chapter two. a game of glances

ALICIA GROANED, rolling onto her side as she slapped a hand onto the damp grass for support. Her body ached from the rough landing, and she took a moment to catch her breath before hoisting herself up with a huff. She brushed the dirt and stray leaves off her clothes, frowning at the wrinkles that had formed despite her efforts.

She swiped at her hair, trying to smooth it down, even though the mist in the air was already beginning to frizz it up again. Presentable, she thought, though not by much.

When she finally looked up, Alicia realized where they had landed — a bleak, mist-covered moor that seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. The fog clung to everything, making the air feel heavy, as though the landscape itself was pressing down on them. In front of them stood two disheveled wizards who looked about as thrilled to be there as she was. One was holding a battered gold watch that ticked loudly in the silence, and the other had a thick roll of parchment and a quill in hand, scribbling furiously as though that might somehow make the day go faster.

“Morning, Basil,” Mr. Weasley said cheerfully, far too cheerfully for Alicia’s taste. He bent down to pick up the old boot they had used as a Portkey and handed it to one of the wizards, who tossed it carelessly into a large crate filled with other odd objects. Clearly, they weren’t the only ones who had suffered through a bumpy landing today.

Alicia half-listened as they got directions, her mind wandering to more comfortable places—like the pristine beaches in southern France where she had been lounging just days ago. How had she gone from sipping iced tea under the sun to standing in a muddy field in the middle of nowhere?

With directions in hand, they set off across the desolate moor. The mist hung so thickly around them that it swallowed up any sound beyond their footsteps. Alicia walked briskly at the front of the group now, eager to escape the cold, damp air. Every few minutes, she cast an annoyed glance over her shoulder, wondering just how long they were expected to walk in this miserable weather.

After what felt like an eternity — her legs burning from the trek and her mood growing darker by the second — a small stone cottage finally emerged through the fog, its outline hazy in the distance. Beyond it, Alicia squinted and could just make out rows upon rows of tents, hundreds of them, scattered across the field.

"Great," she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes as they continued toward the campsite. "Because nothing says 'fun' like camping with a thousand strangers."

The Crockfords bid farewell to the rest of the group and trudged off toward their own tent. Alicia quickened her pace even more, the idea of finally sitting down and getting out of the damp lifting her spirits just slightly. She could already picture herself collapsing onto a soft bed, even if it was in a tent. At least it would be dry.

"Here we are!" Archer Crockford's voice rang out, filled with unmistakable pride as he gestured grandly toward the tent in front of them.

Alicia stared at it, unimpressed. The tent was… fine. Modest, as she might have put it. It was tall, with two stories, but after spending her summer in luxury villas, it didn’t exactly leave her speechless.

"It’s... lovely," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She gave her father a tight smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes, before crossing her arms.

Archer, of course, was too excited to notice her tone. He stepped forward and waved for his family to follow him inside. "Come on in!" he said, beaming.

The moment they stepped through the flap, the interior expanded dramatically, revealing a space that was much larger than it appeared from the outside. Alicia’s eyes widened despite herself as she took in the high ceilings, complete with a glittering chandelier, and the elegantly furnished rooms. For a fleeting moment, she almost forgot where she was. Almost.

"Well?" Archer turned to his family, but his gaze lingered on Alicia, his expression hopeful. "You like it?"

Alicia let out a long sigh, her eyes wandering over the ornate furniture and polished floors. It was far more than she'd expected, almost rivaling the size of their summer home in France. She was tempted to admit that it was impressive, but instead, she settled for a nonchalant shrug. "It’s nice," she said, her voice quieter now, her smirk fading into something more thoughtful. "Modest." She added the last word with a playful glint in her eyes, the corners of her lips quirking up again.

Archer’s shoulders relaxed at her response, clearly pleased that she wasn’t outright rejecting the experience for once. He walked over to her, resting a hand on her shoulder in that fatherly way of his. "I know this isn’t really your thing, honey," he said softly, his tone gentler now, "but try to enjoy yourself, alright? We’re here to make memories."

Alicia’s gaze dropped to the soft green woolen rug beneath her feet, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her sleeve. "I'm afraid I don't know how," she admitted quietly, her voice betraying the flicker of vulnerability she so rarely let show.

Archer, ever the cheerful optimist, grinned as though he had been waiting for this very moment. "Well," he began, a casual air in his tone that didn’t quite match the excitement in his eyes, "I did pull some strings... and it turns out our neighbors are the Windsors and Partridges."

At his words, Alicia’s head snapped up, her earlier gloom melting away in an instant. Her eyes widened, and a bright, genuine smile spread across her face, the kind of smile she hadn’t managed all morning. "Rue and Bella are here?"

Archer nodded, his grin widening, clearly pleased with her reaction.

"Right now?" Alicia asked, her excitement bubbling up so quickly that she could hardly contain it. Her voice was almost breathless as she took a step toward him, desperate for confirmation.

"Probably. I'm not sure, actually," Archer replied, his brows furrowing in mild confusion as he tried to recall if he'd seen them yet. But Alicia didn’t need any more answers. Before he could offer another word, she threw her arms around him in a brief, tight hug — something rare from her these days — and then, with barely a second thought, bolted for the tent flaps, her feet barely touching the ground.

Her heart raced with anticipation as she ran through the camp. How had she not noticed before? The tent to their right could only belong to the Windsors—it was unmistakable. Sage green and simple, yet elegant, the tent stood as a serene contrast to the bustling, chaotic campsite. The plants and flowers that surrounded it seemed so naturally intertwined with the tent itself, as if it had been there for years, the earth itself welcoming its presence. It was peaceful, timeless.

What sealed the deal was the small, unassuming sign nestled in one of the flower pots by the entrance. In delicate script, it read simply: Windsor.

Alicia’s heart leapt. She could already feel her spirits soaring, her earlier irritation and moodiness fading as though they had never existed. With barely a second's hesitation, she pushed through the tent flap, excitement lighting her every step.

Inside, the warm and welcoming atmosphere enveloped her. There, seated on the floor, were Arabella and Ruelle, her dearest friends, their heads bent in concentration as they played gently with Rue’s newborn sister. The baby cooed softly, tiny hands reaching for the blonde strands of hair that fell from Rue's braid. The sight filled Alicia with an overwhelming sense of comfort and joy. She had missed this — them — more than she had even realized.

Standing off to the side, keeping a watchful eye on the girls, was Mrs. Windsor, her elegant frame bathed in the soft light of the tent. It was she who noticed Alicia first. Her face lit up in an instant, a warm, welcoming smile spreading across her features like sunshine breaking through clouds. "Alicia!" she called out, her voice rich with affection, the familiar sound wrapping around Alicia like a hug.

At the sound of their friend’s name, Arabella and Ruelle’s heads whipped around, eyes widening with recognition. Without a second thought, they abandoned the baby — Ruelle practically thrusting the child into her mother’s arms — before sprinting across the tent to Alicia. The two girls crashed into her with all the force of a small hurricane, enveloping her in a tight, crushing embrace. The force of it almost knocked Alicia backward, but she laughed, caught up in the whirlwind of their energy.

"Alicia!" Ruelle’s voice was muffled by Alicia’s shoulder, but the worry in her tone was unmistakable. "Are you okay?" she asked, squeezing tighter as if Alicia had just returned from a life-threatening ordeal rather than a mild inconvenience.

"We heard you hiked!" Arabella added, her voice hushed in disbelief. She whispered the word hiked as though it were some unspeakable curse, her eyes wide with a mix of concern and horror. Alicia could almost see the invisible shudder run through her friend at the mere thought of such a barbaric activity.

"Oh." Alicia blinked, suddenly remembering the chaotic events of the morning. She had tried to bury the memory of it the moment she set foot in the tent, but now that her friends mentioned it, the trauma came flooding back. "It was tragic," she declared, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead as though on the verge of fainting. "But I survived." Her voice dripped with melodrama, and she shot them a look that conveyed all the suffering she’d endured.

Ruelle pulled back just enough to look up at her, eyes wide with admiration. "You’re so brave, Alicia!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with the utmost sincerity. Only Ruelle could take Alicia’s theatrics so seriously, and it was one of the many reasons Alicia adored her.

Alicia let out a small, long-suffering sigh. "It was dreadful, truly. Mud everywhere, mist so thick I could hardly see… But, alas, I came out of it stronger than ever." She straightened her posture, lifting her chin just a touch, as though she were a knight recounting a harrowing battle rather than a girl who had taken an unpleasant morning walk.

Arabella, who had been holding her breath in suspense, finally relaxed, a playful smirk curling at the corners of her mouth. "Of course you did," she said, her voice dripping with teasing affection. "But enough about that awful business — how was France?"

The mention of France immediately sparked a light in Alicia’s eyes, and she could see the same flicker of excitement in Arabella’s, who was already biting her glossy lips in anticipation, her curiosity practically spilling over.

Ruelle grabbed Alicia’s hand and pulled her toward the plush cream velvet couch in the corner of the tent. "You have to tell us everything!" she said eagerly, her green eyes wide with excitement. "And if you do, I’ll tell you everything about New York!"

Alicia raised a brow, smirking. "You promise?" she teased, as though she weren’t already dying to spill every juicy detail of her summer.

Ruelle nodded furiously, already pouring Alicia a cup of tea with such enthusiasm that a little bit sloshed over the edge and onto the table. She barely noticed, too wrapped up in anticipation. "Cross my heart!" she declared, sitting back and tucking her legs beneath her as though settling in for a story she had been waiting her whole life to hear.

Alicia let out a soft, melodic chuckle at her friends' obvious eagerness. The light in their eyes as they leaned forward, hanging on her every word, was almost enough to make her forget about her earlier frustrations. Almost. She took a small, dramatic breath, settling into her seat, and began to recount the most thrilling moments of her summer in France — mostly the lavish parties that stretched late into the night, each one more extravagant than the last. She told them about the ornate gardens, the endless stream of music and laughter, and the fascinating people she met, who seemed to float through the gatherings as if life itself was a grand performance.

But just as she was about to dive into a particularly juicy detail about a French Quidditch player, her story was abruptly interrupted.

"Alicia, honey, your brother is going to check out how the Weasleys have settled down!" her mother, Stella, called out from the corridor, still engaged in conversation with Mrs. Windsor.

Alicia blinked, her perfectly painted lips forming a small, displeased frown. "Tell him to have fun!" she shouted back, her tone carrying just a hint of forced cheerfulness as she shot a quick, apologetic glance at her friends. She was about to continue, but —

"And your father and I thought you should join him!" Stella’s voice rang out again.

A groan slipped from Alicia’s lips, more dramatic this time, just loud enough for Ruelle and Arabella to hear. "Fine, I’ll go!" she called back, trying to mask her irritation. There really was no point in arguing. Just as her parents had somehow convinced her to leave her idyllic vacation in France for this muddy, barbaric campsite, they would surely find a way to get her to accompany her brother to the Weasleys' tent. Her mother had a way of bending her will without even seeming to try.

"Wait, I thought you liked the Weasleys," Ruelle said, her perceptive eyes narrowing slightly as she noticed the reluctant frown on Alicia’s face.

"I do, it’s just…" Alicia’s voice trailed off, her gaze drifting as memories of that awkward greeting with Harry surfaced. It wasn’t like she didn’t like Harry — it was more that every interaction felt tinged with an odd kind of tension. Not to mention the fact that she had never quite mastered the art of casual conversation with him.

Arabella, sensing the shift in Alicia’s mood, pressed gently. "Just what?"

"I want to tell you everything that happened in France," Alicia said, her voice soft but deliberate. "Plus, I’m dying to hear all of your stories." It wasn’t a lie — she was genuinely curious about what her friends had been up to. But if she were honest with herself, there was more to her reluctance.

Ruelle and Arabella exchanged a glance, and though they didn’t say anything, Alicia could tell they saw right through her. But instead of pushing the matter, they smiled knowingly.

"You’ll tell us everything during the match," Arabella said, her voice light and teasing. "We’ll probably stop paying attention after the first quarter anyway." Her comment elicited a chorus of giggles from all three girls. Alicia had to admit that Arabella was probably right. Their attention always seemed to wander during Quidditch matches, no matter how exciting the game was meant to be.

Just as the laughter died down, a loud voice rang from outside the tent. "Alicia! Come on!" Mason’s voice was impatient, no doubt eager to drag her along to the Weasleys’ camp.

Rolling her eyes in exaggerated frustration, Alicia gave her friends one last, exasperated look. "I’ll see you later," she sighed, rising from her seat with the grace of someone preparing to face an unpleasant duty. With a dramatic wave of her hand — one last flourish for her audience — she swept out of the tent.

Outside, the morning sun shone brightly, casting long golden beams across the field. It was the kind of day that made you want to sit back and bask in the warmth, but Alicia was hardly in the mood for such pleasantries.

Nearby, Mason stood pacing impatiently, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his robes, while their father lingered in conversation with Mr. Partridge. Alicia cast an annoyed glance at her brother, wishing she could be anywhere else — preferably back in the cozy confines of the tent, gossiping with her friends.

"Can we go already?" Mason asked, his tone thick with impatience, clearly eager to get moving.

Alicia rolled her eyes dramatically, folding her arms across her chest as they finally fell into step, heading toward the Weasleys' tent. "You're acting like you haven’t seen Fred and George this morning," she grumbled, her words dripping with irritation. "Meanwhile, I haven’t seen my friends in almost two months!"

Mason, ever the irritating older brother, flashed that insufferable grin that always seemed to get under her skin. Usually, it was a playful quirk that made her smile despite herself, but during arguments, it only served to stoke the flames of her frustration. "You’ll live," he replied with infuriating nonchalance, as if her feelings were the least important thing in the world.

Alicia shot him a withering glare but said nothing more. The rest of the walk was spent in silence, her mind racing as they neared the Weasleys' tent. She could already feel the impending awkwardness closing in like a suffocating cloud. What would she even say to Harry? The last time they’d spoken, the conversation had been awkward at best, and she was in no hurry to repeat the experience.

As they approached the tent, the scene that awaited them was exactly what she had expected. The entire Weasley family was gathered around a fire, along with Harry, Hermione, and a man Alicia didn’t recognize. Fred and George were standing by, their usual mischievous grins plastered across their faces, exchanging money and what looked suspiciously like a fake wand with the unfamiliar man. It didn’t take Alicia long to realize what was happening — betting, of course.

Without missing a beat, Mason rushed ahead, as if drawn by some invisible magnet to Fred and George. Alicia watched as he tossed all his money at the man, a look of pure excitement on his face. "I would’ve brought more if I’d known this kind of opportunity was waiting!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

Alicia hung back, feeling oddly out of place as she stood off to the side. She forced a smile, offering small waves to anyone who happened to glance her way, but it was painfully obvious that she was behaving uncharacteristically awkward. Normally, she would have jumped right into the conversation, flashing a charming smile and effortlessly becoming the center of attention. But now? Now she felt like she didn’t quite belong, as if the summer had created an invisible rift between her and everyone else.

Her eyes flickered over to Harry for a brief moment, only to find him already looking at her. She quickly averted her gaze, pretending to take sudden interest in the fire burning in front of the tent.

The mysterious man turned to Mason with a curious smile. "What’s your name, young man?" he asked, his tone friendly, though Alicia could hear the amusement behind his words.

Mason, already sporting his signature smirk, was clearly anticipating how this whole encounter would play out. “Mason Crockford,” he said with a casual air, tossing his name into the conversation like it was some kind of card.

The effect was immediate. The man in front of them, who had been all smiles and easygoing charm, suddenly straightened his posture. His eyes flickered with a brief flash of recognition, and when he spoke again, his tone had shifted to something far more polite, almost deferential. “Well, excuse my unmannarliness,” he said with a slight bow of his head. “I’m Ludo Bagman.” He extended his hand to Mason, who took it with an overly enthusiastic shake.

Alicia stood back, knowing exactly what was coming next. The titles. It always came back to the titles.

“Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports,” Bagman added, just as Alicia predicted, now turning his attention to her with the same formality. “I know your father.”

Alicia forced a polite smile and shook his hand, though internally she was counting down the seconds until this conversation could be over. “Nice to meet you,” she said smoothly, her tone as polished as ever. But as soon as Bagman’s attention shifted back to Mason, she leaned in and hissed through gritted teeth, “The same father who’ll kill you when he finds out you’re betting.”

Mason barely glanced at her, clearly unbothered. “He’d be a bloody hypocrite,” he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. “What do you think he was discussing with Mr. Partridge?”

Alicia’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t bother responding. Instead, she sighed and gave a dramatic roll of her own eyes.

As the conversation drifted away into discussions of betting odds and teams, Alicia found herself retreating to the edge of the group. She absentmindedly checked her manicure, running her fingers over the polished nails as if their sparkle was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. It was better than engaging in more betting talk, at least. She caught snippets of her brother’s excitement, Fred and George egging him on, but her thoughts were elsewhere, drifting somewhere between her disinterest in Quidditch and the uncomfortable tension she’d been feeling ever since they arrived.

Then a voice startled her out of her daze.

“Are you excited for the match?”

Alicia’s heart gave a small jolt, and her head snapped up, meeting the familiar green eyes she’d been hoping to avoid. Harry was standing just a few feet from her, his expression open and genuinely curious, an easy smile playing on his lips.

For a split second, Alicia froze. When had he walked over? If she’d seen him coming, she might’ve made a quick escape — anything to avoid the awkwardness that seemed to hang between them lately. But now, there was no avoiding it.

“Um...” she stammered, her words catching in her throat. For some reason, standing in front of Harry always made her lose a bit of her usual composure. She glanced at his face again, noting the way his eyes lingered, waiting patiently for her response. There was something about his gaze that made her feel both seen and unnerved at the same time.

She swallowed, trying to gather her thoughts, but all that came out was a rambling, “Perhaps a little... maybe.”

Internally, she winced. Really, Alicia? You couldn’t just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’? Something simple that would’ve ended the conversation quickly. But, no, she always had to overthink it.

“A little?” Harry repeated, his eyebrows raising in surprise. His smile widened just slightly, as if he wasn’t quite sure if she was joking.

Alicia could feel the heat rising to her cheeks and tried to play it off, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a casual air that was anything but casual. “Well, it’s different at Hogwarts, you know?” she began, feeling the need to explain herself. “There, you know the players. You’re invested in your house winning. You cheer for your friends. But here? I mean, I’m basically clueless.” She gave a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I suppose this is more of a cultural event. It’s about the spectacle, not just the game.”

Her words tumbled out in a hurried rush, as if filling the silence between them might somehow help dissolve the tension. But instead, she found herself rambling, and once again, Alicia cursed her inability to just keep things simple around him. She took a deep breath, steadying herself before offering a more restrained, “Yeah, a little.”

Harry’s eyes softened as he listened, the small lines around his mouth deepening as his smile lingered. He seemed to enjoy her rambling, which only made Alicia more self-conscious. The longer he stood there, the more acutely aware she became of every little detail — the way his hair was just slightly messy from the breeze, the faint trace of humor in his eyes, and the fact that he hadn’t taken a step back, even though the conversation was practically over.

A brief silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable exactly, but filled with an awareness Alicia couldn’t quite place. She tore her eyes away, letting them drift toward the group around the fire, watching Fred and George laugh boisterously as Mason continued to toss money towards Ludo Bagman. For once, she wished they’d draw more attention so she wouldn’t have to focus so much on the fact that Harry was still looking at her.

“Have you placed a bet?” Harry asked, breaking the silence.

Alicia snorted lightly, her laughter catching her off-guard. “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I’d rather not lose any money today, thanks. Besides, I don’t think I could stand to be like my brother, throwing it around like he’s some Quidditch expert.”

Harry chuckled at that, the sound warm and genuine, and Alicia couldn’t help but smile in response. There was something there — something subtle and unspoken that made her pulse quicken just a little whenever they were in the same room.

She didn’t dare dwell on it, though. At least, not while he was standing so close.

“Well, if you ever decide to take a gamble,” Harry teased lightly, “I’d say put your money on Ireland. Just a hunch.”

Alicia laughed, more at the relief of the conversation lightening than anything else. “Noted,” she said, her smile lingering as she glanced back at him. And for a fleeting moment, their eyes met again, just a beat longer than necessary.

Before either of them could say anything more, Mason’s voice cut through the air. “Alicia, you coming or what?”

Alicia blinked, feeling the moment shatter as she turned toward her brother. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” she called back, her voice a little more breathless than she would’ve liked. With one last glance at Harry, she offered a small wave. “See you at the match.”

Harry gave a nod, still smiling, as she walked away. And as she hurried after Mason, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was imagining the way her heart was racing, or if Harry had noticed it too.