Power Play, Chapter 2: No Preparation
Title: Power Play
Rating: R for language.
Spoilers/Warnings: DH, no epilogue. Strong language.
Ships: Eventually Dean/Katie.
Summary: Dean and Harry go undercover to investigate suspected dark wizard activity. Little do they know, Katie is one of those suspected, and she's in way over her head.
Length/Completion: 3072 words, incomplete
Notes: Chapter 2 of ?. Prompt set 100.4 @ 100quills, 14. Blind.
Chapter Two
No Preparation
The advantage of Muggle transport was that no one recognized them, and the two could travel in relative anonymity without relying on magical tricks and covers. Of course, after eleven hours in an uncomfortable train compartment going into a mission about which they had little information, neither of them cared much whether Death Eaters (or worse, Harry’s fans) found them out or not. Dean felt like he’d been bound at the legs for the better part of a month--and he was qualified to make such a claim, considering past missions. It didn’t help that he was not yet comfortable in his disguised body; he’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep, and none of that was good sleep. Harry looked a little better, as for some reason he could make himself relax just about anywhere. Still, Dean could see his partner subtly stretching his limbs as they disembarked.
Unfortunately, any advantage they’d had during transit faded as soon as they left the comfort of the Falmouth Town Station, and Harry had to don a strong Disillusionment Charm. He’d become so adept at them over the years that even Dean had trouble seeing his friend as they walked single file through the streets of the town.
There was a small neighbourhood of wizarding homes nestled against a wooded area, according to his map. It was on the far side of town, away from the coast, but Dean didn’t mind the walk to test out his body, get used to its movements. It wasn’t bad, really, considering he now had the small, lithe build of a Seeker, and he thought he might even become accustomed to the hands--they were built for catching Snitches, so surely he could manage some decent sketches.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, coming to a full stop in front of the building whose address he had on the bit of parchment in his hand.
If the lack of a portkeys and the scarcity of decent uniforms was the norm, the building in front of Dean was certainly not standard issue Auror housing. This was no doubt being provided by the Falcons, and he was tempted to hoot with joy. He was in the wrong profession. Pristinely detailed columns, large windows, greenery that not even Neville could have accomplished on his own, and large yard around back. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the area came pre-equipped with heavy Muggle-repelling charms that would make it possible to practise Quidditch on the premises.
Inside, he was not surprised to find things even nicer than the outside. There were twelve flats in total, “his” on the top floor, far west side. 2B. Completely furnished, luxurious colours…it was all he could do to stop himself from running and flopping happily on the king-sized bed he could see from the doorway. Instead, he walked in, closed the door behind him and immediately began casting a series of tests and protections. After a few minutes, he opened the door again and waited a few seconds before closing it behind the disillusioned Harry.
Harry dropped the camouflage at once. “Everything check out, then?”
Dean nodded. “Just the standard security charms. I left them in place, just put a subtle cloak over the inhabitant alarm so that it won’t register you.”
“Good,” said Harry. There was a writing desk in the sitting room, and he dropped his bag next to it and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. “Do you mind, mate? I think we need to get this letter off as quickly as possible.”
“Sure,” Dean said, slinging his bag onto the couch and then digging into the pockets of his trousers. After a moment, he pulled out a tiny silver whistle and blew into it. No sound came out, but within a minute or two, there was a tapping sound on the window above the dining table. He crossed the room and opened it, allowing the owl to hop into the room.
Harry tied the paper to the owl’s leg and sent it off once again within seconds.
“What did you say?” Dean asked. While the Aurors had this particular communication system in place for all but the most desperate of contact, it was difficult to word letters in such a way that they could be sure intercepted mail couldn’t be deciphered. Jumbling charms were efficient, but not perfect.
“’Flying blind is not my preferred method. Please send my goggles.’” Harry quoted. “Sent it straight to ‘Mum and Dad,’ too.”
Mum and Dad. Auror code for Kingsley Shacklebolt. The Minister wouldn’t open the mail himself, most likely, but they would probably get better and faster information from that office than from the Eli Vassar, the head of the Magical Law Enforcement Division.
“Might as well get settled, then,” Dean said, slapping his partner on the back. “Don’t have to report to the pitch till tomorrow.”
Nodding, Harry tapped his wand to his head and the disillusionment charm flowed back down his body. “I’ll get the perimeter.”
“I was thinking more like dinner,” Dean said, sighing. “But if you insist…I’ll introduce myself to some neighbours.”
*
When Katie woke up, she had a splitting headache and ravenous appetite, but she had no idea why. Her vision was a little blurry, but she could hear voices around her, and soon the faces of her fellow teammates came into view hovering over her. April was smiling and placed a hand on her shoulder. Normally, it would have been a comforting gesture, but Katie wasn’t even sure why she needed comforting.
She sat up far too quickly and saw bright flashes of light in her eyes. “What the bloody-fucking-hell happened to me?”
There were chuckles of laughter, though she failed to see what was so funny about the pressure she felt behind her eyes, or feeling like she hadn’t eaten in several days.
“Don’t worry, it’s normal to not remember the first couple of times,” said April, rising from where she’d been kneeling next to the couch.
The room had stopped spinning enough that Katie recognized her flat. She wondered briefly why she’d decided on such bright colours for the sitting room--fuck, the light hurt her eyes bad enough without neon green adding to the problem--before he mind focused on what her team captain had been saying. “Remember what?”
Now some of the others seemed a bit more serious, more focused. It was a look she often saw on their faces before a game, or when a particularly horrendous practise had set April on a scathing rampage. Since she knew neither of those had happened or was going to happen today, at least as far as she could recall, she was even more confused than ever. If not for their earlier laughter, she might have been afraid something had happened to a friend or family member back home.
“You’ve been initiated,” April said, and there were smiles and nods all around. “Welcome to the Circle of Morgana.”
Katie would have raised an eyebrow, but her head hurt far too much for that sort of movement. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
Again, there was laughter.
“Not yet, Bell, but it will soon.”
“Here, take this,” said Jac, handing her a small vial. It held some sort of potion that reminded her vaguely of hangover cure, though the colour was off a little. “It’ll help a little, though any memories that come back will probably be only flashes for now.”
Once they’d cleared out, Katie stared at the potion for a few more seconds before downing it all in one shot. She’d become an expert over the years at getting the things down without having to taste them. Playing a sport for a living meant a lot more trips to the hospital, or even just the team healer, and the stock of spare pain potions in her bathroom than would be considered prudent for the average single girl. She’d never understood why the damn things always had to taste so bad, though.
Resting back against one of the arms of the couch, she closed her eyes and waited for the sallow-coloured stuff to take effect. She could almost feel it swirling around in her head, looking for the pain to snuff it out, the memories to clear up.
When it was done, there was still nothing.
She didn’t like that feeling of there being a gap in her memory. Circle of whatever-the-fuck-it-was could go to hell for all she cared. Blacking out for a period reminded her far too much of the time she’d spent in St. Mungo’s at the end of her school career, and that was a time she did not care in the least to remember.
Katie sat up, grateful that at least her headache was gone. The potion didn’t fix her hunger, however, so she set about fixing herself a giant sandwich. And chocolate. She needed chocolate in a bad way. She shoved giant bites of food in her mouth as she dug into the back of the cupboard. She pulled out the box that held all of her emergency snacks, then cursed when she saw that it only held a tiny bag of marshmallows.
Only one solution for a chocolate shortage, she thought, slipping into the pair of sandals she kept near the front door for such errands. Within only a few seconds, she was knocking on her neighbour’s door. Paige always had a decent stock of sweets, and she didn’t mind sharing, unlike that bloody infuriating husband of hers.
“Katie!” Paige squealed when the door swung open, then clapped one hand over her mouth and glanced back over her shoulder. She was petite, blonde and busty, visually every bit a stereotypical empty-headed slag, which was humorous considering how little the woman resembled the image in every other way. She only held it open a crack, however, which was usually a signal that she couldn’t really talk. “I didn’t know you were back yet.”
“Heya, love. Yeah, we got back in town this morning.” Not exactly sure where I’ve been since then, she added silently. She lowered her voice. “Sean home, then?”
Paige nodded, giving her a little apologetic smile. “He’s sleeping, though. If you want to chat, perhaps we can go back to your place?”
Katie snorted. Sean seemed to always be sleeping, but then her friends’ husbands’ personal habits were really none of her business. Even if said husband seemed to think Katie’s personal habits were his business. Frequently and loudly. “You know I always love a good chat,” she said, grinning. “But actually, I just came to see if you had any chocolate. I’m fresh out, and I need it.”
“I’ll be right back,” Paige said, patting her arm and smiling understandingly. She pulled her head back inside and closed the door quietly.
She probably thought it was nearing that time of the month, but Katie didn’t care a jot at that moment. Despite the sandwich she’d eaten in practically a single bite, her stomach rumbled with hunger. She’d be surprised if half the building couldn’t hear it. Leaning back against the wall, she stretched her arms so far above her head that her shirt rode up and her bare midriff peeked out. Merlin that felt good.
Then a door clicked open just down the hall, and she snapped her arms back to her side, pulling at her shirt. She glanced down just in time to see a small-ish bloke coming out of the far flat. She’d nearly forgotten the impending arrival of her new teammate, but seeing Isaac Monroe in the flesh made her grin fiercely.
New girl no more.
*
After Harry left, Dean checked the wards one more time, to be sure they hadn’t registered his partner’s entry and exit. Once he was satisfied that his spellwork had done the trick, he checked his reflection in the mirror. It was strange to be so much shorter than his normal build, though the typical scrawniness made him smile wryly. He smoothed a hand through dirty blond hair, tried out a smile, then headed out into the hallway.
Since Harry was covering the perimeter, Dean would need to check the interior of the building, subtly checking for hidden wards, jinxes or any other spell that might lead to their detection. And since they still weren’t sure why they were even here, much less what they were looking for, he’d have to do an extra sensitive scan of the area. Probably do it twice, just to be sure.
It was those necessary spells on his mind that made him not notice her until he’d gone halfway down the hall. When he did, he nearly blew his cover within the span of two seconds, and all because he almost said her name aloud.
Katie Bell was standing at the other end of the corridor, grinning at him.
Dean wasn’t sure if he was stuck in some sort of hell dimension, or if he was just having a really nice, lucid dream. It had to be one of the two, because he could feel the emotion welling up in his voice without even speaking the word. Kate. He hadn’t seen her in nearly four years, and it was supposed to stay that way. He was on a mission--a bloody intensive one--and the last thing he needed was something like this crowding his mind.
But Merlin she looked good.
“Isaac?” she called, her wide grin softening down to a smile as she came down the hall toward him. Her hair was longer than he remembered, and a little darker. It danced around her shoulders as she walked. “You’re Isaac Monroe, yes? Katie Bell, Chaser. It’s nice to meet you.”
He shook her extended hand numbly, forcing a pleasant smile onto his face. Of course. She’d been traded to the Falcons quite a few months back. Why hadn’t he remembered? Because you try to pretend you don’t still follow her career, came the voice in the back of his head. Because you wish you didn’t still need to.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Bell,” he said, his voice squeakier than normal. Bloody foreign body. Well, at least she didn’t know Isaac Monroe well enough to know when his voice sounded off. “Please, call me Ike. You live in this building, too?”
“Ike, then.” Katie nodded and pointed. “Far end. 2E. There are two others who live here as well, both downstairs.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Missy Chastain, Chaser, is in 1A, and Jac Boylston is in 1D. Well, no, he’s probably actually in 1A, but he’s been assigned to 1D.” She laughed and winked at him. “He’s the best damn beater in the league, though, so whatever he’s doing is doing him good.”
Dean opened his mouth to make some inane comment about how nice the accommodations were--what the fuck else was he supposed to say to her?--when a small, blonde witch poked her head out of a flat down the hall and called Katie’s name.
“Oops, gotta go,” said Katie, giving him another winning smile. She offered her hand once again. “It was nice meeting you, Ike. See you at practise tomorrow.”
“Yeah, you too. See you.” His mouth seemed to move on its own, and for once he was grateful for bland small talk.
He watched as she bounced down the hall again, chatted for a few seconds with their neighbour, and then went back to her flat at the end. She gave him one last little wave and then disappeared through the door. Dean immediately turned and followed the same pattern, walking through his door and closing it as softly as he could behind him. Then he sank into the nearest chair, head resting in his hands.
He hadn’t moved from the spot when Harry returned. He heard the door open and click shut, but his muscles felt dull, lifeless, and for once it had nothing to do with the feeling of being in someone else’s skin.
“Dean, mate? All right?”
“No, I’m not bloody fucking all right,” he said, but any harshness he felt in those words had bled out into his mind before he actually spoke them. All it left was pain. “She’s here.”
“What?” Harry said, coming around to stand in front of Dean. “Who’s--oh. Shite.”
He’d obviously forgotten as well, though his excuse was likely better. He didn’t have a reason to pay attention to that particular player, other than a general interest in Quidditch. No matter how pitiful the reason, Dean should have remembered. Should have prepared himself.
“Yeah, shite,” Dean repeated, rubbing his face. Finally, he looked up at his friend. “I don’t know if I can do this. I thought I was over it, but…this is just one big fucking mess. The whole thing’s a disaster.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know,” Harry agreed, letting out a heaving sigh. “Do we call it off? Go back and make Vassar send someone else?”
Dean shook his head, willing himself stand. “No, I can make it. If for nothing else than to figure out what the hell is going on here. We’ve never gone into a mission knowing so little. I smell a rat, and if we can’t find it, mate, no one else in that department can.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” Dean said, nodding. He wasn’t, but maybe if he said it aloud enough, he’d start to believe it. “This is too damn important to let some bird screw things up.”
Harry gave him a hard look. The one that said he knew Dean was just bullshitting himself. “She was your fiancé, mate. You’re allowed a little extra lenience with that sort of thing.”
“Four years. It’s been long enough.”
The other still didn’t seem to believe it, but after another long look, he shrugged. “All right. I’ll go check the interior, then?”
Dean nodded giving his partner a little sheepish smile. “Thanks. That much I’ll concede. Not sure I can face her again right now.”
Now all he had to do was figure out how the hell he was going to face her at practise without anyone noticing the strangeness, and get to the bottom of this mess so they could be done with it. And then fuck waiting on Kingsley. Dean would drag that bastard Vassar out of the building himself, resignation or not.
Rating: R for language.
Spoilers/Warnings: DH, no epilogue. Strong language.
Ships: Eventually Dean/Katie.
Summary: Dean and Harry go undercover to investigate suspected dark wizard activity. Little do they know, Katie is one of those suspected, and she's in way over her head.
Length/Completion: 3072 words, incomplete
Notes: Chapter 2 of ?. Prompt set 100.4 @ 100quills, 14. Blind.
Chapter Two
No Preparation
The advantage of Muggle transport was that no one recognized them, and the two could travel in relative anonymity without relying on magical tricks and covers. Of course, after eleven hours in an uncomfortable train compartment going into a mission about which they had little information, neither of them cared much whether Death Eaters (or worse, Harry’s fans) found them out or not. Dean felt like he’d been bound at the legs for the better part of a month--and he was qualified to make such a claim, considering past missions. It didn’t help that he was not yet comfortable in his disguised body; he’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep, and none of that was good sleep. Harry looked a little better, as for some reason he could make himself relax just about anywhere. Still, Dean could see his partner subtly stretching his limbs as they disembarked.
Unfortunately, any advantage they’d had during transit faded as soon as they left the comfort of the Falmouth Town Station, and Harry had to don a strong Disillusionment Charm. He’d become so adept at them over the years that even Dean had trouble seeing his friend as they walked single file through the streets of the town.
There was a small neighbourhood of wizarding homes nestled against a wooded area, according to his map. It was on the far side of town, away from the coast, but Dean didn’t mind the walk to test out his body, get used to its movements. It wasn’t bad, really, considering he now had the small, lithe build of a Seeker, and he thought he might even become accustomed to the hands--they were built for catching Snitches, so surely he could manage some decent sketches.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, coming to a full stop in front of the building whose address he had on the bit of parchment in his hand.
If the lack of a portkeys and the scarcity of decent uniforms was the norm, the building in front of Dean was certainly not standard issue Auror housing. This was no doubt being provided by the Falcons, and he was tempted to hoot with joy. He was in the wrong profession. Pristinely detailed columns, large windows, greenery that not even Neville could have accomplished on his own, and large yard around back. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the area came pre-equipped with heavy Muggle-repelling charms that would make it possible to practise Quidditch on the premises.
Inside, he was not surprised to find things even nicer than the outside. There were twelve flats in total, “his” on the top floor, far west side. 2B. Completely furnished, luxurious colours…it was all he could do to stop himself from running and flopping happily on the king-sized bed he could see from the doorway. Instead, he walked in, closed the door behind him and immediately began casting a series of tests and protections. After a few minutes, he opened the door again and waited a few seconds before closing it behind the disillusioned Harry.
Harry dropped the camouflage at once. “Everything check out, then?”
Dean nodded. “Just the standard security charms. I left them in place, just put a subtle cloak over the inhabitant alarm so that it won’t register you.”
“Good,” said Harry. There was a writing desk in the sitting room, and he dropped his bag next to it and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. “Do you mind, mate? I think we need to get this letter off as quickly as possible.”
“Sure,” Dean said, slinging his bag onto the couch and then digging into the pockets of his trousers. After a moment, he pulled out a tiny silver whistle and blew into it. No sound came out, but within a minute or two, there was a tapping sound on the window above the dining table. He crossed the room and opened it, allowing the owl to hop into the room.
Harry tied the paper to the owl’s leg and sent it off once again within seconds.
“What did you say?” Dean asked. While the Aurors had this particular communication system in place for all but the most desperate of contact, it was difficult to word letters in such a way that they could be sure intercepted mail couldn’t be deciphered. Jumbling charms were efficient, but not perfect.
“’Flying blind is not my preferred method. Please send my goggles.’” Harry quoted. “Sent it straight to ‘Mum and Dad,’ too.”
Mum and Dad. Auror code for Kingsley Shacklebolt. The Minister wouldn’t open the mail himself, most likely, but they would probably get better and faster information from that office than from the Eli Vassar, the head of the Magical Law Enforcement Division.
“Might as well get settled, then,” Dean said, slapping his partner on the back. “Don’t have to report to the pitch till tomorrow.”
Nodding, Harry tapped his wand to his head and the disillusionment charm flowed back down his body. “I’ll get the perimeter.”
“I was thinking more like dinner,” Dean said, sighing. “But if you insist…I’ll introduce myself to some neighbours.”
*
When Katie woke up, she had a splitting headache and ravenous appetite, but she had no idea why. Her vision was a little blurry, but she could hear voices around her, and soon the faces of her fellow teammates came into view hovering over her. April was smiling and placed a hand on her shoulder. Normally, it would have been a comforting gesture, but Katie wasn’t even sure why she needed comforting.
She sat up far too quickly and saw bright flashes of light in her eyes. “What the bloody-fucking-hell happened to me?”
There were chuckles of laughter, though she failed to see what was so funny about the pressure she felt behind her eyes, or feeling like she hadn’t eaten in several days.
“Don’t worry, it’s normal to not remember the first couple of times,” said April, rising from where she’d been kneeling next to the couch.
The room had stopped spinning enough that Katie recognized her flat. She wondered briefly why she’d decided on such bright colours for the sitting room--fuck, the light hurt her eyes bad enough without neon green adding to the problem--before he mind focused on what her team captain had been saying. “Remember what?”
Now some of the others seemed a bit more serious, more focused. It was a look she often saw on their faces before a game, or when a particularly horrendous practise had set April on a scathing rampage. Since she knew neither of those had happened or was going to happen today, at least as far as she could recall, she was even more confused than ever. If not for their earlier laughter, she might have been afraid something had happened to a friend or family member back home.
“You’ve been initiated,” April said, and there were smiles and nods all around. “Welcome to the Circle of Morgana.”
Katie would have raised an eyebrow, but her head hurt far too much for that sort of movement. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
Again, there was laughter.
“Not yet, Bell, but it will soon.”
“Here, take this,” said Jac, handing her a small vial. It held some sort of potion that reminded her vaguely of hangover cure, though the colour was off a little. “It’ll help a little, though any memories that come back will probably be only flashes for now.”
Once they’d cleared out, Katie stared at the potion for a few more seconds before downing it all in one shot. She’d become an expert over the years at getting the things down without having to taste them. Playing a sport for a living meant a lot more trips to the hospital, or even just the team healer, and the stock of spare pain potions in her bathroom than would be considered prudent for the average single girl. She’d never understood why the damn things always had to taste so bad, though.
Resting back against one of the arms of the couch, she closed her eyes and waited for the sallow-coloured stuff to take effect. She could almost feel it swirling around in her head, looking for the pain to snuff it out, the memories to clear up.
When it was done, there was still nothing.
She didn’t like that feeling of there being a gap in her memory. Circle of whatever-the-fuck-it-was could go to hell for all she cared. Blacking out for a period reminded her far too much of the time she’d spent in St. Mungo’s at the end of her school career, and that was a time she did not care in the least to remember.
Katie sat up, grateful that at least her headache was gone. The potion didn’t fix her hunger, however, so she set about fixing herself a giant sandwich. And chocolate. She needed chocolate in a bad way. She shoved giant bites of food in her mouth as she dug into the back of the cupboard. She pulled out the box that held all of her emergency snacks, then cursed when she saw that it only held a tiny bag of marshmallows.
Only one solution for a chocolate shortage, she thought, slipping into the pair of sandals she kept near the front door for such errands. Within only a few seconds, she was knocking on her neighbour’s door. Paige always had a decent stock of sweets, and she didn’t mind sharing, unlike that bloody infuriating husband of hers.
“Katie!” Paige squealed when the door swung open, then clapped one hand over her mouth and glanced back over her shoulder. She was petite, blonde and busty, visually every bit a stereotypical empty-headed slag, which was humorous considering how little the woman resembled the image in every other way. She only held it open a crack, however, which was usually a signal that she couldn’t really talk. “I didn’t know you were back yet.”
“Heya, love. Yeah, we got back in town this morning.” Not exactly sure where I’ve been since then, she added silently. She lowered her voice. “Sean home, then?”
Paige nodded, giving her a little apologetic smile. “He’s sleeping, though. If you want to chat, perhaps we can go back to your place?”
Katie snorted. Sean seemed to always be sleeping, but then her friends’ husbands’ personal habits were really none of her business. Even if said husband seemed to think Katie’s personal habits were his business. Frequently and loudly. “You know I always love a good chat,” she said, grinning. “But actually, I just came to see if you had any chocolate. I’m fresh out, and I need it.”
“I’ll be right back,” Paige said, patting her arm and smiling understandingly. She pulled her head back inside and closed the door quietly.
She probably thought it was nearing that time of the month, but Katie didn’t care a jot at that moment. Despite the sandwich she’d eaten in practically a single bite, her stomach rumbled with hunger. She’d be surprised if half the building couldn’t hear it. Leaning back against the wall, she stretched her arms so far above her head that her shirt rode up and her bare midriff peeked out. Merlin that felt good.
Then a door clicked open just down the hall, and she snapped her arms back to her side, pulling at her shirt. She glanced down just in time to see a small-ish bloke coming out of the far flat. She’d nearly forgotten the impending arrival of her new teammate, but seeing Isaac Monroe in the flesh made her grin fiercely.
New girl no more.
*
After Harry left, Dean checked the wards one more time, to be sure they hadn’t registered his partner’s entry and exit. Once he was satisfied that his spellwork had done the trick, he checked his reflection in the mirror. It was strange to be so much shorter than his normal build, though the typical scrawniness made him smile wryly. He smoothed a hand through dirty blond hair, tried out a smile, then headed out into the hallway.
Since Harry was covering the perimeter, Dean would need to check the interior of the building, subtly checking for hidden wards, jinxes or any other spell that might lead to their detection. And since they still weren’t sure why they were even here, much less what they were looking for, he’d have to do an extra sensitive scan of the area. Probably do it twice, just to be sure.
It was those necessary spells on his mind that made him not notice her until he’d gone halfway down the hall. When he did, he nearly blew his cover within the span of two seconds, and all because he almost said her name aloud.
Katie Bell was standing at the other end of the corridor, grinning at him.
Dean wasn’t sure if he was stuck in some sort of hell dimension, or if he was just having a really nice, lucid dream. It had to be one of the two, because he could feel the emotion welling up in his voice without even speaking the word. Kate. He hadn’t seen her in nearly four years, and it was supposed to stay that way. He was on a mission--a bloody intensive one--and the last thing he needed was something like this crowding his mind.
But Merlin she looked good.
“Isaac?” she called, her wide grin softening down to a smile as she came down the hall toward him. Her hair was longer than he remembered, and a little darker. It danced around her shoulders as she walked. “You’re Isaac Monroe, yes? Katie Bell, Chaser. It’s nice to meet you.”
He shook her extended hand numbly, forcing a pleasant smile onto his face. Of course. She’d been traded to the Falcons quite a few months back. Why hadn’t he remembered? Because you try to pretend you don’t still follow her career, came the voice in the back of his head. Because you wish you didn’t still need to.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Bell,” he said, his voice squeakier than normal. Bloody foreign body. Well, at least she didn’t know Isaac Monroe well enough to know when his voice sounded off. “Please, call me Ike. You live in this building, too?”
“Ike, then.” Katie nodded and pointed. “Far end. 2E. There are two others who live here as well, both downstairs.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Missy Chastain, Chaser, is in 1A, and Jac Boylston is in 1D. Well, no, he’s probably actually in 1A, but he’s been assigned to 1D.” She laughed and winked at him. “He’s the best damn beater in the league, though, so whatever he’s doing is doing him good.”
Dean opened his mouth to make some inane comment about how nice the accommodations were--what the fuck else was he supposed to say to her?--when a small, blonde witch poked her head out of a flat down the hall and called Katie’s name.
“Oops, gotta go,” said Katie, giving him another winning smile. She offered her hand once again. “It was nice meeting you, Ike. See you at practise tomorrow.”
“Yeah, you too. See you.” His mouth seemed to move on its own, and for once he was grateful for bland small talk.
He watched as she bounced down the hall again, chatted for a few seconds with their neighbour, and then went back to her flat at the end. She gave him one last little wave and then disappeared through the door. Dean immediately turned and followed the same pattern, walking through his door and closing it as softly as he could behind him. Then he sank into the nearest chair, head resting in his hands.
He hadn’t moved from the spot when Harry returned. He heard the door open and click shut, but his muscles felt dull, lifeless, and for once it had nothing to do with the feeling of being in someone else’s skin.
“Dean, mate? All right?”
“No, I’m not bloody fucking all right,” he said, but any harshness he felt in those words had bled out into his mind before he actually spoke them. All it left was pain. “She’s here.”
“What?” Harry said, coming around to stand in front of Dean. “Who’s--oh. Shite.”
He’d obviously forgotten as well, though his excuse was likely better. He didn’t have a reason to pay attention to that particular player, other than a general interest in Quidditch. No matter how pitiful the reason, Dean should have remembered. Should have prepared himself.
“Yeah, shite,” Dean repeated, rubbing his face. Finally, he looked up at his friend. “I don’t know if I can do this. I thought I was over it, but…this is just one big fucking mess. The whole thing’s a disaster.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know,” Harry agreed, letting out a heaving sigh. “Do we call it off? Go back and make Vassar send someone else?”
Dean shook his head, willing himself stand. “No, I can make it. If for nothing else than to figure out what the hell is going on here. We’ve never gone into a mission knowing so little. I smell a rat, and if we can’t find it, mate, no one else in that department can.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” Dean said, nodding. He wasn’t, but maybe if he said it aloud enough, he’d start to believe it. “This is too damn important to let some bird screw things up.”
Harry gave him a hard look. The one that said he knew Dean was just bullshitting himself. “She was your fiancé, mate. You’re allowed a little extra lenience with that sort of thing.”
“Four years. It’s been long enough.”
The other still didn’t seem to believe it, but after another long look, he shrugged. “All right. I’ll go check the interior, then?”
Dean nodded giving his partner a little sheepish smile. “Thanks. That much I’ll concede. Not sure I can face her again right now.”
Now all he had to do was figure out how the hell he was going to face her at practise without anyone noticing the strangeness, and get to the bottom of this mess so they could be done with it. And then fuck waiting on Kingsley. Dean would drag that bastard Vassar out of the building himself, resignation or not.