[oneshot] for club and for country (2/2)
Title: for club and for country
Pairing: kai-centric
Rating: pg13
Genre: au, gen, slice-of-life
Warnings: swearing, mild violence
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: professional quidditch au.
< < < PART 1 < < <
"Rise and shine, darling."
"Mmf. Go away."
"Big day today."
"Hyung. We aren't even playing."
"Still." Baekhyun tosses the blinds wide open. Jongin buries himself deeper into the sheets. "Shit. This view is spectacular."
"I know. Let me sleep."
"Your Animagus form should've been a fucking sloth, Jongin."
"Nnngnghf."
Baekhyun laughs, the dry sound carrying across Jongin's new bedroom. "I'm expecting you later. My place. Noon. The match starts in Transylvania at 8AM sharp."
Jongin blinks blearily at the wall clock. "Noon... I still have two hours, what the hell, hyung."
"Yes, well." He sounds amused. "You've been known to miss these things before."
"That was one time-and you weren't even-"
"See you at lunch!" Baekhyun cuts in brightly. He Disapparates with a loud crack.
Jongin pulls himself up at eleven. He'd moved into the new apartment at the end of the fall season, packed up his meager belongings and set up camp in a magical building closer to the stadium. It's nicer here. There are stronger wards in place, and the bedroom window looks out over Mikawa Bay. He wakes up every morning to rippling blue. The ocean. Kai. Fitting.
He's chugging orange juice in the kitchen when the bad muscle in his back twinges, right above his tailbone. He staggers to the bathroom and digs through his stock of potions for something that'll dull the pain. Toyohashi had lost the Asian Cup final to Hong Kong at the end of the fall season, and Korea's fifth and sixth qualifying matches were in January and February, after another round of intensive training with the national team. They won against Spain and lost against Transylvania. Jongin's chronic back injury returned in full force when he'd twisted his body wrong into a nasty dive at the end of the match. Even now, weeks later, the phantom throbbing still flares up when he isn't careful.
Group D's last qualification game is China vs. Transylvania. Baekhyun's throwing a viewing party at his apartment in Gangnam, the only place big enough to hold everyone at one time and private enough that they can hex his shit with abandon if things go sour. When Jongin arrives at half past noon ("You're late, but you're forgiven," Baekhyun says as he breezes by with a huge platter of kimchi poppers), there's a comprehensive chart of round robin stats blown up on one wall of the living room, Charmed to update whenever a new match ends. A 3-D hologram of the pitch in Transylvania flickers in between a ring of couches.
Jongin gravitates to the wall. Heejin, the Chaser coach, is already there, staring up with a pensive expression on her face. All the teams from the other groups who've qualified for the sweet sixteen are lit up in green and ranked by order of seed. Japan topped Group A with Germany in close second, Canada and Argentina trailing behind. Group B's qualifiers were Brazil, Ireland, Peru, and Australia. In Group C, France, Wales, and Armenia qualified, with the US edging in after a last-minute win over New Zealand.
And then there's Group D. China, England, and Bulgaria have already made it through. This last game decides who takes that last slot. If China wins, South Korea makes the bracket. If Transylvania does, then-
"You look so glum," comes Jongdae's voice. His arm slings heavy around Jongin's neck.
"Aren't you nervous?" Jongin says, turning away from the stats. He presses the heel of a palm against his eye and exhales, shoulders tense.
Jongdae shrugs. "We're not the ones playing."
"Waiting's worse."
"Is it?" Jongdae steers them toward the couches. "Calm down, dongsaeng. The onus isn't on us. There's nothing else we can do."
"We couldn't have just gone to the match?" Chanyeol's asking, gazing at the hologram as Jongin settles in next to him. "I can barely see a thing."
"It's gross in Transylvania right now," Baekhyun says primly. "Height of vampire feeding season. I'd rather not."
Everyone settles down when the match begins. Jongin tunes out the running commentary and focuses on Yixing, who trails up to the southern flag-post and parks himself there, expression as smooth and placid as ever. Transylvania opens scoring. Amber's not there today-the Harpies are playing for top sixteen in the British League. Fei and Jia are playing with someone else-Min, he hears Jongdae murmur. She plays with me in Shanghai. Kris is absent, too, for reasons unknown.
Jongin stress-eats his way through three plates of kimbap as the score rises. At the bottom of the fourth hour it's 250 to 130 in favor of Transylvania and the food tastes like ash in his mouth.
"Come on, Yixing," Chanyeol's muttering feverishly beside him. "I believe in you, I've always believed in you-" Joonmyun's fingers clench in his jeans. Kyungsoo's face is blank, but his fingers are bitten down to the cuticle.
Movement in the hologram catches his eye. Jongin turns back to see a close-up of Yixing and the Transylvanian Seeker racing across the field, pressed low to their brooms, feet knocking into the grass below. They're so close they could almost be one flier if Jongin squints hard enough, their robes twisting into each other, navy blue on red. Jongin's heart lurches in his chest, banging crazily against his ribcage as he leans forward. Absently, he registers Transylvania scoring another goal-what the hell is the Chinese Keeper doing, Merlin's sake-and then-
And then Yixing reaches out, head craned forward. He knocks the other broom aside. His fingers close around the Snitch.
Chanyeol gives a great shout. Jongin leaps up and upsets Jongdae's cup of punch, lap sopping wet. He whirls around and everyone's on their feet, roaring with relief. Baekhyun squeezes his fingers around Jongin's arm, face shining, radiant. Over his shoulder, Jiyong's speaking rapidly to Heejin and Daesung, a tiny uptick in the curl of his mouth.
Baekhyun marches to the wall of stats and taps his wand to the corner. It flickers once and disappears, replaced by the final bracket of sixteen:
Jongin's stomach roils. From all the food he'd inhaled or the overwhelming rush of anticipation, he isn't sure.
Taemin resurfaces to wish him good luck at the end of March. "This could've been you, you know," Jongin remarks, when he swings the door open to see him in the stairwell, dripping from the rain. Seoul had offered Taemin a position as Seeker the year he graduated from Mahoutokoro, but he'd turned them down to chase Dark wizards around the world instead. Jongin sees him three times a year at best.
"You tell me that every time," Taemin returns, casting a Drying Spell on himself. The water sluices into nothing. He peers around at the apartment as Jongin steps aside to let him in. "I had no idea you moved, by the way. Barged into your old place and some poor Muggle lady nearly had a heart attack. Had to Fire-call your sister to figure it out."
"Sorry," he says, grinning, and Taemin punches him in the arm.
Jongin putters around in the kitchen and makes them tea, steeps the leaves in two mason jars because he doesn't have anything else that's clean. Taemin's settled on the sofa when he walks back out. His hair, for some reason, is in a bizarre weave, and it trails down past his shoulders when he leans forward to accept the cup. Jongin sinks down next to him and shifts against one of the cushions. Taemin cocks his eyebrows, an irritatingly shrewd expression on his face, and asks, "How's your back?"
"Manageable," Jongin hedges. "Do you want anything else? Dinner?"
"I can't stay long," Taemin says, but he accepts the half-loaf of Hokkaido milk bread Jongin tosses him. He looks apologetic for about two seconds before he's smiling again. "I just wanted to let you know I'll be watching," he continues, waggling his fingers.
Jongin shakes his head, mouth lifting. "That isn't creepy at all."
Taemin nudges his side. "Seriously, though. Good luck. You won't be as good as me, but you'll do."
"Thanks," Jongin replies, rolling his eyes. He stands, drifts toward the fireplace. "Need the Floo?"
"Yeah," Taemin says, clasping Jongin's wrist in gratitude. "I'm tracking some nasty Italians."
"I won't ask," Jongin says, and watches him disappear into the green.
*
The summer of Jongin's fourth year, the entire team goes to watch the World Cup finals.
It's incredible. The match takes place in Japan but it's Argentina vs. Australia. The Argentine team rides in on their mascots, enormous winged horses, golden-feathered and magnificent. Australia brings thunderbirds that pinwheel above the floodlights and threaten to make it rain. The metallic smell of lightning pervades the whole stadium, and it's chaos in the air from the opening whistle. Jongin and the others are in really crappy nosebleed seats, but Sehun shares his Omnioculars. The Chasers ping around almost too fast for Jongin to keep up, and he watches Lucy Karoonda spiral up so high to catch the Snitch that she almost collides with one of her own squawking mascots.
In September, they qualify for the Youth League sweet sixteen by the skin of their teeth. Jongin catches the Snitch but also fucks his back up big-time, a recurring injury that bothers him even after Madame Shin patches him up in the hospital wing. Gain Owls him bimonthly potion care packages. Kyungsoo, who's taking a Herbology in Healing elective his last semester at Dong Bang, forces increasingly foul-smelling poultices on him in the name of magical progress.
Before their semifinal with Indonesia, several things happen in quick succession: 1) Sehun overtakes Jongin in height, to his endless delight, 2) Baekhyun and Jongdae throw Chanyeol such a ridiculous eighteenth birthday party that Professor Lee establishes an immediate and indefinite ban on Muggle lighters, helium tanks, and Axe body spray, and 3) Jongin turns into a bat for the first time in Transfiguration.
"That explains a lot," Soojung remarks, as Sehun the albino boa constrictor slithers around behind them. "Like you sleeping all the time during class. And no wonder you manage to walk around with your eyes closed and not bump into stuff. Echolocation." She dodges the quill Jongin hurls at her like a spear, grin stretched wide across her face.
They flatten Indonesia at home. "We haven't gotten this close since third year," Chanyeol splutters in the showers after the match, and proceeds to press-gang them into a training schedule that would make Joonmyun proud.
He makes the Chasers practice formations two weekends in a row. "I swear to God," Baekhyun growls, murderous, "this is just an excuse for him to smack Bludgers at us all day long and not get into trouble."
"I didn't think I would ever say this," Jongdae moans. "But I think I preferred Joonmyun-hyung's methods."
"You preferred Joonmyun-hyung's everything," Kyungsoo comments mildly. Sehun snickers. Jongdae whacks him on the head with a rolled-up copy of his latest Charms essay.
The final's against Beijing again, five days before Christmas. This time, it's at home. Jongin's parents come down from Seoul to watch him play. They arrive at the castle to wish him good luck before breakfast, decked out in the school colors. Dad even has a sparkler in his hand.
"You have to eat," Baekhyun says patiently, after they've gone to grab seats in the stands.
Jongin swallows. Nods. His stomach's doing a pretty impressive set of pre-game acrobatics, but he lets Kyungsoo move fish cakes onto his plate anyway. The apprehension follows him out into the morning light-but kicking off leaves all his worries on the ground every time, like he's shedding dead skin. All that's left is the broom underneath him. The faint whistling of the wind in his ears. The hairpin turn.
Beijing's new Seeker, Fang Yilun, spends the entire game shadowing him, presses on despite all of Jongin's attempts to shake him off. It's more than a little irritating, because it means he'll see whatever Jongin sees.
The heavens open up half an hour in, pour down big, fat droplets that turn everything hazily translucent. Jongdae swings by with the Quaffle tucked underneath his armpit. "A little fall of rain," he's belting out, Jinri hot on his heels, brandishing her bat, "can hardly hurt me now-"
Jongin laughs, tension in his abdomen loosening a little. By the bottom of the second hour they're up 130 to 70. He blinks the water out of his eyes, rounding the highest flag-post in the stadium, and catches the telltale flash of gold zipping up the pitch.
He lets himself drop and Yilun tries to mimic his movements-but this isn't a dive. This is Jongin's Dragonbolt trusting him to know what he's doing, trusting him enough to let him free-fall toward the dirt rushing up to meet him. A buffet of rain knocks him sideways and Jongin grits his teeth, pushes himself past the pulsing pain in his back, still flirting with the edge of control.
He's dropping so quickly that his eyes sting, the skin stretching over his cheekbones forced back from the drag. It takes everything he's got to keep his gaze on the Snitch, sparkling as it meanders past Chanyeol and Zitao fighting for a Bludger. He's so close. Yilun's long gone. If he could just-
Jongin yanks his broom up at the last minute, right before he crashes and burns. Level to the ground, still flying too fast for comfort. Torso pressed low to the shaft, back screeching. His arms stretch forward, eyes narrowing into slits-and then he's four, three, two meters away, the whole world whittling down to him, the broom, and the flighty Snitch-
His palms close around it, fingers crushed against the wings.
He's got it. He's got it.
In the moment it takes for him to realize what exactly that means, two bundles of teammate hit him with wet thumps. Then two more, and Jongin's sliding off his broom onto the muddy slush, face frozen in a silly, stupid grin, gaze flicking between Chanyeol's dumbfounded face and Sehun's, split into the largest smile Jongin's ever seen on him. Fingers slide into his hair and pull, Baekhyun's incredulous voice curling into his ear, you did it, you fucking star, like he can't even believe it-and after that it's just impressions of things: the crowd's tumultuous roaring, his parents beaming at him as they do a victory lap around the stadium, sunlight shooting through the rainclouds. Jinri nearly crashing into the side of the stadium to grab at Soojung. Jongin's hands slipping, cramped and cold, as they raise the Cup.
Chanyeol presents him with the match Snitch the evening after their commencement ceremony. "They gave it to me at the banquet, but it should be yours," he says, struggling to juggle five bundles of flowers, dress robes askew.
"Make us proud next year," Jongdae pipes in later, in the common room. He's trying to fit all the accumulated clutter of the past five years into his trunk. Kyungsoo finally takes pity and waves his wand. All of Jongdae's belongings slot neatly into place: the half-finished bags of Owl treats, the old CD-player he and Baekhyun had Charmed into playing Top 100 Billboard hits their third year, the plastic mechanical pencils he used to write on parchment so he could erase before he had to use quill and ink.
Jongin cards a hand through his hair, still stiff with sculpting gel. "I don't even know if I'm going to be-"
"Shut up," Baekhyun interrupts, waving his hand. "You'll definitely be Captain. We'll come to your games." He grins. "If scheduling permits, of course."
Incheon'd signed Baekhyun at the celebration banquet. Chanyeol was going to Seoul. Jongdae spoke to a Shanghai rep two days before graduation and took her up on her offer. Kyungsoo-
"I'll be around," he says, patting Jongin's shoulder. Incheon extended an offer similar to Baekhyun's, but Kyungsoo's parents, who were Muggle doctors, had wanted him to go for something more practical. He's studying to be a Mediwizard in the spring, despite his friends' best efforts to convince him otherwise.
Baekhyun levitates his trunk and sends it cruising out the dormitory. They stroll down to the front gates of the castle together. Chanyeol's giving Jinri last minute tips about Beating strategy. Jongin throws his arm over Sehun's shoulders, other hand twisting around the Snitch in his pocket. Something aches in his chest, expanding there and creeping up to lodge in his throat.
They must see it in his face, because Sehun digs his elbow into Jongin's side and hisses, Don't cry, idiot. Kyungsoo squeezes his arm before he goes and Baekhyun loiters behind as the others climb into the school's flying carriages. He gives Jongin's hip a little shove. "I know school won't be the same without us, but don't look like that," he says gruffly. Stares past Jongin's ear, the way he always does when he's being sincere but trying not to show it too much. "We'll see each other again."
"Yeah," Jongin says. He returns Baekhyun's lopsided smile. "I know."
*
France plays so dirty it's kind of a minor miracle all of them walk off the pitch intact. At one point in the match, the Korean scoring area devolves into an intense bout of fisticuffs. Jongin swears he sees fire shooting out of someone's wand-Chanyeol's, maybe-and dives down from 500 meters to break it up. Each side's awarded three penalty shots for the encounter, the referee seething. (Literally: the fireballs singe his robes and he has to Augmenti the flames away. Chanyeol looks unrepentant.)
Jongin catches the Snitch when it flies into the collar of his robe in the second hour, minutes after someone Transfigured the bristles of his broom into a fucking hunk of titanium. (He took the penalty shot for that one, sent the Quaffle soaring through the middle hoop.) The opposing Seeker starts cursing in rapid French when he sees it clutched in Jongin's hand. Jongin floats down to the pitch, sweaty and tired, and hobbles off the pitch with the others.
They mill around Paris the next morning before they have to split up again. Jongin hasn't done anything touristy in a while-hasn't had the time, with a packed schedule of practice and matches-so he lets the others lead. They walk down the Champs-Élysées, through the Tuilerie Gardens and into the Louvre. "This is the Mona Lisa?" Chanyeol asks, face plastered to the bulletproof glass. "What a rip-off-"
"You just don't understand art," Kyungsoo returns, snapping a furtive Polaroid before security comes by and tells him to stop taking photos.
The Tengu fall out of the running for the Asian Cup in late April. This time, Jongin gets hate mail from Toyohashi fans, Howlers that leave skid marks on his nice stucco walls and the entire apartment smelling burnt. He's too busy to care too much, though; Jiyong's upped practices in Gyeonsang to three times a week leading up to the elite eight match against Ireland.
The match is in Edinburgh. It's the Irish Chasers' show right from the start. Joonmyun's good, but they're just better, faster, more experienced. Jongin pulls up next to the scoreboard after the second hour, sees 90 to 20 in favor of Ireland (and Jiyong's white face at the sidelines, his hands miming something frantic, maybe the universal signal for get your shit together), and Jongin's head empties of everything else.
There's no time to watch and wait. You need to learn how to be more proactive slides into his head, Jiyong's tiny voice reverberating from across the year. He zooms across the pitch. Someone rams into him as he swerves between the Korean hoops-Connolly, one of the Beaters. He knocks Jongin into the stands, tries to squash him against the wood.
The sleeve of Jongin's robe flips up, and splinters scrape into the skin of his arm. Jongin has to flip underneath the stands to get Connolly off his back-which is when he sees it. The Snitch, flitting in between the support beams, far ahead.
Fuck, he thinks. He zigzags back and forth to avoid the heavy timber, air choked with dust, and nearly crashes into one of them when he sneezes.
He pulls up short, craning his neck, a niggle of discomfort spreading out in his lower back. He's lost the Snitch, damn it-no, no, he's got it again, there it is. The familiar, bobbing spark of gold. Just in time; ten meters behind Aidan Lynch is entering the crisscrossed grid to contest him.
Jongin takes off again, twirling 360 degrees on the axis of his broom to avoid smashing his head in. This Snitch is playful. It darts up through the stands to weave in between the legs of the spectators. Jongin tracks it as he flies underneath, head dizzy. They pass the big scoreboard again and Jongin sees 130 to 30 inverted, fuck, he doesn't have time, Lynch is right behind him-
Two seconds later, Lynch overtakes him. He's reaching out for the Snitch when the people in the stands above them let out a piercing cry of anger, feet stamping against the wood to shake more dust down, and Lynch jerks the shaft of his broom a little too high-
A huge beam clips the tail end and he goes spinning out of control. He slams against the far wall of the stands, crumples into a heap in the dirt. Jongin coasts in to replace him, easy as you please, and wraps his thumb and forefinger around the struggling Snitch.
Jongin receives an Owl two days later. Just a scrap of parchment with one word scrawled across it, in handwriting he's intimately familiar with by now:
Bulgaria.
*
STATE OF THE WORLD CUP ADDRESS: Heading into the Final Four
Written by Zephyr Quigley
The Daily Prophet, May 19, 2014
The 427th Quidditch World Cup is shaping up to be a battle of the Asian sides.
This past week, Japan knocked England out of the tournament to advance to the final four. The match lasted fifteen hours, with Japanese Seeker Mizuhara Kiko finally claiming the Snitch from underneath English Keeper Oliver Wood's nose. "I have a lot of respect for the British teams, and they put up a good fight," said Chaser Mitsuji Sen after the match, "but I think the best team won." None of the England side was available for comment.
China played Germany a day later, roundly thrashing them 270 to 20 despite center Chaser Amber Liu and Beater Lu Han's absences. Liu was playing for the Holyhead Harpies against Lu's Puddlemere United for the British and Irish League Cup Final, which Puddlemere won for the second season in a row.
The China vs. Japan semifinal match will be held in Shanghai on June 15th.
Last Saturday, South Korea, the youngest team at this year's World Cup, defeated Ireland by a margin of 20 points, after Seeker Kim Jongin outflew Aidan Lynch for the Snitch to catapult his team to victory. Head coach Kwon Jiyong held a press conference immediately following the match. The Korean players seemed tired but happy-for good reason: they've pulled through to the final four despite the immense odds stacked against them. For further details on this stunning reversal and a play-by-play analysis of Korea's dark horse campaign, please see page 20 of the Sports section.
Bulgaria flattened Argentina on Sunday, 400 to 40. They are Europe's last team in the running for the Cup, and meet South Korea in Seoul National Stadium on June 16th.
*
"Don't be nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
"You aren't eating. You aren't even sleeping. You're jiggling your leg even though you know I hate that because you can't stop yourself-"
"Noona," Jongin whines, turning over on the couch, a good old-fashioned Muggle ice pack clutched to his back. "Why are you here again?"
Hyein sends him a reproachful glance. "You know I can't talk about that." Hyein worked for the government-Unspeakable business, Jongin's pretty sure-and he didn't see her often, especially not since he moved to Japan after graduation. Jongin's staying with his parents before the semifinal against Bulgaria, though, and she happened to be in the general vicinity by happy coincidence.
Jongin sighs into the plaid armrest. "Are you at least staying for the match?"
Her face softens. "I'm sorry, Jongin-"
"It's alright," he says quickly. "I didn't think you could. Maybe the final." If we get there. His leg starts jittering against the sofa once more, scritch-scratch along the fabric.
"Jongin-seriously-"
"I'm going out," he says over her, standing. The ice pack slides onto the ground. Hyein blinks and watches him Disapparate with a bemused frown.
Jongin hadn't really thought of a specific destination before leaving, but the magic lands him in a familiar stairwell, past the wards that try to push him out. Baekhyun opens the door, takes one look at his face, and steps aside to let him in the house.
It's a little messier than it'd been the last time Jongin was here, but still nice. He can hear the steady hum of afternoon rush-hour traffic whizzing by on the street below. Baekhyun, to his credit, doesn't mention anything about nervousness. He tosses Jongin a cold beer from the fridge and sprawls out on the living room floor as the sun sets, casting Lumos Maximas onto the ceiling.
"You ready for Wednesday?" he asks.
What a stupid question. Jongin shoots him as offended a look as he can muster under the circumstances.
Baekhyun's lips tilt up. "Yeah. Me too."
It's terrifically hot on the morning of the match, and it only gets hotter as the day wears on. Jongin blinks perspiration out of his eyes and tracks Krum's movements from the other side of the pitch. He's floating high above the Bulgarian goal-posts, deep-set eyes drinking the field in.
If Jongin squints, he can see Jiyong in the box above the scoreboard, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth. Coaching staff had been relegated to the safe confines within after the elite eight match between Bulgaria and Argentina, when several particularly incensed Argentine fans dumped cauldrons of boiling water on Bulgaria's head coach and company.
The China vs. Japan semifinal was still going on when they kicked off earlier. Jongin isn't sure which would be the lesser of two evils, but-that isn't his problem right now.
Right now, he has to look for the Snitch. Korea's end of the pitch has seen the most action and Joonmyun's doing well, but five hours in Bulgaria's up by a hundred and twenty points and Jongin's getting a little desperate, Jongin needs to find-
A Bludger's making a beeline straight toward him. Jongin ducks and it sails over his head-to crunch into Baekhyun's sweaty face, his mouth hanging open in surprise. Blood erupts everywhere. In the time it takes for Kyungsoo to zip over and Episkey Baekhyun's broken nose away, Bulgaria's scored twice more.
A leaden weight drops into Jongin's stomach. He whips his head around to scan the stands, down to the pitch, and up the other side, looking for something, anything-
Movement in the corner of his eye. Krum's diving. Jongin's breath seizes in his chest as he prepares to follow, but-
No, he thinks with sudden clarity. No. That's not right. Jongin turns back to the box. Jiyong's on his feet, shouting soundless words, because-the Snitch is right there, hovering just past the glass. Krum's bluffing. He hasn't seen it yet.
Jongin takes off, the air singing past his ears, arms outstretched. He hits the glass hard, but the Snitch smacks into his palm just as one of the Bulgarian Chasers scores another goal. He drifts down, muscles aching. The scoreboard reads 350 to 350.
Chanyeol flies up to meet Jongin on his way down to the grass. "Hyung, what does this-?"
"Fifteen minutes of overtime without the Seekers," Joonmyun says breathlessly. Jongin's feet wobble when he dismounts. Jongdae hooks an arm around his waist to keep him up. "If nobody scores, then-"
"Penalty goals, one for each Chaser," Kyungsoo says, eyes wide. "That hasn't happened in a World Cup match since-"
"The 1800s, maybe before that-"
The referee's blowing her whistle. Jongin retreats to the sidelines.
Nobody scores in the fifteen minutes of overtime. Joonmyun looks like he's about to throw up when the ref blows her whistle again to signal penalty shots. Chanyeol and Minseok touch down and jostle off the pitch to join Jongin, their faces pale and worried.
"Is Baekhyun's nose-?"
"Fine," Chanyeol croaks. "It's fine. I think he's going first, even."
Korea wins the Galleon toss. Joonmyun chooses to Keep first. Chanyeol's hand closes like a vise around Jongin's shoulder as Bulgaria sends their first Chaser out. Joonmyun's face hardens. The Bulgarian Chaser-Petrova something or other-feints left but tosses the Quaffle toward the right hoop, and Joonmyun manages to bat it away with the tail of his broom.
Then it's Baekhyun's turn. His face is still streaked with blood but he grins-and puts the Quaffle through the center hoop, just past Zograf's fingertips.
The second Bulgarian Chaser edges the Quaffle in through the left hoop. Joonmyun scowls. Jongin's heart pounds against his ribs.
Kyungsoo's shot is blocked. He looks crushed. Baekhyun ducks to murmur in his ear as Kyungsoo flies out of the scoring area, shoulders hunched.
The last Bulgarian Chaser, Dimitrov, flies in to meet Joonmyun. Right before the Quaffle leaves his hands Joonmyun lets out a holler so loud half the stadium jumps, and Dimitrov misses the hoops by at least three meters. Jongin would laugh if his jaw wasn't cemented shut from anxiety.
Jongdae floats up as the Zograf assumes Joonmyun's previous position. He takes his time, tossing the Quaffle from hand to hand, eyeing each of the goalposts with consideration. Zograf gets so fed up waiting that he starts cursing in his native tongue. Jongdae's mouth curls. He makes a sharp dive. The crowd goes deathly quiet. Minseok mutters a prayer into the silence. Jongin leans forward, eyes glued on Jongdae, Chanyeol's hand squeezing so hard that Jongin's lost all circulation in his arm-
Right before Jongdae crashes into Zograf, he lets the Quaffle fly. The red leather catches the sunlight just so as it soars through the central hoop.
Chanyeol's grip loosens, the audience screams approval, Minseok's shouting something in his ear-Jongin bounds over the sideline divider and sprints out to the center to meet Joonmyun and the Chasers as they descend, dazed and elated. Baekhyun's arm catching around his stomach knocks all the air out of Jongin's lungs. People in the stands are chanting Korea, Korea, Korea's going to the finals, and this time, when they file off the pitch and Krum shakes his hand, mutters good game, he sounds like he means it.
"The other game ended," Jiyong announces in the locker room, after.
Jongin looks up from where he's toweling his hair dry and licks his lips. "Who are we playing?"
"China," Jiyong says. The entire room exhales. "We're playing China."
*
Jongin gets the Captaincy Owl in mid-January, a month before spring term starts. His mom helps him iron the badge onto his Quidditch robes, and Jongin gets long letters from both Joonmyun and Chanyeol about how best to run the team.
The first thing he sees when he returns to Dong Bang is the Asian Youth League Cup, on proud display in the entrance of the castle. Jongin schedules tryouts at the end of February and is a little boggled by the number of people who turn out-including Soojung, who Chases so well Jongin's kind of astounded.
"I didn't know you could fly," he says, after watching her put three goals past Sehun.
Soojung and Jinri reward him with looks so withering that Jongin can almost feel his head frying into a crisp.
"Right," he says, and jots her name down in a Chaser slot, next to Moonkyu and Minji.
They do a good job defending their title. Jongin isn't the most domineering Captain ever, but he forces everyone up at the crack of dawn so he can go over animated diagrams of the pitch and run the gamut of plays. He's always the last one to touch down in the evening. The year flies by with the team to occupy him. I think we're better than we were last year, Jongin writes, to everyone who'd graduated the year before.
Don't get cocky now, you shit, Chanyeol writes back. Win the Cup again first.
At the end of November, they make it to the finals again. A week before the match against Shanghai, Jinri bursts into the common room, brandishing a copy of Quidditch Illustrated. "The IQA announced where the World Cup final's going to be held in 2014," she says, shoving it in Sehun's lap. Jongin peers over his shoulder. "For the first time in history it'll be-"
"In China," Sehun finishes. "The government's saying Liaoning."
Jongin collapses back against the sofa, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace. After their semifinal against Indonesia, reps from Incheon and Seoul had approached him about signing with them for the spring season. If he went pro, then maybe he could get someone on the national team staff to notice-
"Hey," Soojung says, snapping her fingers in his face. Jongin jumps, startled. "What are all the properties of bezoars?" The conversation moves away from Quidditch and back to their Potions notes, but in the back of Jongin's mind the seed's been planted. Ah, he remembers Chanyeol saying, in the locker room his second year. The ambition of youth.
They lose to Shanghai in overtime. Jongin stumbles off the pitch and into the arms of the Incheon and Seoul reps from the semifinal. This time, they're joined by someone from Japan, and Jongin's able to discern, through a jumble of words and wild gesticulations, that the Toyohashi Tengu are looking for a new Seeker after their old one retires next spring.
"You have to accept," Sehun tells him in the locker room. "Jongin, they're arguably the best team in the Asian League-and they want you-"
"I know," Jongin says, staring down at the broom in his hands. "I know."
That makes three offers on the table. It's all Jongin can think about. He'd like to stay in Korea-he has former teammates in those teams-but Japan would be better for his career. He's so strung out over the decision that he wakes up late the morning of graduation and nearly walks to the ceremony in his Quidditch robes.
"Don't be a stranger," someone says during the reception afterwards, and Jongin turns around to see Baekhyun and Kyungsoo standing next to the platters of hors d'oeuvres. "Congratulations," Baekhyun continues, giving him and Sehun crushing hugs. "You guys are real men, now. I think Jongdae's getting champagne."
Kyungsoo thrusts bouquets of flowers into their arms. "I was going to tell you the last time I came, but I wasn't sure until this past week-"
"He's quitting Healing school," Baekhyun cuts in. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. "Incheon signed him after a fucking year of foreplay." His expression turns contemplative. "Maybe I should've done that, too. I'm pretty sure Kyungsoo's getting paid more than I am."
"Hyung," Sehun says, brows rising as Jongdae glides through the crush of people to join them, deep in conversation with Soojung and Jinri. "Hyung, that's great."
Kyungsoo jabs his thumb in Baekhyun's direction. "They bullied me into it."
Baekhyun raises his hands guilelessly. "Me? I didn't do anything." He laughs at Kyungsoo's flat glare. "As if anyone could make you do anything you didn't want to."
Kyungsoo sighs. "I can study to be a Mediwizard later. I'm only going to be this young once."
Soojung leans in, eyes dancing. "Jongin's trying to make a similar decision."
"It isn't the same thing at all," Jongin protests, at the same time Jinri says, "He's picking between teams. Incheon, Seoul, Toyohashi."
Baekhyun whistles, head cocked. "Cream of the crop."
Sehun lets out a loud snort. "I'm trying to figure out whether I want to Curse-Break for Gringotts or the NIS, and this one here is having more trouble deciding than I am."
Jongin shrugs helplessly. "I don't-it'd be nice to play with you all again, and I'd miss being in Korea-"
"Don't do it on our account," Kyungsoo advises. "Do it for you. What you think is best."
So Jongin graduates. He signs with Toyohashi. He is already thinking of China.
*
There's a photo-op in Korea two nights before the final. Jiyong shows up in outrageous orange robes that look ripped and burnt at the hem, hair Metamorphmagused to match. "Shut up," he mutters, when Jongin raises his eyebrows. "It's Fashion."
"Whatever you say, Coach."
They have to flash their pearly whites for the cameras and make nice with a lot of people Jongin barely recognizes: Korea's Minister for Magic and the head of the IQA and the Chinese premiere, a whole row of hands stretched out to shake. "In an effort to promote international peace and magical cooperation," the cameraman explains, before blinding them with flash for the tenth time that evening.
The team meets international pop star Kim Taeyeon an hour before kick-off. She's supposed to be singing the Korean national anthem at the beginning of the match, and Baekhyun turns an interesting puce color when he sees her.
"She's so beautiful," he says dreamily, when they're changing into their Quidditch robes later.
Chanyeol looks unimpressed. "You know it's all potions sorcery anyway, right?"
"Hey," Baekhyun returns, indignant. "If some people want to PS themselves prettier, what's it to you?"
"So defensive," Jongdae tuts. "Are you hiding something, Baekhyun? No wonder your nose looks different these days, I knew it couldn't just be the way it healed from the match against Bulgaria-"
Baekhyun launches himself over the bench with a roar of incandescent rage. He and Jongdae go down in a flurry of navy blue Quidditch robes. Chanyeol's laughter rings out in the locker room, and Jongin feels a tremendous weight lift off his shoulders.
"We got this far," Kyungsoo says into his ear. He's smiling, loose and open. "All we can do now is play."
The stadium's set up in Liaoning province. The Chinese have really outdone themselves. The resplendent pitch actually floats: above the red marshes in Panjin, reeds stretching out across the blue water as far as the eye can see. The stands are painted similar shades, and they go up so high Jongin can barely make out the people in the nosebleed seats.
His parents are in the box, waving at him as the Korean team marches out together. His sisters, too. Hyein had taken off especially for this. "I think I'm going to be ill," Jongin mutters, pinching Chanyeol's arm. He receives an absent-minded pat on the shoulder for his trouble.
The Korean Ministry decided on gumiho as mascots, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed things that canter around the field before the game begins. It's not until the temperature of the stadium starts rising in earnest and an enormous mushroom-shaped column of flame spurts across the sky above that Jongin realizes:
Dragons. China brought dragons.
Two Chinese Fireballs wind around each other above the pitch, trainers on their backs, wands at the ready. The rising sun catches on their scales, crimson flecked with shimmering gold.
They shake hands with the Chinese team at the center of the pitch. Kris Wu, Amber Liu, Wang Feifei, Meng Jia, Huang Zitao, Lu Han. Zhang Yixing. Names Jongin's grown accustomed to over the past year, standing in front of him now in the flesh. Some of them he's played before-at school, or in the Asian League. Some he's never met. Yixing grabs his hand, palm sweaty, and smiles, cheek dimpling. "May the best team win," he says, and folds his hands back in his red robes.
Jongin nods. He hooks his leg over his broom, watches the others follow suit.
The referee blows her whistle. Jongin kicks off and leaves the ground behind.
Fei opens scoring. Jongdae makes Korea's first goal, and after that Jongin loses track of the frenzy. Yixing nearly catches the Snitch twice, but the first time it disappears in the sea of spectators and the second time Jongin bumps him away before he can get close and they both lose it. When the ref calls a time-out after the fourth hour, Jongin hazards a glance at the scoreboard. China's up by fifty points.
He swerves by the Korean goals. "You okay, hyung?" he asks, shading his eyes from the sun.
"Fine," Joonmyun bites out. He's sweating bullets, though, and his face looks gray.
It only goes downhill from there. Lu Han whacks a Bludger at Joonmyun; it crushes his wrist. Jongin hears the sickening crack of bone from twenty meters down the pitch. In retaliation, Chanyeol lets the other Bludger fly at Zitao, who gets clipped in the knee. The score difference stretches out to ninety points.
To add insult to injury, the skies take that opportunity to drench them with rain. Murphy's law of Quidditch, Baekhyun had once said, during a game they played in early June of Jongin's first year, in which a massive thunderstorm engulfed the entire province minutes after they began. No matter how nice it is beforehand, Quidditch matches always bring in the inclement weather.
They're drenched to the bone in seconds. Bedraggled gumiho mill around the stadium like drowned rats. Steam rolls off the Chinese Fireballs as the rain hisses down, and half the pitch fills with hazy mist. Fuck, Jongin thinks, dipping down and squinting through it.
Jongdae veers in with the Quaffle under his arm, Zitao whizzing after him with his club swinging in his hands, and meets Jongin's glance with a grim one of his own. Find the Snitch, his narrowed eyes say. Before it's too late.
For a while, one of the Bludgers seems glued to Jongin, buzzing around his head like a dragon-mosquito's deadlier cousin. He'd suspect foul play, but the wards are supposed to catch that sort of thing. Jongin weaves underneath the stands, and the Bludger can't react fast enough. It thunks dully into the wood. Outside the stadium, the red reeds wave gently in the damp breeze.
When Jongin reenters from above, Minseok's racing Lu Han across the pitch for the Bludger. There's a huge shit-eating grin on Lu Han's face. It disappears when Chanyeol jams himself in between the two of them. Minseok's club cracks against the metal, sends the ball sailing toward Amber, who drops the Quaffle into Baekhyun's waiting arms.
He and Kyungsoo toss it back and forth down the pitch. Kris flies to meet them, but Baekhyun ducks underneath his arm and flings the Quaffle through the center hoop. The scoreboard flashes: 300 to 180 in China's favor. Jongin's hemorrhaging time.
It's another half hour before the mist clears enough that Jongin sees the Snitch again, winding around the high flag-posts on the Chinese end of the pitch. Yixing catches sight of it a moment after Jongin does and crouches low over the shaft of his broom as he loops upward. Jongin urges his broom into a steep rise, eyes squinting against the steam.
They speed past the Chinese Fireballs, the Snitch dashing ever higher. He hears Yixing's harsh, open-mouthed breathing to his right. They're nearly vertical now, Jongin's teeth gritted so hard they're aching, his palms slipping against the smooth wood clutched in his hands.
The rain peters out as they punch past the gray cloud layer. It's beautiful up here. Everything is warm and shining. The Snitch winks at him underneath the bright summer sun. Darts left, wings whirring like a hummingbird's, and slows down.
Jongin reaches. Knocks Yixing's arm out of the way, chest heaving, blood shrieking in his ears, and plucks the Snitch out of the air.
Korea loses. China was up by too much for them to recover, even though Jongin caught the Snitch.
For some reason, Jiyong's beaming at him anyway when he trudges off the pitch. "They won," he explains in the changing rooms, "but you're going to be the one everyone is talking about." He turns to the rest of the team. "You did good. China was better, but that's alright. They can't be the best forever. And you've got a couple of world cups left in you yet."
A slow smile spreads across Kyungsoo's face. Chanyeol tosses his arms over Joonmyun and Minseok's shoulders, already chattering away about strategy. Just like old times, Jongin thinks, sweaty and tired, temples throbbing. Baekhyun and Jongdae are tilting their heads in toward him, wearing matching grins, and Jongin lets the hurt of the loss go. It unfurls in his chest and wisps away, like morning fog on the wind.
They leave the locker room in clean clothes to meet the press. "How do you feel, Kai-sshi?" It's the same anxious-looking reporter from last time, Quick-Quotes Quill clutched in his hand.
Jongin cocks his head to the side in consideration. "Hungry," he deadpans, because it's the truth. Peals of breathless laughter erupt behind him. The corners of his mouth turn up.
*
CHINA WINS, BUT KAI CATCHES THE SNITCH: Interview with the Seeker
Written by Daniel Lee
Quidditch Illustrated, August 2014 Issue
21-year-old Korean Seeker Kim Jongin (known as Kai to his loyal fans in Asia) is the man of the hour, coming off a brilliant World Cup campaign with the Korean national Quidditch team that culminated in a 370 to 350 defeat in China. Quidditch Illustrated caught the Seeker in his hometown of Seoul for a quick interview a week after tournament's end.
Rather soft-spoken in person, Kim nevertheless has a quiet intensity that he carries with him even off the pitch. Once you get him talking, though, he's quite disarmingly charming, very calm and level, prone to laughing at his own jokes. His Patronus makes an appearance in the middle of our talk; he apologizes for having to send a message, whispers to the corporeal skylark perched on his shoulder, and sends it off into the evening.
QI: First of all, this nickname, Kai-
Kim: (laughs) Ah, that. I guess Kim Jongin is a bit hard to say for people who don't speak Korean, so when I started playing for the Tengu, their fans called me that instead.
QI: What does it mean?
Kim: Kai means a lot of things in Japanese, but the one they're referring to is ocean. It refers to my style of playing-I tend to be a very passive opener. I like biding my time and waiting for the right opportunity to strike, and then it's like the tide rumbling in. Unstoppable, I guess? (laughs)
QI: Maybe something like leopard would've been a better nickname.
Kim: (laughs) Maybe. But the local papers started with Kai and it's been that ever since. Same thing happened to one of my teammates when he started playing professionally...
QI: Which one?
Kim: Joonmyun-hyung. They call him Suho in Daegu. Like, protector of the goal, Lord of the Rings, all that stuff. (laughs)
QI: Tell me about the World Cup final. How did you feel when you realized you'd lost?
Kim: Disappointed, of course. I mean, it would've been nice to win. But I'm really just thankful we got all the way to the end, and I'm sure my teammates feel the same. I never dreamed we'd make it to the final. China played phenomenally; they deserve the Cup. Next time, though...
QI: You aren't going to rest on your laurels for a bit?
Kim: Second place in the world is pretty good, but we could do better, I think. (laughs) I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I've been playing Yixing since our school days, so it was kind of a personal achievement to beat him to the Snitch. I'm very pleased.
QI: So what's next for you?
Kim: A couple of European clubs expressed interest in signing me, but I love playing for Toyohashi. I'm sticking with my roots. I'll be going into my sixth season in the autumn. Should be good. I'm excited for the future.
fin
A/N: after wrestling with this stupid thing for a day and an age, IT'S FINALLY OVER. thank you to michaelwesten for assuring me this wasn't complete shit and putting up with my obnoxious whining at all hours of the day (haHA ball's in yr court again my friend), as well as everyone else on the internet who had to deal with me during these trying times. YOU ARE ALL MY HEROES. obviously 99% of this was modeled after the actual association football world cup (brazil 2014!!!! i'm so ready.), so thanks fifa. IDRK WHAT ELSE TO SAY HERE except maybe i'm never writing about quidditch ever again. alright. goodbye.
ETA: 400 words of teapotbaek
Pairing: kai-centric
Rating: pg13
Genre: au, gen, slice-of-life
Warnings: swearing, mild violence
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: professional quidditch au.
< < < PART 1 < < <
"Rise and shine, darling."
"Mmf. Go away."
"Big day today."
"Hyung. We aren't even playing."
"Still." Baekhyun tosses the blinds wide open. Jongin buries himself deeper into the sheets. "Shit. This view is spectacular."
"I know. Let me sleep."
"Your Animagus form should've been a fucking sloth, Jongin."
"Nnngnghf."
Baekhyun laughs, the dry sound carrying across Jongin's new bedroom. "I'm expecting you later. My place. Noon. The match starts in Transylvania at 8AM sharp."
Jongin blinks blearily at the wall clock. "Noon... I still have two hours, what the hell, hyung."
"Yes, well." He sounds amused. "You've been known to miss these things before."
"That was one time-and you weren't even-"
"See you at lunch!" Baekhyun cuts in brightly. He Disapparates with a loud crack.
Jongin pulls himself up at eleven. He'd moved into the new apartment at the end of the fall season, packed up his meager belongings and set up camp in a magical building closer to the stadium. It's nicer here. There are stronger wards in place, and the bedroom window looks out over Mikawa Bay. He wakes up every morning to rippling blue. The ocean. Kai. Fitting.
He's chugging orange juice in the kitchen when the bad muscle in his back twinges, right above his tailbone. He staggers to the bathroom and digs through his stock of potions for something that'll dull the pain. Toyohashi had lost the Asian Cup final to Hong Kong at the end of the fall season, and Korea's fifth and sixth qualifying matches were in January and February, after another round of intensive training with the national team. They won against Spain and lost against Transylvania. Jongin's chronic back injury returned in full force when he'd twisted his body wrong into a nasty dive at the end of the match. Even now, weeks later, the phantom throbbing still flares up when he isn't careful.
Group D's last qualification game is China vs. Transylvania. Baekhyun's throwing a viewing party at his apartment in Gangnam, the only place big enough to hold everyone at one time and private enough that they can hex his shit with abandon if things go sour. When Jongin arrives at half past noon ("You're late, but you're forgiven," Baekhyun says as he breezes by with a huge platter of kimchi poppers), there's a comprehensive chart of round robin stats blown up on one wall of the living room, Charmed to update whenever a new match ends. A 3-D hologram of the pitch in Transylvania flickers in between a ring of couches.
Jongin gravitates to the wall. Heejin, the Chaser coach, is already there, staring up with a pensive expression on her face. All the teams from the other groups who've qualified for the sweet sixteen are lit up in green and ranked by order of seed. Japan topped Group A with Germany in close second, Canada and Argentina trailing behind. Group B's qualifiers were Brazil, Ireland, Peru, and Australia. In Group C, France, Wales, and Armenia qualified, with the US edging in after a last-minute win over New Zealand.
And then there's Group D. China, England, and Bulgaria have already made it through. This last game decides who takes that last slot. If China wins, South Korea makes the bracket. If Transylvania does, then-
"You look so glum," comes Jongdae's voice. His arm slings heavy around Jongin's neck.
"Aren't you nervous?" Jongin says, turning away from the stats. He presses the heel of a palm against his eye and exhales, shoulders tense.
Jongdae shrugs. "We're not the ones playing."
"Waiting's worse."
"Is it?" Jongdae steers them toward the couches. "Calm down, dongsaeng. The onus isn't on us. There's nothing else we can do."
"We couldn't have just gone to the match?" Chanyeol's asking, gazing at the hologram as Jongin settles in next to him. "I can barely see a thing."
"It's gross in Transylvania right now," Baekhyun says primly. "Height of vampire feeding season. I'd rather not."
Everyone settles down when the match begins. Jongin tunes out the running commentary and focuses on Yixing, who trails up to the southern flag-post and parks himself there, expression as smooth and placid as ever. Transylvania opens scoring. Amber's not there today-the Harpies are playing for top sixteen in the British League. Fei and Jia are playing with someone else-Min, he hears Jongdae murmur. She plays with me in Shanghai. Kris is absent, too, for reasons unknown.
Jongin stress-eats his way through three plates of kimbap as the score rises. At the bottom of the fourth hour it's 250 to 130 in favor of Transylvania and the food tastes like ash in his mouth.
"Come on, Yixing," Chanyeol's muttering feverishly beside him. "I believe in you, I've always believed in you-" Joonmyun's fingers clench in his jeans. Kyungsoo's face is blank, but his fingers are bitten down to the cuticle.
Movement in the hologram catches his eye. Jongin turns back to see a close-up of Yixing and the Transylvanian Seeker racing across the field, pressed low to their brooms, feet knocking into the grass below. They're so close they could almost be one flier if Jongin squints hard enough, their robes twisting into each other, navy blue on red. Jongin's heart lurches in his chest, banging crazily against his ribcage as he leans forward. Absently, he registers Transylvania scoring another goal-what the hell is the Chinese Keeper doing, Merlin's sake-and then-
And then Yixing reaches out, head craned forward. He knocks the other broom aside. His fingers close around the Snitch.
Chanyeol gives a great shout. Jongin leaps up and upsets Jongdae's cup of punch, lap sopping wet. He whirls around and everyone's on their feet, roaring with relief. Baekhyun squeezes his fingers around Jongin's arm, face shining, radiant. Over his shoulder, Jiyong's speaking rapidly to Heejin and Daesung, a tiny uptick in the curl of his mouth.
Baekhyun marches to the wall of stats and taps his wand to the corner. It flickers once and disappears, replaced by the final bracket of sixteen:
Jongin's stomach roils. From all the food he'd inhaled or the overwhelming rush of anticipation, he isn't sure.
Taemin resurfaces to wish him good luck at the end of March. "This could've been you, you know," Jongin remarks, when he swings the door open to see him in the stairwell, dripping from the rain. Seoul had offered Taemin a position as Seeker the year he graduated from Mahoutokoro, but he'd turned them down to chase Dark wizards around the world instead. Jongin sees him three times a year at best.
"You tell me that every time," Taemin returns, casting a Drying Spell on himself. The water sluices into nothing. He peers around at the apartment as Jongin steps aside to let him in. "I had no idea you moved, by the way. Barged into your old place and some poor Muggle lady nearly had a heart attack. Had to Fire-call your sister to figure it out."
"Sorry," he says, grinning, and Taemin punches him in the arm.
Jongin putters around in the kitchen and makes them tea, steeps the leaves in two mason jars because he doesn't have anything else that's clean. Taemin's settled on the sofa when he walks back out. His hair, for some reason, is in a bizarre weave, and it trails down past his shoulders when he leans forward to accept the cup. Jongin sinks down next to him and shifts against one of the cushions. Taemin cocks his eyebrows, an irritatingly shrewd expression on his face, and asks, "How's your back?"
"Manageable," Jongin hedges. "Do you want anything else? Dinner?"
"I can't stay long," Taemin says, but he accepts the half-loaf of Hokkaido milk bread Jongin tosses him. He looks apologetic for about two seconds before he's smiling again. "I just wanted to let you know I'll be watching," he continues, waggling his fingers.
Jongin shakes his head, mouth lifting. "That isn't creepy at all."
Taemin nudges his side. "Seriously, though. Good luck. You won't be as good as me, but you'll do."
"Thanks," Jongin replies, rolling his eyes. He stands, drifts toward the fireplace. "Need the Floo?"
"Yeah," Taemin says, clasping Jongin's wrist in gratitude. "I'm tracking some nasty Italians."
"I won't ask," Jongin says, and watches him disappear into the green.
*
The summer of Jongin's fourth year, the entire team goes to watch the World Cup finals.
It's incredible. The match takes place in Japan but it's Argentina vs. Australia. The Argentine team rides in on their mascots, enormous winged horses, golden-feathered and magnificent. Australia brings thunderbirds that pinwheel above the floodlights and threaten to make it rain. The metallic smell of lightning pervades the whole stadium, and it's chaos in the air from the opening whistle. Jongin and the others are in really crappy nosebleed seats, but Sehun shares his Omnioculars. The Chasers ping around almost too fast for Jongin to keep up, and he watches Lucy Karoonda spiral up so high to catch the Snitch that she almost collides with one of her own squawking mascots.
In September, they qualify for the Youth League sweet sixteen by the skin of their teeth. Jongin catches the Snitch but also fucks his back up big-time, a recurring injury that bothers him even after Madame Shin patches him up in the hospital wing. Gain Owls him bimonthly potion care packages. Kyungsoo, who's taking a Herbology in Healing elective his last semester at Dong Bang, forces increasingly foul-smelling poultices on him in the name of magical progress.
Before their semifinal with Indonesia, several things happen in quick succession: 1) Sehun overtakes Jongin in height, to his endless delight, 2) Baekhyun and Jongdae throw Chanyeol such a ridiculous eighteenth birthday party that Professor Lee establishes an immediate and indefinite ban on Muggle lighters, helium tanks, and Axe body spray, and 3) Jongin turns into a bat for the first time in Transfiguration.
"That explains a lot," Soojung remarks, as Sehun the albino boa constrictor slithers around behind them. "Like you sleeping all the time during class. And no wonder you manage to walk around with your eyes closed and not bump into stuff. Echolocation." She dodges the quill Jongin hurls at her like a spear, grin stretched wide across her face.
They flatten Indonesia at home. "We haven't gotten this close since third year," Chanyeol splutters in the showers after the match, and proceeds to press-gang them into a training schedule that would make Joonmyun proud.
He makes the Chasers practice formations two weekends in a row. "I swear to God," Baekhyun growls, murderous, "this is just an excuse for him to smack Bludgers at us all day long and not get into trouble."
"I didn't think I would ever say this," Jongdae moans. "But I think I preferred Joonmyun-hyung's methods."
"You preferred Joonmyun-hyung's everything," Kyungsoo comments mildly. Sehun snickers. Jongdae whacks him on the head with a rolled-up copy of his latest Charms essay.
The final's against Beijing again, five days before Christmas. This time, it's at home. Jongin's parents come down from Seoul to watch him play. They arrive at the castle to wish him good luck before breakfast, decked out in the school colors. Dad even has a sparkler in his hand.
"You have to eat," Baekhyun says patiently, after they've gone to grab seats in the stands.
Jongin swallows. Nods. His stomach's doing a pretty impressive set of pre-game acrobatics, but he lets Kyungsoo move fish cakes onto his plate anyway. The apprehension follows him out into the morning light-but kicking off leaves all his worries on the ground every time, like he's shedding dead skin. All that's left is the broom underneath him. The faint whistling of the wind in his ears. The hairpin turn.
Beijing's new Seeker, Fang Yilun, spends the entire game shadowing him, presses on despite all of Jongin's attempts to shake him off. It's more than a little irritating, because it means he'll see whatever Jongin sees.
The heavens open up half an hour in, pour down big, fat droplets that turn everything hazily translucent. Jongdae swings by with the Quaffle tucked underneath his armpit. "A little fall of rain," he's belting out, Jinri hot on his heels, brandishing her bat, "can hardly hurt me now-"
Jongin laughs, tension in his abdomen loosening a little. By the bottom of the second hour they're up 130 to 70. He blinks the water out of his eyes, rounding the highest flag-post in the stadium, and catches the telltale flash of gold zipping up the pitch.
He lets himself drop and Yilun tries to mimic his movements-but this isn't a dive. This is Jongin's Dragonbolt trusting him to know what he's doing, trusting him enough to let him free-fall toward the dirt rushing up to meet him. A buffet of rain knocks him sideways and Jongin grits his teeth, pushes himself past the pulsing pain in his back, still flirting with the edge of control.
He's dropping so quickly that his eyes sting, the skin stretching over his cheekbones forced back from the drag. It takes everything he's got to keep his gaze on the Snitch, sparkling as it meanders past Chanyeol and Zitao fighting for a Bludger. He's so close. Yilun's long gone. If he could just-
Jongin yanks his broom up at the last minute, right before he crashes and burns. Level to the ground, still flying too fast for comfort. Torso pressed low to the shaft, back screeching. His arms stretch forward, eyes narrowing into slits-and then he's four, three, two meters away, the whole world whittling down to him, the broom, and the flighty Snitch-
His palms close around it, fingers crushed against the wings.
He's got it. He's got it.
In the moment it takes for him to realize what exactly that means, two bundles of teammate hit him with wet thumps. Then two more, and Jongin's sliding off his broom onto the muddy slush, face frozen in a silly, stupid grin, gaze flicking between Chanyeol's dumbfounded face and Sehun's, split into the largest smile Jongin's ever seen on him. Fingers slide into his hair and pull, Baekhyun's incredulous voice curling into his ear, you did it, you fucking star, like he can't even believe it-and after that it's just impressions of things: the crowd's tumultuous roaring, his parents beaming at him as they do a victory lap around the stadium, sunlight shooting through the rainclouds. Jinri nearly crashing into the side of the stadium to grab at Soojung. Jongin's hands slipping, cramped and cold, as they raise the Cup.
Chanyeol presents him with the match Snitch the evening after their commencement ceremony. "They gave it to me at the banquet, but it should be yours," he says, struggling to juggle five bundles of flowers, dress robes askew.
"Make us proud next year," Jongdae pipes in later, in the common room. He's trying to fit all the accumulated clutter of the past five years into his trunk. Kyungsoo finally takes pity and waves his wand. All of Jongdae's belongings slot neatly into place: the half-finished bags of Owl treats, the old CD-player he and Baekhyun had Charmed into playing Top 100 Billboard hits their third year, the plastic mechanical pencils he used to write on parchment so he could erase before he had to use quill and ink.
Jongin cards a hand through his hair, still stiff with sculpting gel. "I don't even know if I'm going to be-"
"Shut up," Baekhyun interrupts, waving his hand. "You'll definitely be Captain. We'll come to your games." He grins. "If scheduling permits, of course."
Incheon'd signed Baekhyun at the celebration banquet. Chanyeol was going to Seoul. Jongdae spoke to a Shanghai rep two days before graduation and took her up on her offer. Kyungsoo-
"I'll be around," he says, patting Jongin's shoulder. Incheon extended an offer similar to Baekhyun's, but Kyungsoo's parents, who were Muggle doctors, had wanted him to go for something more practical. He's studying to be a Mediwizard in the spring, despite his friends' best efforts to convince him otherwise.
Baekhyun levitates his trunk and sends it cruising out the dormitory. They stroll down to the front gates of the castle together. Chanyeol's giving Jinri last minute tips about Beating strategy. Jongin throws his arm over Sehun's shoulders, other hand twisting around the Snitch in his pocket. Something aches in his chest, expanding there and creeping up to lodge in his throat.
They must see it in his face, because Sehun digs his elbow into Jongin's side and hisses, Don't cry, idiot. Kyungsoo squeezes his arm before he goes and Baekhyun loiters behind as the others climb into the school's flying carriages. He gives Jongin's hip a little shove. "I know school won't be the same without us, but don't look like that," he says gruffly. Stares past Jongin's ear, the way he always does when he's being sincere but trying not to show it too much. "We'll see each other again."
"Yeah," Jongin says. He returns Baekhyun's lopsided smile. "I know."
*
France plays so dirty it's kind of a minor miracle all of them walk off the pitch intact. At one point in the match, the Korean scoring area devolves into an intense bout of fisticuffs. Jongin swears he sees fire shooting out of someone's wand-Chanyeol's, maybe-and dives down from 500 meters to break it up. Each side's awarded three penalty shots for the encounter, the referee seething. (Literally: the fireballs singe his robes and he has to Augmenti the flames away. Chanyeol looks unrepentant.)
Jongin catches the Snitch when it flies into the collar of his robe in the second hour, minutes after someone Transfigured the bristles of his broom into a fucking hunk of titanium. (He took the penalty shot for that one, sent the Quaffle soaring through the middle hoop.) The opposing Seeker starts cursing in rapid French when he sees it clutched in Jongin's hand. Jongin floats down to the pitch, sweaty and tired, and hobbles off the pitch with the others.
They mill around Paris the next morning before they have to split up again. Jongin hasn't done anything touristy in a while-hasn't had the time, with a packed schedule of practice and matches-so he lets the others lead. They walk down the Champs-Élysées, through the Tuilerie Gardens and into the Louvre. "This is the Mona Lisa?" Chanyeol asks, face plastered to the bulletproof glass. "What a rip-off-"
"You just don't understand art," Kyungsoo returns, snapping a furtive Polaroid before security comes by and tells him to stop taking photos.
The Tengu fall out of the running for the Asian Cup in late April. This time, Jongin gets hate mail from Toyohashi fans, Howlers that leave skid marks on his nice stucco walls and the entire apartment smelling burnt. He's too busy to care too much, though; Jiyong's upped practices in Gyeonsang to three times a week leading up to the elite eight match against Ireland.
The match is in Edinburgh. It's the Irish Chasers' show right from the start. Joonmyun's good, but they're just better, faster, more experienced. Jongin pulls up next to the scoreboard after the second hour, sees 90 to 20 in favor of Ireland (and Jiyong's white face at the sidelines, his hands miming something frantic, maybe the universal signal for get your shit together), and Jongin's head empties of everything else.
There's no time to watch and wait. You need to learn how to be more proactive slides into his head, Jiyong's tiny voice reverberating from across the year. He zooms across the pitch. Someone rams into him as he swerves between the Korean hoops-Connolly, one of the Beaters. He knocks Jongin into the stands, tries to squash him against the wood.
The sleeve of Jongin's robe flips up, and splinters scrape into the skin of his arm. Jongin has to flip underneath the stands to get Connolly off his back-which is when he sees it. The Snitch, flitting in between the support beams, far ahead.
Fuck, he thinks. He zigzags back and forth to avoid the heavy timber, air choked with dust, and nearly crashes into one of them when he sneezes.
He pulls up short, craning his neck, a niggle of discomfort spreading out in his lower back. He's lost the Snitch, damn it-no, no, he's got it again, there it is. The familiar, bobbing spark of gold. Just in time; ten meters behind Aidan Lynch is entering the crisscrossed grid to contest him.
Jongin takes off again, twirling 360 degrees on the axis of his broom to avoid smashing his head in. This Snitch is playful. It darts up through the stands to weave in between the legs of the spectators. Jongin tracks it as he flies underneath, head dizzy. They pass the big scoreboard again and Jongin sees 130 to 30 inverted, fuck, he doesn't have time, Lynch is right behind him-
Two seconds later, Lynch overtakes him. He's reaching out for the Snitch when the people in the stands above them let out a piercing cry of anger, feet stamping against the wood to shake more dust down, and Lynch jerks the shaft of his broom a little too high-
A huge beam clips the tail end and he goes spinning out of control. He slams against the far wall of the stands, crumples into a heap in the dirt. Jongin coasts in to replace him, easy as you please, and wraps his thumb and forefinger around the struggling Snitch.
Jongin receives an Owl two days later. Just a scrap of parchment with one word scrawled across it, in handwriting he's intimately familiar with by now:
Bulgaria.
*
STATE OF THE WORLD CUP ADDRESS: Heading into the Final Four
Written by Zephyr Quigley
The Daily Prophet, May 19, 2014
The 427th Quidditch World Cup is shaping up to be a battle of the Asian sides.
This past week, Japan knocked England out of the tournament to advance to the final four. The match lasted fifteen hours, with Japanese Seeker Mizuhara Kiko finally claiming the Snitch from underneath English Keeper Oliver Wood's nose. "I have a lot of respect for the British teams, and they put up a good fight," said Chaser Mitsuji Sen after the match, "but I think the best team won." None of the England side was available for comment.
China played Germany a day later, roundly thrashing them 270 to 20 despite center Chaser Amber Liu and Beater Lu Han's absences. Liu was playing for the Holyhead Harpies against Lu's Puddlemere United for the British and Irish League Cup Final, which Puddlemere won for the second season in a row.
The China vs. Japan semifinal match will be held in Shanghai on June 15th.
Last Saturday, South Korea, the youngest team at this year's World Cup, defeated Ireland by a margin of 20 points, after Seeker Kim Jongin outflew Aidan Lynch for the Snitch to catapult his team to victory. Head coach Kwon Jiyong held a press conference immediately following the match. The Korean players seemed tired but happy-for good reason: they've pulled through to the final four despite the immense odds stacked against them. For further details on this stunning reversal and a play-by-play analysis of Korea's dark horse campaign, please see page 20 of the Sports section.
Bulgaria flattened Argentina on Sunday, 400 to 40. They are Europe's last team in the running for the Cup, and meet South Korea in Seoul National Stadium on June 16th.
*
"Don't be nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
"You aren't eating. You aren't even sleeping. You're jiggling your leg even though you know I hate that because you can't stop yourself-"
"Noona," Jongin whines, turning over on the couch, a good old-fashioned Muggle ice pack clutched to his back. "Why are you here again?"
Hyein sends him a reproachful glance. "You know I can't talk about that." Hyein worked for the government-Unspeakable business, Jongin's pretty sure-and he didn't see her often, especially not since he moved to Japan after graduation. Jongin's staying with his parents before the semifinal against Bulgaria, though, and she happened to be in the general vicinity by happy coincidence.
Jongin sighs into the plaid armrest. "Are you at least staying for the match?"
Her face softens. "I'm sorry, Jongin-"
"It's alright," he says quickly. "I didn't think you could. Maybe the final." If we get there. His leg starts jittering against the sofa once more, scritch-scratch along the fabric.
"Jongin-seriously-"
"I'm going out," he says over her, standing. The ice pack slides onto the ground. Hyein blinks and watches him Disapparate with a bemused frown.
Jongin hadn't really thought of a specific destination before leaving, but the magic lands him in a familiar stairwell, past the wards that try to push him out. Baekhyun opens the door, takes one look at his face, and steps aside to let him in the house.
It's a little messier than it'd been the last time Jongin was here, but still nice. He can hear the steady hum of afternoon rush-hour traffic whizzing by on the street below. Baekhyun, to his credit, doesn't mention anything about nervousness. He tosses Jongin a cold beer from the fridge and sprawls out on the living room floor as the sun sets, casting Lumos Maximas onto the ceiling.
"You ready for Wednesday?" he asks.
What a stupid question. Jongin shoots him as offended a look as he can muster under the circumstances.
Baekhyun's lips tilt up. "Yeah. Me too."
It's terrifically hot on the morning of the match, and it only gets hotter as the day wears on. Jongin blinks perspiration out of his eyes and tracks Krum's movements from the other side of the pitch. He's floating high above the Bulgarian goal-posts, deep-set eyes drinking the field in.
If Jongin squints, he can see Jiyong in the box above the scoreboard, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth. Coaching staff had been relegated to the safe confines within after the elite eight match between Bulgaria and Argentina, when several particularly incensed Argentine fans dumped cauldrons of boiling water on Bulgaria's head coach and company.
The China vs. Japan semifinal was still going on when they kicked off earlier. Jongin isn't sure which would be the lesser of two evils, but-that isn't his problem right now.
Right now, he has to look for the Snitch. Korea's end of the pitch has seen the most action and Joonmyun's doing well, but five hours in Bulgaria's up by a hundred and twenty points and Jongin's getting a little desperate, Jongin needs to find-
A Bludger's making a beeline straight toward him. Jongin ducks and it sails over his head-to crunch into Baekhyun's sweaty face, his mouth hanging open in surprise. Blood erupts everywhere. In the time it takes for Kyungsoo to zip over and Episkey Baekhyun's broken nose away, Bulgaria's scored twice more.
A leaden weight drops into Jongin's stomach. He whips his head around to scan the stands, down to the pitch, and up the other side, looking for something, anything-
Movement in the corner of his eye. Krum's diving. Jongin's breath seizes in his chest as he prepares to follow, but-
No, he thinks with sudden clarity. No. That's not right. Jongin turns back to the box. Jiyong's on his feet, shouting soundless words, because-the Snitch is right there, hovering just past the glass. Krum's bluffing. He hasn't seen it yet.
Jongin takes off, the air singing past his ears, arms outstretched. He hits the glass hard, but the Snitch smacks into his palm just as one of the Bulgarian Chasers scores another goal. He drifts down, muscles aching. The scoreboard reads 350 to 350.
Chanyeol flies up to meet Jongin on his way down to the grass. "Hyung, what does this-?"
"Fifteen minutes of overtime without the Seekers," Joonmyun says breathlessly. Jongin's feet wobble when he dismounts. Jongdae hooks an arm around his waist to keep him up. "If nobody scores, then-"
"Penalty goals, one for each Chaser," Kyungsoo says, eyes wide. "That hasn't happened in a World Cup match since-"
"The 1800s, maybe before that-"
The referee's blowing her whistle. Jongin retreats to the sidelines.
Nobody scores in the fifteen minutes of overtime. Joonmyun looks like he's about to throw up when the ref blows her whistle again to signal penalty shots. Chanyeol and Minseok touch down and jostle off the pitch to join Jongin, their faces pale and worried.
"Is Baekhyun's nose-?"
"Fine," Chanyeol croaks. "It's fine. I think he's going first, even."
Korea wins the Galleon toss. Joonmyun chooses to Keep first. Chanyeol's hand closes like a vise around Jongin's shoulder as Bulgaria sends their first Chaser out. Joonmyun's face hardens. The Bulgarian Chaser-Petrova something or other-feints left but tosses the Quaffle toward the right hoop, and Joonmyun manages to bat it away with the tail of his broom.
Then it's Baekhyun's turn. His face is still streaked with blood but he grins-and puts the Quaffle through the center hoop, just past Zograf's fingertips.
The second Bulgarian Chaser edges the Quaffle in through the left hoop. Joonmyun scowls. Jongin's heart pounds against his ribs.
Kyungsoo's shot is blocked. He looks crushed. Baekhyun ducks to murmur in his ear as Kyungsoo flies out of the scoring area, shoulders hunched.
The last Bulgarian Chaser, Dimitrov, flies in to meet Joonmyun. Right before the Quaffle leaves his hands Joonmyun lets out a holler so loud half the stadium jumps, and Dimitrov misses the hoops by at least three meters. Jongin would laugh if his jaw wasn't cemented shut from anxiety.
Jongdae floats up as the Zograf assumes Joonmyun's previous position. He takes his time, tossing the Quaffle from hand to hand, eyeing each of the goalposts with consideration. Zograf gets so fed up waiting that he starts cursing in his native tongue. Jongdae's mouth curls. He makes a sharp dive. The crowd goes deathly quiet. Minseok mutters a prayer into the silence. Jongin leans forward, eyes glued on Jongdae, Chanyeol's hand squeezing so hard that Jongin's lost all circulation in his arm-
Right before Jongdae crashes into Zograf, he lets the Quaffle fly. The red leather catches the sunlight just so as it soars through the central hoop.
Chanyeol's grip loosens, the audience screams approval, Minseok's shouting something in his ear-Jongin bounds over the sideline divider and sprints out to the center to meet Joonmyun and the Chasers as they descend, dazed and elated. Baekhyun's arm catching around his stomach knocks all the air out of Jongin's lungs. People in the stands are chanting Korea, Korea, Korea's going to the finals, and this time, when they file off the pitch and Krum shakes his hand, mutters good game, he sounds like he means it.
"The other game ended," Jiyong announces in the locker room, after.
Jongin looks up from where he's toweling his hair dry and licks his lips. "Who are we playing?"
"China," Jiyong says. The entire room exhales. "We're playing China."
*
Jongin gets the Captaincy Owl in mid-January, a month before spring term starts. His mom helps him iron the badge onto his Quidditch robes, and Jongin gets long letters from both Joonmyun and Chanyeol about how best to run the team.
The first thing he sees when he returns to Dong Bang is the Asian Youth League Cup, on proud display in the entrance of the castle. Jongin schedules tryouts at the end of February and is a little boggled by the number of people who turn out-including Soojung, who Chases so well Jongin's kind of astounded.
"I didn't know you could fly," he says, after watching her put three goals past Sehun.
Soojung and Jinri reward him with looks so withering that Jongin can almost feel his head frying into a crisp.
"Right," he says, and jots her name down in a Chaser slot, next to Moonkyu and Minji.
They do a good job defending their title. Jongin isn't the most domineering Captain ever, but he forces everyone up at the crack of dawn so he can go over animated diagrams of the pitch and run the gamut of plays. He's always the last one to touch down in the evening. The year flies by with the team to occupy him. I think we're better than we were last year, Jongin writes, to everyone who'd graduated the year before.
Don't get cocky now, you shit, Chanyeol writes back. Win the Cup again first.
At the end of November, they make it to the finals again. A week before the match against Shanghai, Jinri bursts into the common room, brandishing a copy of Quidditch Illustrated. "The IQA announced where the World Cup final's going to be held in 2014," she says, shoving it in Sehun's lap. Jongin peers over his shoulder. "For the first time in history it'll be-"
"In China," Sehun finishes. "The government's saying Liaoning."
Jongin collapses back against the sofa, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace. After their semifinal against Indonesia, reps from Incheon and Seoul had approached him about signing with them for the spring season. If he went pro, then maybe he could get someone on the national team staff to notice-
"Hey," Soojung says, snapping her fingers in his face. Jongin jumps, startled. "What are all the properties of bezoars?" The conversation moves away from Quidditch and back to their Potions notes, but in the back of Jongin's mind the seed's been planted. Ah, he remembers Chanyeol saying, in the locker room his second year. The ambition of youth.
They lose to Shanghai in overtime. Jongin stumbles off the pitch and into the arms of the Incheon and Seoul reps from the semifinal. This time, they're joined by someone from Japan, and Jongin's able to discern, through a jumble of words and wild gesticulations, that the Toyohashi Tengu are looking for a new Seeker after their old one retires next spring.
"You have to accept," Sehun tells him in the locker room. "Jongin, they're arguably the best team in the Asian League-and they want you-"
"I know," Jongin says, staring down at the broom in his hands. "I know."
That makes three offers on the table. It's all Jongin can think about. He'd like to stay in Korea-he has former teammates in those teams-but Japan would be better for his career. He's so strung out over the decision that he wakes up late the morning of graduation and nearly walks to the ceremony in his Quidditch robes.
"Don't be a stranger," someone says during the reception afterwards, and Jongin turns around to see Baekhyun and Kyungsoo standing next to the platters of hors d'oeuvres. "Congratulations," Baekhyun continues, giving him and Sehun crushing hugs. "You guys are real men, now. I think Jongdae's getting champagne."
Kyungsoo thrusts bouquets of flowers into their arms. "I was going to tell you the last time I came, but I wasn't sure until this past week-"
"He's quitting Healing school," Baekhyun cuts in. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. "Incheon signed him after a fucking year of foreplay." His expression turns contemplative. "Maybe I should've done that, too. I'm pretty sure Kyungsoo's getting paid more than I am."
"Hyung," Sehun says, brows rising as Jongdae glides through the crush of people to join them, deep in conversation with Soojung and Jinri. "Hyung, that's great."
Kyungsoo jabs his thumb in Baekhyun's direction. "They bullied me into it."
Baekhyun raises his hands guilelessly. "Me? I didn't do anything." He laughs at Kyungsoo's flat glare. "As if anyone could make you do anything you didn't want to."
Kyungsoo sighs. "I can study to be a Mediwizard later. I'm only going to be this young once."
Soojung leans in, eyes dancing. "Jongin's trying to make a similar decision."
"It isn't the same thing at all," Jongin protests, at the same time Jinri says, "He's picking between teams. Incheon, Seoul, Toyohashi."
Baekhyun whistles, head cocked. "Cream of the crop."
Sehun lets out a loud snort. "I'm trying to figure out whether I want to Curse-Break for Gringotts or the NIS, and this one here is having more trouble deciding than I am."
Jongin shrugs helplessly. "I don't-it'd be nice to play with you all again, and I'd miss being in Korea-"
"Don't do it on our account," Kyungsoo advises. "Do it for you. What you think is best."
So Jongin graduates. He signs with Toyohashi. He is already thinking of China.
*
There's a photo-op in Korea two nights before the final. Jiyong shows up in outrageous orange robes that look ripped and burnt at the hem, hair Metamorphmagused to match. "Shut up," he mutters, when Jongin raises his eyebrows. "It's Fashion."
"Whatever you say, Coach."
They have to flash their pearly whites for the cameras and make nice with a lot of people Jongin barely recognizes: Korea's Minister for Magic and the head of the IQA and the Chinese premiere, a whole row of hands stretched out to shake. "In an effort to promote international peace and magical cooperation," the cameraman explains, before blinding them with flash for the tenth time that evening.
The team meets international pop star Kim Taeyeon an hour before kick-off. She's supposed to be singing the Korean national anthem at the beginning of the match, and Baekhyun turns an interesting puce color when he sees her.
"She's so beautiful," he says dreamily, when they're changing into their Quidditch robes later.
Chanyeol looks unimpressed. "You know it's all potions sorcery anyway, right?"
"Hey," Baekhyun returns, indignant. "If some people want to PS themselves prettier, what's it to you?"
"So defensive," Jongdae tuts. "Are you hiding something, Baekhyun? No wonder your nose looks different these days, I knew it couldn't just be the way it healed from the match against Bulgaria-"
Baekhyun launches himself over the bench with a roar of incandescent rage. He and Jongdae go down in a flurry of navy blue Quidditch robes. Chanyeol's laughter rings out in the locker room, and Jongin feels a tremendous weight lift off his shoulders.
"We got this far," Kyungsoo says into his ear. He's smiling, loose and open. "All we can do now is play."
The stadium's set up in Liaoning province. The Chinese have really outdone themselves. The resplendent pitch actually floats: above the red marshes in Panjin, reeds stretching out across the blue water as far as the eye can see. The stands are painted similar shades, and they go up so high Jongin can barely make out the people in the nosebleed seats.
His parents are in the box, waving at him as the Korean team marches out together. His sisters, too. Hyein had taken off especially for this. "I think I'm going to be ill," Jongin mutters, pinching Chanyeol's arm. He receives an absent-minded pat on the shoulder for his trouble.
The Korean Ministry decided on gumiho as mascots, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed things that canter around the field before the game begins. It's not until the temperature of the stadium starts rising in earnest and an enormous mushroom-shaped column of flame spurts across the sky above that Jongin realizes:
Dragons. China brought dragons.
Two Chinese Fireballs wind around each other above the pitch, trainers on their backs, wands at the ready. The rising sun catches on their scales, crimson flecked with shimmering gold.
They shake hands with the Chinese team at the center of the pitch. Kris Wu, Amber Liu, Wang Feifei, Meng Jia, Huang Zitao, Lu Han. Zhang Yixing. Names Jongin's grown accustomed to over the past year, standing in front of him now in the flesh. Some of them he's played before-at school, or in the Asian League. Some he's never met. Yixing grabs his hand, palm sweaty, and smiles, cheek dimpling. "May the best team win," he says, and folds his hands back in his red robes.
Jongin nods. He hooks his leg over his broom, watches the others follow suit.
The referee blows her whistle. Jongin kicks off and leaves the ground behind.
Fei opens scoring. Jongdae makes Korea's first goal, and after that Jongin loses track of the frenzy. Yixing nearly catches the Snitch twice, but the first time it disappears in the sea of spectators and the second time Jongin bumps him away before he can get close and they both lose it. When the ref calls a time-out after the fourth hour, Jongin hazards a glance at the scoreboard. China's up by fifty points.
He swerves by the Korean goals. "You okay, hyung?" he asks, shading his eyes from the sun.
"Fine," Joonmyun bites out. He's sweating bullets, though, and his face looks gray.
It only goes downhill from there. Lu Han whacks a Bludger at Joonmyun; it crushes his wrist. Jongin hears the sickening crack of bone from twenty meters down the pitch. In retaliation, Chanyeol lets the other Bludger fly at Zitao, who gets clipped in the knee. The score difference stretches out to ninety points.
To add insult to injury, the skies take that opportunity to drench them with rain. Murphy's law of Quidditch, Baekhyun had once said, during a game they played in early June of Jongin's first year, in which a massive thunderstorm engulfed the entire province minutes after they began. No matter how nice it is beforehand, Quidditch matches always bring in the inclement weather.
They're drenched to the bone in seconds. Bedraggled gumiho mill around the stadium like drowned rats. Steam rolls off the Chinese Fireballs as the rain hisses down, and half the pitch fills with hazy mist. Fuck, Jongin thinks, dipping down and squinting through it.
Jongdae veers in with the Quaffle under his arm, Zitao whizzing after him with his club swinging in his hands, and meets Jongin's glance with a grim one of his own. Find the Snitch, his narrowed eyes say. Before it's too late.
For a while, one of the Bludgers seems glued to Jongin, buzzing around his head like a dragon-mosquito's deadlier cousin. He'd suspect foul play, but the wards are supposed to catch that sort of thing. Jongin weaves underneath the stands, and the Bludger can't react fast enough. It thunks dully into the wood. Outside the stadium, the red reeds wave gently in the damp breeze.
When Jongin reenters from above, Minseok's racing Lu Han across the pitch for the Bludger. There's a huge shit-eating grin on Lu Han's face. It disappears when Chanyeol jams himself in between the two of them. Minseok's club cracks against the metal, sends the ball sailing toward Amber, who drops the Quaffle into Baekhyun's waiting arms.
He and Kyungsoo toss it back and forth down the pitch. Kris flies to meet them, but Baekhyun ducks underneath his arm and flings the Quaffle through the center hoop. The scoreboard flashes: 300 to 180 in China's favor. Jongin's hemorrhaging time.
It's another half hour before the mist clears enough that Jongin sees the Snitch again, winding around the high flag-posts on the Chinese end of the pitch. Yixing catches sight of it a moment after Jongin does and crouches low over the shaft of his broom as he loops upward. Jongin urges his broom into a steep rise, eyes squinting against the steam.
They speed past the Chinese Fireballs, the Snitch dashing ever higher. He hears Yixing's harsh, open-mouthed breathing to his right. They're nearly vertical now, Jongin's teeth gritted so hard they're aching, his palms slipping against the smooth wood clutched in his hands.
The rain peters out as they punch past the gray cloud layer. It's beautiful up here. Everything is warm and shining. The Snitch winks at him underneath the bright summer sun. Darts left, wings whirring like a hummingbird's, and slows down.
Jongin reaches. Knocks Yixing's arm out of the way, chest heaving, blood shrieking in his ears, and plucks the Snitch out of the air.
Korea loses. China was up by too much for them to recover, even though Jongin caught the Snitch.
For some reason, Jiyong's beaming at him anyway when he trudges off the pitch. "They won," he explains in the changing rooms, "but you're going to be the one everyone is talking about." He turns to the rest of the team. "You did good. China was better, but that's alright. They can't be the best forever. And you've got a couple of world cups left in you yet."
A slow smile spreads across Kyungsoo's face. Chanyeol tosses his arms over Joonmyun and Minseok's shoulders, already chattering away about strategy. Just like old times, Jongin thinks, sweaty and tired, temples throbbing. Baekhyun and Jongdae are tilting their heads in toward him, wearing matching grins, and Jongin lets the hurt of the loss go. It unfurls in his chest and wisps away, like morning fog on the wind.
They leave the locker room in clean clothes to meet the press. "How do you feel, Kai-sshi?" It's the same anxious-looking reporter from last time, Quick-Quotes Quill clutched in his hand.
Jongin cocks his head to the side in consideration. "Hungry," he deadpans, because it's the truth. Peals of breathless laughter erupt behind him. The corners of his mouth turn up.
*
CHINA WINS, BUT KAI CATCHES THE SNITCH: Interview with the Seeker
Written by Daniel Lee
Quidditch Illustrated, August 2014 Issue
21-year-old Korean Seeker Kim Jongin (known as Kai to his loyal fans in Asia) is the man of the hour, coming off a brilliant World Cup campaign with the Korean national Quidditch team that culminated in a 370 to 350 defeat in China. Quidditch Illustrated caught the Seeker in his hometown of Seoul for a quick interview a week after tournament's end.
Rather soft-spoken in person, Kim nevertheless has a quiet intensity that he carries with him even off the pitch. Once you get him talking, though, he's quite disarmingly charming, very calm and level, prone to laughing at his own jokes. His Patronus makes an appearance in the middle of our talk; he apologizes for having to send a message, whispers to the corporeal skylark perched on his shoulder, and sends it off into the evening.
QI: First of all, this nickname, Kai-
Kim: (laughs) Ah, that. I guess Kim Jongin is a bit hard to say for people who don't speak Korean, so when I started playing for the Tengu, their fans called me that instead.
QI: What does it mean?
Kim: Kai means a lot of things in Japanese, but the one they're referring to is ocean. It refers to my style of playing-I tend to be a very passive opener. I like biding my time and waiting for the right opportunity to strike, and then it's like the tide rumbling in. Unstoppable, I guess? (laughs)
QI: Maybe something like leopard would've been a better nickname.
Kim: (laughs) Maybe. But the local papers started with Kai and it's been that ever since. Same thing happened to one of my teammates when he started playing professionally...
QI: Which one?
Kim: Joonmyun-hyung. They call him Suho in Daegu. Like, protector of the goal, Lord of the Rings, all that stuff. (laughs)
QI: Tell me about the World Cup final. How did you feel when you realized you'd lost?
Kim: Disappointed, of course. I mean, it would've been nice to win. But I'm really just thankful we got all the way to the end, and I'm sure my teammates feel the same. I never dreamed we'd make it to the final. China played phenomenally; they deserve the Cup. Next time, though...
QI: You aren't going to rest on your laurels for a bit?
Kim: Second place in the world is pretty good, but we could do better, I think. (laughs) I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I've been playing Yixing since our school days, so it was kind of a personal achievement to beat him to the Snitch. I'm very pleased.
QI: So what's next for you?
Kim: A couple of European clubs expressed interest in signing me, but I love playing for Toyohashi. I'm sticking with my roots. I'll be going into my sixth season in the autumn. Should be good. I'm excited for the future.
fin
A/N: after wrestling with this stupid thing for a day and an age, IT'S FINALLY OVER. thank you to michaelwesten for assuring me this wasn't complete shit and putting up with my obnoxious whining at all hours of the day (haHA ball's in yr court again my friend), as well as everyone else on the internet who had to deal with me during these trying times. YOU ARE ALL MY HEROES. obviously 99% of this was modeled after the actual association football world cup (brazil 2014!!!! i'm so ready.), so thanks fifa. IDRK WHAT ELSE TO SAY HERE except maybe i'm never writing about quidditch ever again. alright. goodbye.
ETA: 400 words of teapotbaek