InsaneJournal

Jason liked holding court. Four matches into the block, he was becoming more recognizable. There were the few questions about broom racing or Montrose, but most people wanted to talk to him about muggleborns and war recovery efforts.

He was also excited to see Lynch play. In between planning their movement, Jason had got in a few flights with Aidan, even managing to teach the Irish National Seeker a thing or two. The Cannons may not be the most exciting team to watch, but that left him with more time to socialize and promote his other interests.

It wasn't so much that she had left on bad terms necessarily, but Ainsley still felt a little awkward coming to the match. Honestly, she was there to pick up some things that Dragomir had borrowed over the years that she'd only recently realized weren't in her possession when she'd started packing up her flat. The Cannons’ current season had been particularly painful, so she was actually a little glad for the professional distance.

As such, her attention wasn't so much on the match- though Kenmore was rather brilliant- but wandered around the audience, people watching. And this was how she'd noticed the rather sizeable group of people sporting a sort of eye melting shade of pink sitting in the stands some distance away. She wondered about them for a few moments, before her brain supplied one of them in particular with a name: Jason King.

For a couple of seconds she just sat there, inwardly debating, but then she screwed up her courage and made her way over to the pink brigade. Waiting for an opening, Ainsley moved toward him with what she hoped was a moderately friendly smile (and not the sort of manic grin she'd seen on fans before), and said, “Mr King?”

“Jason, please,” he said holding out a hand to shake. “And you’re the new reservist for Pride, Galbraith, right?” Jason didn’t pretend to know all 143 professional players in the League, but he did know a good deal of them. He moved to make space next him on the bench, inviting her to sit if she so desired.

“Ainsley, yes, Galbraith,” she felt a rush of something at being recognized- especially by him- and quickly sat next to him before she talked herself out of it. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but, well, I’ve always been a fan-” shite, just said that out loud- “and I suppose it might be easier to ask a familiar-to-me-face about this pink-” she waved a hand in general- “is all about.”

He laughed at the fan comment. “You do realize we both play the same game.” Unless she was talking about his racing career, which wouldn’t be a surprise, but the comment still stood. Not that he could fault her. Jason considered Lynch a friend, better now in all that was ongoing, but he still totally got starry eyed from time to time.

“The pink is about being seen. During the war they were so keen to register us, take away our wands or lock us away, and now many people want to ignore or write off that wrongdoing.” Jason might have said some version of this over a dozen times at this point, and each time was just as passionate, just as earnest. “This is our way of being seen and being counted on our own terms.

“Plus it doesn’t hurt that I make this look good.”

Ainsley felt herself go flush, and she started to argue that she was really just a reserve and not really in the same league- small l, not big L, of course- and wanted to clarify that she meant the racing thing, but Jason had continued, explaining the movement, for lack of a better word. Just as quickly as the colour had risen in her face, it drained again, leaving her to have to grip the bench at her sides just to keep from swaying. She managed a small laugh at his last comment, but it sounded high and weird in her own ears.

This was her conversation with Percy Weasley at the gala all over again. Anger and guilt that warred tempestuously with profound relief. “My dad’s muggleborn,” she heard herself say, and wondered distantly if her brain was somehow broken. “It wasn’t on. That we played. That we kept playing. Shouldn’t’ve done.”

“I don’t know. The more and more I think about it, people were just trying to go on living and survive.” Jason heard stories and even met people who were marked as muggleborn sympathizers and collaborators, it wasn’t a much better fate. “I’m never going to fault people for trying to live their lives, but I do take issue to people who profited or actively took part.”

“It’s a fine line to navigate and it doesn’t serve anyone to simply punish everyone.” It also meant there was no easy answer to be found. Not that Jason expected one, history had shown him that none of what happened now would come simply. “Part of the pink project is to start conversations, to facilitate discussions, to make sure no one goes forgotten.”

Ainsley’s face crumpled a little, because that guilt was like a stone in her gut, and it was just sinking deeper, pulling her down. She managed the ghost of a nod. “I hated it, at the time, wanted to quit, but things with my dad-” she took a shuddering breath, and then pushed it out in a small, mirthless laugh. “Dad was always caught between being proud and saying it was all ‘Bread and Circuses’ meant to distract the world from the true horrors of what was going on. My mother-”

But she cut herself off, because Jason King didn’t want to hear this, and she didn’t particularly want a complete stranger to hear about her secret shame. “It’s great, what you’re doing. Really important. I’d like to support it, if I can. Any way I can.”

“Well, this is just step one.” And it was gaining pretty good traction. Even with Dawn and the Wasps launching the movement. There was a time and place to be angry, to wield as a weapon and then be refined. “I am hoping that more will be rolling out as we move into the new year. And we are always glad to have allies and hope to offer them equally exciting fashion choices.”

However, even that had to be taken with care because he didn’t simply want his movement to be wrapped up into the Scottish Referendum, which was a political beast onto itself. “In the meantime, I would like to hear your story.”

It kind of amazed her, hearing someone so impassioned for a cause, and with what sounded clear ideas for future plans. She envied it a little, but not the reason behind it. Never that. “Mine?” she looked at him, startled. “Oh- you probably mean with my dad. He- I- My Mum is a Fawley, see, a pureblood. But she wasn’t- isn’t really like all that, neither are my mum’s parents, so they didn’t have a problem with her marrying my dad, even though he didn’t come from a ‘family’.” She used air quotes, and rolled her eyes a little. “Of course, when the Registry was enacted, we all panicked a little.

“But I guess my grandparents were prepared for it, or had been making plans for it, ‘cause they never came for my dad. Come to find out, they used the Fawley name to cover for him. He might as well have been adopted into the family for all that the Ministry was concerned, and us still being Galbraiths wasn’t the least bit odd. And dad still had to work for the very families who had some hand in hunting down others like him, or quietly supported the movement without being overt about it, ‘cause it all had to be business as usual, like you said.”

It barely registered to her that her fingers had started to hurt from where they were gripping the bench. The wood even creaked a little as she eased them free and flexed them. She shrugged a shoulder feebly at him. “And that’s why we didn’t do more. Couldn’t do more. But I want to now. I want to help make things right.”

“I can imagine many might think your family lucky, but I imagine the truth is far more complicated than that.” That was the more common narrative Jason was hearing. While his personal suffering and those of his peers was obvious -- it was hard to debate the trauma involved in an Azkaban sentence -- that didn’t mean others weren’t recovering from their own trauma but without the resources.

“And it’s great that you’re willing to stand up now even if you couldn't before.” He paused, thinking about how to word the next part without seeming like he was prying. “But I can’t help but notice you told me your dad’s story and not your own -- what did the war mean for you?”

“For me?” Ainsley looked at him sharply, surprised. She usually considered herself a non-entity during that awful year, and actually struggled to remember any part of it that wasn’t tied into her unending worry and concern for her father and her family in general. “I, uh, played reserve for the Cannons that year. Saw a couple more games starting than I had in the past, but that was about it. The crowd never… felt right. They were awful matches. We were playing, sure, but I felt like… I felt like we were actors, playing at parts instead of the game. Anytime someone didn’t show, there was always a moment of were they next? Did something finally happen to someone we knew personally? It was all very hopeless and inevitable.”

She lifted a shoulder and then let it drop again. Her gaze drifted back toward the pitch, watching the quaffle exchange hands for a few moments. She looked over at Jason again, and her mouth lifted into a rueful little smile. “My war story isn’t anything interesting or important. Just someone trying to make sense of a world that had gone completely mad.”

“But it is your story and no less important to be heard.” It was the sort thing someone might say to placate a person, but Jason truly meant it. Hearing those perspectives, those voices, gave further weight to the movement he was working to create and guide. “If for no other reason that it informs the actions you take now.”

“I find too many people are still afraid to talk about what their lives were like during the war, as if their suffering or experience isn’t as important for not being wandless or having been in Azkaban. And then those who had that experience too often don’t want to talk either.” And Jason was different, he knew he was different. Armed with Mandela he was ready to take on the world, but he also had the McGonagalls in his corner along with a brilliant therapist.

She started to dismiss the sentiment out of turn- that her story mattered- but then reconsidered. His reaction wasn't actually one she had been expecting/dreading, and she found her estimation of Jason King growing far past what it already was- which was a lot to begin with. Ainsley nodded a little, because he was absolutely right.

“The past matters,” she murmured, probably barely heard over the sound of the crowd- the Kestral’s had possession again, much to fans’ delight, “of course it does. How else can we hope to learn otherwise? But, yes, it's what we learn and what we do from those lessons in the present that need to count. We can't change the past- not in any meaningful way, at least- but, heh, the future is ours to mould and shape, to make it right, make it better.”

She looked over at Jason again, now wearing a contrite half-smile. “I'd heard what happened. To you. I can't even imagine. Can't even comprehend. You probably hear it all the time and are really sick of it, but… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wish… I should have done more.“

Jason grinned brightly as he saw her putting together the pieces. While he wasn’t looking to convert another person to his way of thinking, he was always eager to walk people through some small level of self-actualization.

“As you said, the past matters, and there is a limit to what a time turner can do.” It was a tried and true joke. Not quite a deflection, but a place for Jason to pause and consider how to word what came next. “I don’t so much mind and if I did I wouldn’t be so public about my experiences and my recovery process from Azkaban.” What he did mind was when his experiences because reflections of someone else’s guilt and then he felt like he had to make it better for them. Jason was getting better at ignoring that feeling, but it never fully went away.

“Most days the scars aren’t so visible, but I certainly have my bad days. But it’s more good than bad, certainly helps getting to fly again.”

Ainsley felt her face heat under the brilliance of his smile. Ten points to me, she thought ridiculously. But just as quickly, reality came back, and she sobered once more. It didn't bear thinking about- life in Azkaban. She found herself looking at him, but couldn't reconcile the man sitting in front of her to anyone who could have suffered such cruelty and indignity. It was wrong and indecent.

She did smile, however, when he mentioned flying again. “I can't wait to see you race again. You're going to be utterly brilliant.”

Quidditch was one thing, but the racing circuit was a whole other beast. It was his first love. Jason turned down offers to play for the English National side a few times to further his racing career. He was a little nervous about the upcoming race, but that just kept him sharp. Or at least he hoped so. “Well, I certainly am going to be visible. I have a very handsome neon pink kit ready for the twenty-first.”

“I'd give my wand to see you there, but as it is, I've definitely got it marked on my calendar to listen to it on the wireless.” Ainsley knew she probably shouldn't be this effusive, not after such a heavy topic as they'd just been discussing, but she just couldn't seem to help herself. “I'll bet the pink will be absolutely smashing, and you'll leave all the others eating your bristles.”