WHO: Keaton Flitney and Grace Jordan WHAT: Drinking and talking after a national team practice. WHEN: Earlier in December. WHERE: A pub near the training grounds. WARNINGS: None
The pitch where Team Britain practiced was a few fields over from a small, little-visited pub. Regulars were a handful of locals, and quidditch players when practice demanded their presence.
It was nice, unassuming, and a good place to have a private conversation.
“I think you owe me a drink,” Grace said, wincing when she set her bag down in their usual booth tucked into the corner. “Actually Harper owes me a drink for mistaking me for a bludger. You shouldn't smile at your teammates during practice, it's too charming and it distracts them.”
"I don't know if that's the case," Keaton replied with one of those allegedly too charming smiles, settling into the booth and gesturing to the bartender. "But I'll buy you a drink regardless. It was a good practice, Harper's confusion notwithstanding."
“It was,” Grace smiled (grimaced) back. She rolled her shoulder and settled back into the seat. Grace liked playing for Britain, it was nice to play on the same team as a group of people that were otherwise her competition during the regular season. And of course, she got to play with Keaton, one of her oldest friends.
This time though, there were a number of missing faces and that was hard to ignore. Only slightly harder to ignore than the unspoken truth that none of them seemed to want to acknowledge about how much they were in the pockets of a group of Death Eaters.
Grace pressed her thumb against her injured shoulder.
“Do you think they’ll actually let us play?” It was a question far too serious for what their hang out was supposed to be, but Grace didn’t like to leave things unsaid.
Keaton’s smile faded slightly at the question, holding his response while the bartender delivered a round of their usual drinks. He leaned in, tracing a pattern in the condensation on his glass, delaying further.
“I think the current administration is keen for things to be business as usual, the removal of Muggleborns notwithstanding. I’m not sure the international community feels the same.”
Grace watched Keaton, line of her mouth dipping into a frown. It wasn't much of an answer, vague, as so many of his answers had been these days.
“I think that if they want to see a Team Britain compete, despite the fact that they’ve penalized some of our best players, then Malfoy and whoever will have to be on their best behaviour. But they’re Death Eaters, so I don't see how that's possible. And I don't want to be a pawn for them either.”
Grace gripped her own glass tightly. “Honestly, the fact that they may even be considering whether we should be allowed to play feels pretty good. Confirmation that someone outside of all this sees how messed up and awful it is. Confirmation that we’re not crazy.”
“We’re not crazy, no matter how much they try to convince us we are. I’m sure the muggleborns who got out are giving anyone who will listen as much information as possible.” He took a small sip from his drink, before looking down to study the table carefully.
“I hope they don’t let us play. Not with everything that’s been happening.”
Grace knew that she and Keaton were in a privileged, unique enough position to say that they hoped they couldn't do their own jobs, but the beater couldn't help but relax slightly to hear him agree.
“Maybe we could say something. Which sounds so…” Grace heaved a sigh. “It hasn't done us much good so far, but I'm not sure how else we can use the fact that we’re public figures, that we have fans, without hurting them. We could raise so much money to help, you know?”
“We could, but it’s illegal to help muggleborns. And incredibly difficult to help the Wandless either way. Even if we were to start raising money, we’d have to pretend it was for something else. Or be very covert about it.” Keaton drummed his fingers on the table, glancing away.
"Not that it's impossible. But it's not as easy to help muggleborns as it used to be. They've either fled or are deep in hiding."
And now they had Lucius Malfoy to make sure they didn’t get any ideas about it.
Grace furrowed her brow slightly, there was something in the way Keaton spoke about it, more knowing that speculative.
“So you’ve thought about it then?” She leaned forward, her own indecision and angry worrying had amounted to nothing. She liked the idea of raising money for a charity that in the outside, looked acceptable, but was really for the people that needed it. What a nice idea it was to have Purists support the people they’d taken everything from. “You said it wasn’t impossible, do you have any ideas?”
"I…" Keaton hesitated, masking it with a sip from his drink. He'd kept his cards close to his chest for so long, keeping his help secret for months now. But if there was anyone he could trust with his secret, it was surely Grace. Wasn't it?
"There are some people I've been helping," he admitted carefully. "People who couldn't get out of the country before it started to be difficult to get portkeys, or didn't want to leave. Mostly just giving them money, but where I can do more I try. I've had a lot of people crashing in my guest room recently."
Grace blinked back at her friend, his reticence the past few months suddenly aligning with this new information. A grin broke, bright and wide.
“Keaton that’s brilliant! Is this why you’ve been…” she glanced around and let the thought die. There was a reason he’d kept this close to his chest.
“How do you do it, is there a contact or something?”
"Sort of." Keaton glanced around, making sure there wasn't anyone close enough to eavesdrop. "It started out just helping a couple of mates to get out of the country, and it just… went from there. It's not as easy as it was, unfortunately, but I still do what I can."
Grace hummed as enthusiastically but covertly as possible. This sounded like possibility and after months, it felt good.
“Let us help you,” she said. “Between all of us we could give more resources, we could...expand somehow. I know more people means it's a higher risk, but,” she smiled gently. “You can trust me. I’ll do whatever you think would help.”
Helping the wandless had become nearly impossible, but there were still ways to get supplies, money, anything to them.
It was a few long moments before Keaton responded, his mind clicking over. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed his movements, the uptick of portkey use, money going out. Maybe it would be good to spread out the risk, but also the help they’d be able to provide.
“We could make something work,” he replied slowly. “But only those we know we can absolutely trust. I don’t want to risk the safety of the people we’re helping.”
Grace’s answering smile was smaller, more serious. “Of course. Do you trust me?”
“Of course.” Keaton’s answer was instantaneous, without another thought. He reached out and briefly touched Grace’s hand. “You’re the first person I’ve told about this, outside of my family. I wouldn’t do that lightly.”
Grace squeezed his hand in return, touched by that faith. She’d make sure she deserved it.
“Let’s finish these pints and we can head back to mine then,” she took a cursory look around before her eyes settled on her friend again. “We can talk easier there.”