his parents leaving. He had, however, failed to think about how he had really brushed away the hands that still wanted to hold him. If he had turned to watch the frame of Cynthia Robins crumbling in the arms of her husband as both of them watched him leave, perhaps he would have changed his mind about abandoning them like his parents did to him. But he didn’t.

A year had passed. It was a year of loneliness and self-condemnation, wallowing in how no one cared and no one loved him. Trent had not kept his promise. He did not return to, at least, comfort his grandmother with the fact that he was still alive. It was almost as if he had forgotten everything in his past. But, of course, how could he ever do that successfully? He could never; not with how he’d return to the very beginning of how things began to go wrong and how things began to hurt. The past was something he never could escape from.

Yet, in the cosy atmosphere of Millie’s home, Trent could think of nothing more than the warmth of the tea his grandmother would make and bring up to him in his room, and the smell of dinner that wafted up to his room, too. Demelza could never emulate her father’s skills in the kitchen. Patrick had, after all, been a rather decent cook at the pub just a block away from the family home. Nothing, perhaps, smelt more like home than dinners made by his grandfather.

Trent blinked at Millie’s question. He shook his head slowly. “I don’t even know if my parents are dead or alive.” He chuckled, then bit his lower lip. He watched her move to get their pizza ordered, turning away quickly before he thought she would catch him watching her too intently. It was still rather surreal, seeing her after what felt like a decade. This was probably the moment when one typically reflected on life. But did he grow up? Did he change? He didn’t feel as if those questions were even meaningful to him at this time.

“Flicky?” He asked, puzzled. “I … enjoyed the game?” Trent paused to take a long drag. “Pity Stewart had to go down like that …” Oh, yes, push the subject to her boyfriend. Trent reprimanded himself. He didn’t know what he wanted to know. Perhaps it was that. He wanted to know, but he didn’t want to, too. “You … gonna visit him? I mean, I could eat and go. Don’t want to take up too much of that time. At least I’ll get my stomach settled, and all …” Sometimes, he couldn’t stand himself. He was being such a woman.