Before the Dawn | George Weasley

Epilogue

Almost five months to the day after the Battle of Hogwarts, an unfamiliar owl delivered a letter to Jamie's villa. It didn't have a return address, or any indication who it was from, but my name was clearly printed across the front of the envelope.

Jamie sat across from me at the kitchen counter, sipping from a cup of tea and eyeing me as I opened it.

Dear Miss Doyle,

My sincerest apologies for the delay in sending this. We only had one address on file for you, the address provided by Hogwarts, but it has been brought to our attention that you no longer reside at that address, and haven't for some time now. There was some confusion as to how to reach you, as there were no other mailing options on file, but we were given this address by one Graham Montague, and hopefully this letter finds its way to you now.

My name is Tristan Frasier, and I am the manager of the Scotland Highlanders Quidditch team. I would like to extend an invitation to you to try out for our team for the upcoming season.

I slapped the letter down with a squeak, my eyes wide.

"What?" demanded Jamie, moving to read the letter over my shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, I held it at an angle so we could both see it, and continued reading.

We currently have an opening on our roster for the Chaser position, and having heard about your great successes while playing in school, I would most enjoy it if you would make the journey up to Glasgow this Saturday next for a trial run with the team.

I look forward to meeting you.

Sincerely,

Tristan Frasier

Scotland Highlanders Manager

Jamie and I sat in a shocked silence, reading and rereading the letter until it finally started to register what this meant.

"You're going to be a professional Quidditch player," Jamie breathed.

"Well, I'm going to try out," I corrected her quickly.

"Yeah, by playing with the team! He's practically handing you the position!"

"Jamie, I—" My eyes wandered down to the hand laying in my lap. My partial fingers had healed over, but I hadn't even attempted to ride a broom since I'd lost them. "What if I can't fly anymore?"

Jamie whacked me over the head. "Mackenzie Doyle, I've seen you stand up on a broom and fly without using either of your hands."

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Don't make excuses to get out of something you've always dreamed of doing," Jamie interrupted. She held my gaze steadily, her eyebrows raised. "Besides, this is another reason to kick that drinking habit. If professional Quidditch doesn't motivate you to quit, then nothing will."

It was true—quitting the drink after my time with the Death Eaters had proven just as difficult as Remus and Dumbledore had warned it would be. And losing Remus and Miles did nothing to help; if anything, I drank more in the months following the Battle of Hogwarts than I had ever before, tip-toeing that dangerous line in an effort to forget that I'd lost two people I loved dearly on that day, to forget the terror and stress and utter wretchedness of it all. 

One morning after one particularly bad episode in which I'd spent nearly three days in a drunken, depressive fugue, unresponsive to everyone and everything around me, George cornered me in the kitchen of his flat, his expression grim.