My Achy Breaky Quidditch Heart

Muggleborns.

He could’ve kicked himself for it.

For all his open mindedness - in all things - the Pureblood in him still recoiled a little when she mentioned her parents were Muggles.

The Wizarding World would never wholly trust Muggles, or their magical offspring. They posed too much of a threat, his grandmother had told him once, shaking her wrinkled, blotted hand at the small boy of perhaps six or seven. He’d been shooed away after that by his fervent, fearful mother who was desperate to breed in him tolerance. He remembered it though. He couldn’t ever forget.

He didn’t care, though. He didn’t. He knew he didn’t. It wasn’t in his nature. But it ... it was. It ...

Baldric blinked and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling a little at the roots as he fought to compose himself and maintain the easy smile on his lips.

It was guilt more than anything. Guilt that he’d thought about it even though he knew she was fine, she was perfect. She was a witch.

It was the fact that he’d thought it.

She brought the conversation smoothly back to Quidditch and Baldric was able to sober himself a little easier and his smile grew more genuine on his lips.

“Well, for Scotland,” for a moment he feigned a Glaswegian accent before laughing a little. “We’ve got the Banchory Bangers, the Montrose Magpies, the Pride of Portree and the Wigtown Wanderers. Pick your team, darlin’, and we can see when they’re playing.”

Baldric gestured for her to follow him and led her into the aisle where the jerseys were being sold. A few people were loitering without intention to by, just enjoying the feel of the silkworm spun fabric that would cost them more than a pretty penny.

Baldric took one of the flyers out of the holder on top of the shelf and opened it out so he could see the fixtures for all of the teams in the UK and Ireland.

“The Scottish shirts are down there,” He gestured towards the end of the aisle. “You’ll want to get it a size or two bigger and then you can put a long-sleeved t-shirt underneath - otherwise you’ll freeze.”

There were many times a day that Trisha desperately wished she weren't so observant. Or so open with what she said. But then, she wasn't the type to go about lying, even to people she didn't know - unless they appeared to post some sort of threat, of course. She had encountered many a spirit who were filled with anxiety and she could practically feel it now. While she didn't know the boy standing in front of her all that well, she suddenly had this strong feeling that she'd said something wrong.

Tris, ever refusing to be assertive, practically wanted to leave right then. It would have saved her the embarrassment, she could have skipped out on the Match he'd suggested - though she noticed he didn't exactly push for it - and by the time they got to school, he probably wouldn't have changed his mind. He would either have forgotten her entirely, or joined that extensive group who seemed to think she was completely mental.

Why did she always do this? Why did she have to take everything someone did and question it? She knew it had to be unhealthy, and fairly ridiculous.

Suddenly, he was talking about Scottish teams and she realized he wanted her to walk with him. How did he change direction so fast? She didn't think she had imagined his discomfort. But then he used one of those terms of endearment her dad used on her mum sometimes, and she wasn't sure what to think anymore.

"None of those names sound particularly appealing.." She pointed out, wrinkling her nose a bit. "They should have hired better Advertising Agents." She assumed, for she'd never been told other wise, that advertising was a job in the Wizarding World as well. Why wouldn't it be? People had to sell things, right? Rather than lingering on that, she continued, "Well, Montrose is the closest to where I live, so that sounds like a safe choice, though I don't see how Magpies can be intimidating to other teams." She lifted a shoulder as she walked beside him.

He stopped to pick up a flyer and then pointed to where she should look for a jersey for Scottish teams. Turning to look at that part of the store, she wasn't exactly sure why she should purchase one if she didn't even know the teams. She figured this was probably how most people had started out - just picking one, and even if they lose stick to it? So, brow furrowed, Tris made her way down the aisle he had mentioned, and stood in front of the shirts, arms crossed in front of her chest as she looked for the proper one.

It was a defence mechanism, primarily, that saw the flit and flirt of Baldric’s conversation change like the ebbing tide lapping at coastal sands. His stomach warily consoled itself, shying away the bile that had risen in his throat at the thoughts that his mind had spat out on reflex. His skin had paled to a pallor that he caught in one of the steamy mirrors mounted on the shelves. He was a mottled grey colour with the two buds of his lips pittering against each other yet still attempting to stifle their frail jitters. Suddenly, even the tips of his hair seemed to grey and his eyes darkened with guilt he hoped that Trish could not yet read in his face.

To a layman who did not look for cause to accuse the sale’s assistant of much more than perhaps a dismal manner of dressing himself, Baldric appeared as right as rain and the smile on his lips added to the comeliness of his face. Of course, when he took a furtive glance towards the mirrors, that was what he wished he could see but his fear and shame turned him into more of a Boggart in terms of reflection; or perhaps even a sun-shy half-vampire, reluctant to undo the mottle of his sickly shade.

“They’re classics,” Baldric found himself saying as his mind settled outside of the curtain wall of fear that he’d drawn up around his rational and his sense of goodness, righteousness and what was right and what was wrong. The guilt had outweighed all of that and had stifled him, strangled his calm.

Baldric came up behind Trisha as he moved into the sense and the reality of his surroundings, if only mentally. He reached around her, his chest pressing up against her back, and pulled back a few of the t-shirts before producing a Magpie’s jersey in large. He looked at it for a second, deciding that, at best she was a small in jerseys, and smiled a little before stepping back, the jersey in hand.

“There’s a Magpies game next week, Trish.” He told her as he crossed the aisle, pulling down a scarf, a hat and some funky looking socks which she didn’t need really but, on his tab, he felt she did. He looked over each one, making sure of the quality before gesturing for her to follow him again.

This was his redemption, he decided - an apology for thinking something that she didn’t even have privy to. She must have thought him insane.

He probably was.

Baldric skirted behind the counter and put the flyer down for Trish to see. He then set about scanning each tag and taking them off, typing a few things into the till as he did so. Finally, once everything was put on, Baldric took a bag out from underneath the desk, folded each piece up and tucked it inside before pushing it towards Trish.

“Friday, then?” He asked her with a sly, almost confident smile as he took his wallet out and replaced the money owed into the till. “We can get dinner somewhere afterwards if you like.”

Trish had to dig her nails into her palm to keep from jumping as Baldric came up behind her, surprising her. His reaching forward until he was against her back was doing nothing but making her very confused. She just couldn't figure out was he was thinking at any given point. It was all she could do not to lean forward and show her embarrassment. Even if this guy were interested, she wouldn't know what to do. Touching wasn't something her family did. Nor did they say much by the way of endearments or telling each other they loved them. Dad said something sometimes, but no one else did so much.

When he pulled back and started talking, she closed her eyes for a moment before shaking off the strange feeling she had gotten. Was it so bad that he made her nervous? Weren't guys supposed to?

He pointed out that there was a game on the horizon for the team she's picked - though what she knew of them was little to none - and she very nearly raised an eyebrow as he picked item after item of the store racks. "Oh, really?" She replied faintly as she watched him. What, exactly, was going on here? What was she supposed to do with the things he was scanning into the machine?

Tris watched the bag slide across the counter towards her before looking up at Baldric as he spoke. The air of confidence about him didn't surprise her like she imagined it would if she were looking at other people. "I - Sure, Friday," She began, watching him put money into the register. Brow furrowed, she continued in response to his second comment, "If you want. I mean, food is fairly important."

Why was she such a nutter? Seriously. She rather wanted to slap herself. But she was so surprised by this whole thing, especially the last bit regarding the bag she found herself glancing at repeatedly. She hadn't taken much time to even look at what he'd picked up. It wasn't that her family didn't have money or anything - they just didn't buy what they didn't need. This guy, however, seemed to be doing quite well on the financial front, and it shouldn't have surprised her.

Tugging on the end of her hair she added belatedly, "How did you want to meet up, then?" What was this, anyways? Tris told herself tersely to stop asking so many questions. At least until she got home where she could think by herself.

Baldric’s hands smoothed out across the finely polished wood of the countertop, a soft smile playing at his lips as he turned the bag around so she could take the handle.

The young Gryffindor took a moment to observe the Ravenclaw before him, in those moments. She was wide-eyed and largely terrified, he realised. Part of him wondered whether he’d been too forward but something in the back of his mind reminded him that he was being kind and he was looking for redemption, despite her ignorance to what he believed to be an unforgivable act on his part.

“It’s a gift, of sorts,” He told her, gesturing to the bag as he spied the clock on the wall that promised his lunch break in a few moments time.

Baldric grinned when she reluctantly agreed and he nodded, pleased.

“Okay, we can go to this little bistro near the stadium and get something filling before we go up.” He decided.

Baldric looked at Trish, suddenly accounting for the gap in his plan. “How about I pick you up at your house?” He offered.

Trisha felt, for a moment, like questioning his motives in giving her what he called a gift, but wasn't sure if he even knew. He looked as though he felt awkward about it, himself.

She knew she should just get over her awkwardness. She had already agreed to go with him, and there wasn't exactly any turning back now, was there? He grinned at her and she found herself smiling in return.

"That would be great." She nodded carefully at his suggestion.

He looked at her in what she took to be surprise, and she let out a near-silent, breathy laugh. Had he not thought about that? She gave him her address, letting him know her house was hooked up to the floo network. While she was a bit nervous to go along with all of this, she was fully aware that she needed to learn to get past that.

Picking the bag up from the counter, she held it in both hands, letting it hang in front of her. "So, I'll see you Friday, then." Tris said, glancing at the clock after noticing he had done so. She had been away longer than she intended. "I should.. I should get back."

It was weird to think that Baldric was going to go on a date. It wasn’t as though he’d never been on a date but he didn’t exactly have a reputation as a lady killer either. He’d had attention from girls before but it hadn’t occurred to him that they actually, really liked him. They didn’t know him. It was for that reason that he should have empathised with Trish a little more but he was simply too dense to see that she was all a flutter, trying to work out why he was doing this for her. If she’d have asked, he probably would’ve shrugged bashfully and said it’d be fun; and it would be, he hoped.

“It’s a date.” Baldric told her without thinking, grinning happily to his self.

He scrawled down her address on a spare bit of paper and nodded, tucking it into the pocket of his jeans. He smiled again, reaching up to brush his fingers through his hair as he became a little more bashful. Would he have to meet her parents?

“I’ll see you then,” he promised with a smile. Baldric then looked at the clock. “I’m on my lunch break now. I’ll see you on Friday, okay? Do you want me to walk you down to the ‘Cauldron?”

They must have looked like a complete mess, the two of them. Just as Trisha blushed at his calling it a date, he seemed to become a bit embarrassed himself. She hardly noticed, though, as she shifted the bag to one side.

"Oh, um, if you were heading there anyways." She shrugged, "I mean, I'm just flooing back home." She didn't particularly mind either way if he did or not. Starting towards the door, she glanced at him over her shoulder. If he decided he was going somewhere else, she could just return home. Her brothers and sister had been planning a two-on-two football match now that they had the nets up, but she wasn't about to go sharing this and sound even more strange than she already was. All things in good time.

Baldric was chivalrous - it was part of the Gryffindor charm. That was why, having donned his jacket and picked up his bag from beneath the counter, Baldric nodded and acquiesced to his offer of walking Trish back.

It mattered to him that she made it home safe - she was going to be his date, after all said and done.

It was also the right thing to do. It was going to get late - not imminently but soon - and if she had to walk any further than the Leaky then he would’ve had to have taken her all the way home, irregardless of her wants and needs. It was the gentlemanly thing.

So, once he was out from behind the counter, Baldric tossed his arm around Trish’s shoulders and grinned.

“C’mon then, kid.” He smiled, leading her over to the door. “Time to get you home.”

And out they went, out into the bright, light day that Diagon Alley held for them. Time to go home.