March 27th, 1891 - Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch
Cameron Gillenwater

It had been a few weeks after the loss to Hufflepuff and even longer since things with Cam had really gotten all out of sorts and Sloane still sort of felt like she was drowning in slow motion. She'd been a little cowardly these last few weeks, spending most of her time in the company of Hatch or Ned, using Alice a little bit like a shield to avoid the situation she knew she had to somehow figure out, but honestly had no idea. Sloane just couldn't settle her feelings on what to say to Cam or if she could even fix what had happened, but she had come to one very unexpected conclusion while laying awake at night staring at the canopy of her four-poster.

Practice hadn't gone well for her, yet again, her head just wasn't either and she highly suspected, neither was her heart. Sloane had lived and breathed quidditch since she could properly sit on her first little toy broom, zipping around the back garden, but it just didn't hold the same excitement it once did. Maybe she was growing up, maybe she was losing her mind, but penning her resignation for the team hadn't been quite as hard as she would have imagined.

There was no good time to give it to Cam, she knew, but after another awful practice was as good of a time as any. Her heart hammered away at her ribcage as everyone else scattered toward the locker rooms, but she took a deep breath and pulled the parchment from the inside of her robes. "Cam?" She started, stopped, unsure of how best to continue, so she just handed him the paper.

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Once an enjoyable pastime, quidditch had almost become a chore in the wake of his personal drama. He'd managed to convince himself that it would pass, though, although he wasn't sure when or how or what would clear his head of his distractions. It did not help that most of his time spent on the pitch was with people who he cared about and whose opinions he valued - Maddy, for one, knew him well enough to know when his heart was not in it, and Sloane was - there.

He wasn't certain what they were now, or if they were even anything at all. They had not shared a kiss, a tender word, or even so much as a touch of affection since the Christmas part, but in his heart he knew he still loved her. It was really less of a question of what he wanted them to be, but what she wanted them to be.

Practice went well enough, and Cameron excused their performances as the weight of the end of the year beginning to settle on their shoulders. Their professors had begun hankering down for the upcoming testing season, which was worse for him than the fourth years on the team but it was hard to miss how they'd added course work to all of the age groups. He finally landed on the ground and took a second to breathe while the rest of the team dismounted and began to chatter amongst themselves. He watched as Sloane got off her broom, too - and then promptly turned his gaze as she began to walk towards him.

He reluctantly met her eye as she stood in front of him, but very quickly his attention went to he piece of parchment she passed him. He looked at her confusedly, then back at the parchment, and unfurled it to reveal its words.

Sloane was resigning.

"No," he said curtly. "Not an option." They were nearing the end of the quidditch season and still had a game left - and anyways, she was a good seeker and they needed her. But most importantly, Cameron needed her. "I can't loose you," he explained, though after a pause his heartbeat to quicken, the realization setting in that his words had taken on a double-meaning.

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Sloane bit her lip while he read, sighing softly as he swiftly rejected her resignation from the team. She had expected this, but felt her resolve already starting to crumble. "I'll finish the season, obviously." She wouldn't do that to the team, not when they still had a match left, but she highly doubted they were in the running for the cup this year after her last couple of performances.

"But I think it would be better for next year," She tried to banish the threatening emotion from her voice. "If you find someone whose head is the game." Hers wasn't anymore, there was too much else going on for her to focus properly. "Plus with OWLs and everything else, I don't know how you do it. I won't manage well." It was a weak excuse at best. Sloane could have made it work if she wanted to, but right now felt like everything was halfhearted and that just wouldn't suffice. It changed the entire trajectory of her life if she quit now, no professional quidditch, no playing for the Harpies, none of that, but she had a backup plan.

She didn't know what to say in response to that last bit, so kind of just let her voice trail off, looking up at him quickly before back out across the pitch.

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Usually Cameron was good at separating his personal life from the quidditch pitch, but clearly not with Sloane. Through her excuses all he could think was no, no, not happening, no, because losing Sloane on the pitch was one more way that they would be distanced, and he didn't want that.

"You won't be able to pursue your dreams if you quit the team," he argued, feeling suddenly defensive. He glanced around, making sure no eyes were on them—and thankfully, everyone was either too distracted preparing to return to the castle or already out the door.

"And I can't find another seeker. We worked so hard to stop being the 'young' team." Not that younger seekers hadn't worked out for other teams, but he didn't want another Farrow type. He wanted Sloane.

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   Sloane Bixby

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Sloane shrugged slowly, letting her shoulders drop dramatically on the downside. Sloane had always dreamed of playing professionally, it was the one thing she always had thought she would do with her life. What else was there? Her father had played and now coached, Rufus played, her mother and Alvin worked with brooms. The majority of her family had something to do with the sport and Sloane had always assumed she'd follow the pattern, but she wasn't sure she could make a real go of it if she was so easily dismayed by her personal life.

"Yeah well, Ned and I hashed out a backup plan." Sloane could also envision herself as a magizoologist. The class was effortless to her, she found the animals generally easy to work with and if she kept up with her herbology and charms grades (of which she desperately needed Ned's help with, but that was neither here nor there) up to par, she could take those three and transfiguration at the NEWT level and probably be good. Potions would be helpful, but there was no way she'd be able to get there.

Looking down at the grass for a moment, she bit her lip. There was no point in arguing, but she felt bad just dropping the resignation on him and walking away. "I have no doubts you can whip a first or second year into shape." He was a good captain after all.

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She'd been talking about her future... with Ned. He was glad that none of their friends were anywhere near by, because the frown that fell on his face wasn't one of a captain sad to be losing a teammate—it was one of genuine hurt, maybe even jealousy.

"I'm glad you've had Ned to talk to about all this," he said, the hurt present in his voice. It wasn't the same type of jealousy he'd felt a year ago. He was more upset that Sloane had went to talk to someone else about her plans rather than him, because he'd told her about what he wanted to do, and... And it didn't seem to matter. "But even then, I can't just... I won't. You can't. You're our seeker." It wasn't like she was Meta, who hadn't even managed to make it through one season. This was Sloane, who'd made team a year after him, who was part of the quidditch sect in their friend group.

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Sloane's brows furrowed at his tone. That was unexpected. First of all, she hadn't talked to Ned about any of this. Nobody knew about her decision to resign until right now. She had agonized over it alone for weeks now, but only because she knew every single one of her friends (save maybe Sisse, but even then), would talk her out of it. This was decision she had come to on her own. Secondly, had she chosen to talk to Ned about it, why was that worth mentioning? She and Ned had discussed his the auror training program at some point this year too, wasn't that a normal topic of conversation for fourth and fifth years?

"I didn't tell anyone," The conversation with Ned had been about this time last year, an offhand conversation while they were escaping the common room for some fresh air. "He and I talked about it last year in a conversation about the creatures in the black lake." Everybody knew Creatures was her favorite class. That wasn't news.

Toying with the broom in her hands, Sloane ran her thumb over the worn, polished handle absentmindedly. "I just think it's for the better," She didn't have a real concrete reason, other than this overwhelming feeling like it wasn't going to work out.

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"You don’t owe me an explanation," he answered, although the continued hurt in his tone made it apparent that he wished she’d given him one before she’d come with her resignation in hand. This was something they were meant to talk about, he’d thought. He would have given her guidance, give. her reassurance, but she’d never thought to mention it to him. She really was done with him, wasn’t she? That’s what this was all about—not quidditch, not her future career, but the fact that she couldn’t stand to be around him anymore.

"If this is about me," he said, lowering his voice, which had suddenly gone cold and distant. Protective. Defensive. "Don’t quit on my account. I don’t want you to give up your career because you..." He trailed off, hoping she would finish his sentence and confirm that all his worries were true. He couldn’t even look at her anymore; he was too hurt.

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Sloane knew this hard, it had taken her weeks to finalize her answer, and she'd expected him to push back some, but not this hard. Truthfully, at this point, she didn't know where they stood in any aspect of their lives, but she was starting to think after going so long without talking about it, maybe he would have been glad to be rid of her...

She had a retort on the tip of her tongue, this doesn't have anything to do with you. Was what almost came tumbling out, but that was neither true nor helpful at the moment. She could tell he was upset by this, further evidenced by what he said and the tone of his voice, but Sloane had no idea if they were still taking quidditch or not anymore. His mention of her career suggested as much, but everything before that, not so much.

Tears threatened to spill out as she took a deep breath to keep them back. "Its not you, everything is just so overwhelming," Her voice caught and she paused. Which is why she had been sort of hiding behind friends lately. The whole big situation was draining her, she needed to collect herself completely before dealing with it head on. Hatch was right, she wasn't responsible for anyone elses feelings or actions, but it didn't get rid of the guilt.

"I'm distracted and it cost us the last match. It's not fair to everyone else." She said finally, barely above a whisper as she looked back down at the grass, eyes closed tight to keep the tears from falling.

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His heart had already suffered its share of cracks over the last few months, but with each word it grew closer to shattering. She sounded so sad, and he'd always done his best to comfort her when she was sad, but this was... different. This wasn't about someone else. This wasn't something she was coming to him with for comfort. This was about him—or he suspected it was, since the tone of her voice didn't do anything to convince him otherwise. She was distracted and overwhelmed, and she wouldn't have been if not for their relationship, which had put their entire friend group in upheavel.

If he would have thought for one second that giving up quidditch would make her happy, he would have accepted it. "It's okay, I understand. Take care of yourself," he could hear himself saying, but to say that out loud? It wouldn't have been true. He didn't understand.

"Sloane, I - I don't care about quidditch," he said, desperately wishing she would look at him. He reached out and brushed his fingers against the back of her hand, but withdrew it just as quickly. It was one big metaphor, wasn't it? Wanting to reach out, to hold on, and not being able to figure out how to do it without being caught.

They weren't working, and - it broke his heart, because he wanted it to. He loved her. But she was miserable.

"I'll let you go," he finally said, and for a moment he wasn't sure what he was saying. His heart skipped a beat as he realized, oh... oh. "But - don't leave quidditch. I know it's your passion. Don't give it up. I can - help make it less overwhelming." Tears had pricked at the corners of his eyes, and now he found it difficult to look at her. His gaze settled somewhere on her shoulder, but he watched her face out of the corner of his eyes.

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Merlin she was over crying all the time. She quickly swiped at the few tears that fell, trying to keep from making a scene. Something had to give and that something was quidditch. One less thing to worry about, one less distraction from her studies, more time to spend with friends and try to fix all of the fraying threads barely holding them together. Maybe she and Cam could fix things if she wasn't a disappointment on the pitch, if they just had time to talk.

Nothing Cameron was saying made any sense and so so looked up him in confusion. For half a second she thought maybe he'd given in, but as he continued something in the pit of her stomach dropped. "I don't understand, what..?" She said bluntly, watery blue eyes concentrating on his face, really looking at him and she was devastated by his expression. He looked so sad and defeated even though he just said he didn't care about quidditch...

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She was looking at his face, which he found didn't make him feel any better. He felt so miserable, and he tried to push away his insecurities, the ones that told him that if he did this she'd go running off to be with Ned, or Hatchitt, or someone better. He didn't think so low of her, but he did think low of himself, at least compared to their friends. A long pause of silence passed between them, and only after a series of long, deep breaths was he able to pull his gaze to hers.

"This," he managed, but no coherent train of thought followed. He reached out and caressed the back of her hand, almost hoping that she would flinch away, affirming that he wasn't wrong. At least then he would feel less awful about saying this. "Us. I'm - I'm making you miserable. And I know, it's not me, but it all goes back to me in the end. And I can't... I can't stand seeing you so sad, so we can't-" Tears rolled down his cheeks, and suddenly he felt like a vulnerable kid, glancing around helplessly as if there was anything—anyone—who would help him.

"We should go back to like it was this summer, before..." He met her eyes again, his pained expression saying what he couldn't manage to push out. "For you. I - I love you, but - but -" But she didn't feel the same, and he didn't deserve to keep her feeling miserable because of it.

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Sloane had started shaking her head as soon as he started elaborating. She was a little miserable but it wasn't his fault, she didn't blame him. Certainly he was involved and she was a little frustrated by some if his choices, but that didn't mean she put all of the blame in him, in fact she'd tried so hard to shoulder it all herself that she blubbered and spilled everything all over Hatch just to get some relief from the crushing guilt.

"That's not... You're not making me miserable." Her voice shook as she said it, but she meant it. Her own choices had made her miserable. She'd told Hatch she wanted to go back to the way things had been last summer, but only with her friends and not at the expense of losing Cam in the process.

"That's not what I meant." She tried again but words failed her. Sloane didn't know what she wanted right now, everything was all messed up. She did know she didn't want to lose Cam and if they ended things now, they simply couldn't go back to being friends, it would never work.

She really had screwed this up.

Fresh tears spilled out, falling slowly over freckled cheeks. "Everything after a "but" voids what came before it," She said out of nowhere, something her mother had said to her for as long as she could understand it. Giving an excuse changed after the "but" and nothing that was said before even mattered. He couldn't just say I love you, but we shouldn't be together. That just meant that there was nothing holding them together anymore. "Please don't do this." She just needed to quit quidditch, not him.

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Merlin, it would have made things so much easier if he thought she was telling the truth. He wished he could believe her. Nothing would have made him feel better than to just wrap his arms around her waist, pull her into a hug, and tell her that he wasn't going to do this, that he'd only said it because he thought it was his fault. Which - he might have, because he had the urge to hug her and he did think it was all his fault, but that would have contradicted the point he was trying to reach.

This wasn't working.

"How about this, then?" His voice was quiet, but shaky. Hers was shaking, too, so at the very least there wasn't the added embarrassment of being the only emotional one. He failed to meet her eye, because he wasn't sure he could get his words out if he had to stare into her wide, sad, blue-as-the-sky eyes. "I love you, and I need to let you go before... before it ruins your future. That matters more to me." She wouldn't be Sloane anymore if she gave up her quidditch passion; it was the thing they'd bonded over initially, the thing that kept them glued together even when they fought. He couldn't let her lose that.

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   Sloane Bixby

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"No." Sloane shook her head once more. He didn't get to decide this for her. She could very easily go over his head and give her resignation to their head of house and that would be the end of it, but she hadn't want to do it that way. She'd wanted to give him a heads up, to be fair and explain herself, but she clearly couldn't handle that.

"You can't care more about my future than I do. I made the choice, Cam." She'd made up her mind. "You matter more than quidditch." Not a sentence she ever thought she'd say out loud, but here she was. It wasn't like she didn't have a perfectly good alternative; like there wasn't a whole zoo in Irvingly where she could easily find a job. Something long term, an actual career.

She tilted her chin up a little, tears still leaking from her eyes as she looked at him. "I'll finish the season, but that's it. If you can't or won't accept that then I guess I lose two things I care about." She hated to make it sound like an ultimatum, it really wasn't what she wanted, but he seemed so ready to push the issue she didn't know what to do.

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He couldn't wrap his head around it. It seemed that she was saying that he and quidditch were two separate things—that he wasn't the reason she didn't want to play anymore. Why, then? He hadn't noticed a lack of passion in her, which bothered him, because he should have known. He should have seen how disinterested she was, how her mind was elsewhere. It was easier to assume that it was because of him than to try and jump through the mental hoops to try and figure out what had caused it.

"But why, then?" he asked, his brows furrowed. "Quidditch is our thing. You don't - you don't like it anymore?" He was willing to set aside his own insecurities just long enough to think about the logistics of it. He really didn't want to try and find another seeker, not when he'd be comparing them to her.

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