Chapter Text
Chapter 5: Boys n Beaters
Bucky watched the group on the top of the hill take to the sky. His eyes habitually followed Harry while he darted around the garden, whipping past them before shooting back toward the group on the hill.
"Are you sure that's safe?" asked Steve as they watched Ron drift sideways. Half of the tail on his broom was missing, and the rest was frayed and bent.
"It's not," said Hermione, "Harry's been injured loads of times."
"Oh yeah?" said Bucky.
She nodded. "He was in and out of the hospital wing the entire time we were at school. I think the worst might have been in second year when his arm got de-boned, but that wasn't his fault."
"Sorry?" said Steve.
"What the hell does de-boned mean?" asked Bucky, raising his eyebrows. He had a feeling that this would lead to another one of the stories where the person telling it acted like whatever bat shit event they were describing was perfectly normal and then looked confused when he informed them that it wasn't.
He was right.
"You mean to tell me your brilliant headmaster hired a Fraud to teach possibly the most dangerous subject at your prestigious magical school, and no one noticed until he botched a memory charm on Ron?"
"Er-" said Hermione.
"There are magical schools?" asked Steve, "I mean, of course, there are," he added, "you have to learn somehow."
"Exactly!" said Hermione, latching on the subject change with renewed enthusiasm, "I didn't know about magic until I got my letter to Hogwarts when I was eleven."
"So you can have magic if your parents don't? How does that work? How do you get chosen? Can you apply? Is there a test?"
Hermione was perfectly happy to sit and spend her whole afternoon explaining the basics of magic to them, and Bucky wasn't above admitting that after living surrounded by the stuff for so long, he still felt like a rube with how much he didn't know.
But that didn't mean he wanted to get a lecture on the transference of magic and how it shaped the political sphere- that was up Steve's ally, not his.
He'd rather watch the quidditch game. He'd been to Ginny's matches with Harry before, so he sort of understood how the game worked. At least how it was supposed to work. Watching a professional match and whatever this was, was very different. The little figures zipping around the garden did not appear to follow any rules whatsoever.
On the far side of the garden, George careened into the top of the pine tree, bounced off, shouted something rude, and shot off in the opposite direction.
While Harry spun recklessly on what looked like the flimsiest broom Bucky had ever seen, and after taking a sudden sharp turn, he rocketed straight down from the sky. It looked like he would surely crash face first into the earth, and Bucky had to grit his teeth to keep from tackling him out of the sky to keep him from crashing.
But Harry didn't crash. Twisting at the last second, he headed back up the way he came. His fist held over his head, whooping.
Everyone always said that Harry was exceptionally good at this game, but this was the first time Bucky got to see what that looked like.
The little group gathered at the top of the hill to start the game again and whizzed off in all directions. Bucky leaned back against the tree trunk, one hand shielding his eyes. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a huge brown leather ball sailing toward them.
The dark haired girl with the glittering black eyes lay flat on her broom, streaking after it, but she wasn't fast enough, and it was careening straight for the side of Hermione's head.
Before it could hit its target, Bucky leaned to catch it, snatching it out of the air with one hand and pulling it tight to his chest.
The girl on the broom came to a sweeping halt, hovering about a foot and a half in the air in front of them.
"Sorry," she said, looking apologetic, "do you mind?
Bucky tossed her the ball; she tucked it under her arm, holding on to the broom with one hand, and zoomed off, shouting at someone- probably George to "be more bloody careful, would you?"
An hour or so later, after the third round of the game had ended, this time with Ginny catching the snitch- only because Harry wasn't willing to fly face first into one of the pine trees, and she was. She had emerged, triumphant, with a cut over her left eyebrow.
Harry landed near the wall, collapsing into the grass in the shade. His face is shiny with sweat. He pushed his damp hair out of his face. "What are you lot up to?"
"Well," said Hermione, "I was just explaining to Steve here about my new initiative for the welfare of exploited magical creatures and how it can help to support the underserved in our communities."
"Right," said Harry slowly.
"Your politics are fascinating," said Steve, "is there a way I can read more about them?"
Hermione positively lit up. "Oh, if you'd like, I can send you some books! I have loads, you know, if you're really interested, you might want to start with Hogwarts a History, because it gives a really clear explanation of how the school has built and affected the magical community since it was founded in the tenth century."
"Have you read Hogwarts a History ?" asked Bucky, leaning against Harry's shoulder.
Harry looked horrified.
"No," he said, "that thing is enormous. It would take me years."
Mrs. Weasley came out of the house carrying two enormous pitchers of ice cold pumpkin juice, and a stack of glasses floated in the air behind her. She set them on the wall, brushing her flour coated hands on her apron, "who'd like some pumpkin juice?" she asked before shouting across the garden, "GEORGE! Mind the hedge- for Merlin's sake!"
George, distracted by her shouting, did not mind the hedge and nearly crashed into it, giving it a good kick on his way past.
"MUM!" he shouted back, "are you trying to kill me?"
She sighed, shaking her head. "Always a handful, that one," she said before heading back into the house.
The rest of the quidditch players descended like a swarm and collapsed in an exhausted heap in the shade.
"Nice game Potter," said Charlie, clapping him on the shoulder, "remind the class again why you aren't playing professionally?"
"I didn't want to play just because I'm me," he said, "if I'm going to do it, I want to do it because I'm a good player, you know?
A round of groans went around the group.
"Oh, come off it," said Angelina, "you were the youngest seeker in a century. Any team would want you."
"Yeah, how many offers did you get again?" asked Ron.
"Six," said Harry, "and I just got another one from Puddlemore asking me to try out in the fall."
"OH!" said Ginny, grabbing his arm and shaking him. "Oh please, please, please, do the tryouts; you'll give Wood a heart attack. It will be wonderful."
"Isn't Flint playing for Puddlemore next year?" asked Charlie.
"He is," said George, "that would be a nasty team, Potter, Flint, and Wood. They'd take over the league."
"I had an offer from Puddlemore," said Angie, sipping her pumpkin juice. Ginny gaped at her, whacking her on the arm, "SO DID I! But for chaser," she shrieked.
Ron paled. "Bloody hell, you'd be unstoppable. You'd win the world cup for sure."
Harry laughed, "I don't know," he said, "Krum's still playing."
"Pish," said Angelina, "maybe Krum could take you when you were fifteen, but Harry, that save today was insane. I thought you were going to be flattened."
"I'm not as insane as Ginny. She flew right into a tree."
"Yes, I did," said Ginny, looking very pleased with herself, "anyways, Soldier Boy, aren't you going to introduce your friend?"
"Probably," said Bucky. He gestured to Steve, "this is Steve. He's American and muggle, so try not to confuse him on purpose. He will believe anything you tell him."
"I will not," said Steve.
"Did you know that magical brooms aren't made? They're grown," said Bucky.
"Really? How?"
"See," said Bucky, patting Steve on the shoulder, "don't try and confuse the poor muggle."
"Screw you, Barnes."
George leaned back on his elbows, sizing Steve up, "too bad that muggles can't fly," he said, "you two would make brutal beaters."
Hermione paled, looking between Steve and Bucky.
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," she said.
Ginny sat up, looking thrilled. "Nah, it's brilliant," she said, "let's have them play from the ground. We've still got the practice bludgers in the shed, I think."
"Ginny," said Hermione, "are you trying to get someone killed?"
Angelina laughed, tossing one of her long dark braids over her shoulder. "All you gotta do is play perfect Hermione," she said, "then you don't get hit."
"Ah, yes, a perfect game of backyard quidditch," muttered Hermione, "there is no way someone is going to end up at St. Mungos with a cracked skull."
"What about it, boys?" asked Ginny, "do you want to play?"
"Why not," said Bucky, agreeing for the both of them. Steve followed the little group back up the hill towards the shed to fetch the bludgers, but once he saw the shaking crate, he started to look apprehensive.
"You two are playing as beaters," said Charlie, "one on each team- normally they play in pairs. You're the muscle on the team," he handed each of them a short stout wooden bat, "all you have to do is hit the bludgers at the other team."
He flipped open the lid of the crate revealing the two round black vibrating balls.
"These little fuckers fly around and try and knock us off our brooms," he explained, "and your job is to keep them away from your team and send them after the other team. Now since you'll be on the ground, you won't be as effective as on a broom, but it'll still be fun."
"You want us to hit those balls at you? While you're flying?" asked Steve, "what happens if you get hit?"
"It hurts," said Ginny, "but I doubt you're going to hit us," she winked, "it's harder than it sounds."
Bucky took one of the solid bats, giving it an experimental swing, "So, who's playing for who?" he asked.
"You're with me," said Harry, "and Steve's on Gin's team, so you better not let him knock me off my broom."
"You hear that?" said Ginny, patting Steve on the arm, "give 'em hell for me."
With that, they scattered, climbing onto their brooms and zooming off into the sky, leaving Bucky and Steve on the ground clutching their stout wooden bats. Heading off to their appointed half of the garden. Bucky was stationed on top of the end of the stone wall, while Steve stood a hundred or so yards away on a stump. While the premise of their position seemed simple enough, neither of them was entirely sure what they were doing.
"What are we doing?' asked Steve while they made their way down the short hill back toward the garden.
"You're going to stand on a stump and hit the magical flying ball when it tries to smash your face in."
"Right…" said Steve, looking unsure.
"Look, the best way to deal with this stuff is to go with it. Does any of it make sense? No. Is anyone going to explain it to you? Also, no. But as long as nothing actively tries to kill you, you'll be fine."
"Should I expect something to try to kill me?"
"Yeah, the flying ball trying to smash your face in."
Steve didn't look convinced but climbed onto his stump anyway, holding his bat at the ready.
The rest of the players had already taken to the sky, and at the top of the hill, Hermione, who had reluctantly been elected to set the bludgers free, flicked her wand once, freeing the balls, and darted behind the nearest tree as they rocketed into the sky in opposite directions.
One vanished into the sun, and the other went straight for Charlie's head. He rolled, corkscrewing around the makeshift goalposts.
"Nasty fuckers, they are," he said, grinning when he was right side up again.
Bucky stood alert, tracking the players zipping around the garden, shouting at each other.
Something was headed straight for his head; he heard the low whistle almost too late but spun around just in time to whack one of the bludgers away, sending it back into the sky.
"Christ, Buck, are you trying to kill someone?" asked Steve.
"I am tryin' not to end up with broken ribs."
"So what your tryin' to break somebody else's ribs-"
"DUCK!"
Steve didn't duck and took a bludger to the center of his back, just between the shoulder blades. It lifted him off the stump and sent him flying thirty feet before he landed, somersaulting and coming up on his feet. He crouched low, looking around, alert and ready. His bat held tightly in his hand. The bludger had turned to head back toward him for a second pass at knocking him down. This time he hit it with a loud crack, sending it flying as far away as possible.
"That hurt," he grumbled.
"That's why I hit it so hard, so it doesn't come back."
Only the bludgers did come back. Over and over again, and once Bucky got the hang of it, smashing the devil ball into the sky was actually pretty good fun. As long as he knew where the second one was, because when he didn't, that was a problem, and it was a problem that was probably going to hurt.
He'd gotten a pretty good rhythm going until he turned too quickly and accidentally sent a bludger straight for Steve's head.
Steve whacked it at the ground; it bounced once and flew away, and he pointed his bat at Bucky,
"Hey," he called from across the garden, "knock it off, pal."
Bucky, having too much fun to just let it go, shouted back, "Or what?"
"Or I'm gonna knock you on your ass."
"Let's see you try!"
"You're gonna regret that, Barnes."
"Oh yeah? Prove it!"
Soon the quidditch game above them was forgotten; both of them too focused on trying their absolute damnedest to knock the other one down.
Even the shouting and cheering above them faded away as all his energy was focused on hitting that damn black ball at Steve's head. While Hermione darted among the trees trying to avoid the rouge bludgers.
The game was called when the sun started to set. Bucky had no idea who won either game. The official quidditch match or the game of knock you down, he'd started with Steve.
Both of them had taken their fair share of a beating. Bucky had been hit twice in his good shoulder and once in the stomach. That one had lifted him off the wall and sent him flying into a tree. The back of his neck was covered in thin pink scratches from all the little pine branches.
But he's also got Steve in the hip and the knee- that one hadn't been on purpose. He'd just been defending himself- honest. He'd winced when he saw it connect. Steve limped across the garden, grinning at him, so at least there were no hard feelings.
"That was fun," he said, "we should do that again sometime."
"Fun?" asked Ron; he'd landed near Bucky's wall, "it looked like you were trying to kill each other."
"Nah, we were just playin'."
"Merlin," said Angelina, "that was playing? If that was playing, I want you on my team, or I'm not playing."
Dinner was a loud affair, gathered around the two long tables near the house at the entrance to the garden. They sat crowded together on old spindly chairs, crammed elbow to elbow. Harry was on Bucky's right and Steve on his left, and he had a feeling that this would be a night to remember. At least if the way Ginny eyed Steve was anything to go on, and knowing Ginny, it most certainly was.
"You don't think this is going a little overboard, do you?" muttered Steve, jamming his pointy elbow into Bucky's ribs.
"Too much for lil old you?" he asked, "they like you, say thank you, enjoy it. The food's great, but don't drink the pumpkin juice- it's weird."
Mrs. Weasley shoved a pitcher of Pumpkin juice in front of Steve. "You really ought to try it, deary," she said, filling his goblet.
"Don't drink it," said Bucky.
Steve refused to listen, taking a big swig, choked, and forced himself to swallow.
"Told you. It's weird."
"Why was I expecting it to be sweet?" asked Steve, leaning close, "why isn't it sweet?"
"Who knows, but they drink it like water."
Harry leaned against his shoulder on the other side. "Does he think pumpkin juice is gross, too?" he asked.
Bucky nodded. "Because it is."
"I wonder if it's a muggle thing," Harry muttered, reaching out, "here, give it to me. I'll drink it and give you some water."
"No, no-" said Steve, but Bucky took his goblet from next to his plate and handed it over to Harry, who swapped it for his.
"Aguamenti," he said, filling the glass with a stream of clear crystal water before passing it back to Steve.
"Is this safe to drink?"
"You tell me," said Bucky.
"If Stark ever hears about this, he'll strangle me," he muttered to Bucky, taking a sip of his magic water.
They'd made it halfway through the first course when Bill arrived. Late as always, vaulting over the fence and striding purposefully through the garden. Since his first visit months ago, Bucky hadn't heard another mention of the Winter Soldier and what he was or was not doing traipsing around London, and he hoped to keep it that way.
He slid his metal hand into his pocket, and that was where he planned for it to stay for the rest of the evening. He bumped Harry's shoulder, "he's not gonna be a problem, is he?" he asked, leaning in close, "cuz I'm pretty sure everyone's seen the arm by now."
"Er-" said Harry, shifting uneasily, "I dunno- I didn't even think about it."
"About what?" asked Hermione, squeezing between Ron and Harry.
"Bill," said Ron, "I'm guessing?" he added, leaning on his elbow to look down the table at Bucky.
"You got it."
"Oh," said Hermione, she twisted her napkin in his hands, "but that shouldn't come up, right?" she looked at Harry, "you cleared everything up with the Minister, didn't you?"
"Ages ago,' said Harry, he shrugged, "you never know though-"
"I wouldn't worry," said Ron, "Mum will crucify him if he brings that up at the table again- and on a guest's birthday?" he shook his head, "he'd just be asking for it."
Bill kissed Mrs. Weasley on the cheek, wrapping an arm around her waist, "Fleur sends her love," he said, sitting down next to Ginny at the far end of the table.
"Oh, I'm sure she does," she muttered, rolling her eyes.
They didn't have to wait long to see if Bill would bring up the Soldier because he did nearly immediately after he sat down, and the moment the words terrorist and Soldier left his mouth, Steve choked on his water. Turning a very attractive shade of red.
Bucky thumped him hard on the back, "alright there, pal?"
He cleared his throat. "Never better," he said thickly.
"Bill Weasley," said his mother, her voice shaking with an unrestrained rage, "that is not talk for the dinner table, and you are damn well old enough to know it."
It didn't matter how grown you were, there were some people you did not argue with, and Mrs. Weasley was one of them.
"I'll talk to him," said Ron, once the conversation had swiftly shifted, under the watchful eyes of the Weasley matriarch, "I've got authority now, so maybe if I tell him Kingsleys' closed the files, he'll let it go."
After avoiding that particular pitfall, Bucky drifted out of the conversation. It was hard sometimes keeping track of anything when they all talked over each other, and after too long, it always gave him a headache. Harry leaned against his shoulder, long strands of wild black hair tickling his neck.
Steve was in the thick of it and had been invited to Sunday dinner. Ginny and Angelina demanded he come to their next quidditch match.
"You can't go on thinking garden quidditch is the pinnacle of flying entertainment," said Ginny, leaning forward on her elbows so she could shout down the table at them, "seriously, you have to come see how the pros do it."
"Our playoffs are coming up," added Angelina, "we can add you to the list if you want, and then you'll get box seats."
Steve opened his mouth to argue, probably about to make an excuse about saving the world, but Bucky kicked him in the shin and hissed, "go to the damn game."
After agreeing, he grumbled, "what the hell was that for?"
"You've told me three times how pretty the redhead is," said Bucky. Steve turned away, trying to hide the blush creeping up his neck.
"She's a firecracker."
"Yeah, she is," said Bucky, "and she wants you to go see her play, so go watch her play. She's on the best team in the league. Let her show off a little."
"Oh, I'm sure they're just being polite," said Steve.
"You're a real big idiot sometimes, you know that?"
Dinner ended, and dessert was served. Mrs. Weasley outdid herself with a towering cake with thick creamy frosting covered in strawberries.
"Mum has a thing about Birthdays," said Ron, mouth full of cake, "she likes everyone to know they matter."
Steve took his cake, looking at the huge slice on the white scalloped china, 'you're damn lucky you know that,' he said, smiling at Bucky, "you're damn lucky, and if I wasn't so happy for you, I'd be jealous."
"Jealous of what? Buddy, if you think these people will let you walk out of here and not come back, you've got another thing coming." He patted Steve on the shoulder, "You're stuck with them now, whether you like it or not."
Steve shoved a bite of cake into his mouth; he didn't argue.
When they were finished, the sun had long set, and the garden was filled with a hundred tiny white sparkling lights floating above the flowers.
Steve insisted that he help clear the dishes, and as soon as he followed a mollified Mrs. Weasley back into the house carrying an enormous stack of dishes, Ginny launched herself out of her seat, hurrying after them.
"There she goes," said Bucky, "go get 'em, tiger."
Harry snorted, covering his laughter with his napkin, "if she's anything, she's forward," he said, "she knows what she wants."
Ron groaned, "God, I wish she didn't."
Mrs. Weasley came back out of the house looking very pleased with herself and sat at the end of the table.
"Well," said George, standing up, "I think it's time for more cake."
"Absolutely not," said Mrs. Weasley.
"Mum, I'm grown. You can't tell me what to do," said George.
Bucky winced because if Mrs. Weasley was anything like his mother- and she was, that would not go over well, and it didn't.
Mrs. Weasley puffed up immediately.
"Oh, he's gone and done it now," whispered Ron, "she's going to murder him."
"George Gideon Weasley, you sit your arse back down right this second," she hissed, "how dare you talk to your mother like that, and if you think for one moment I am going to allow you to ruin this for your sister, I with curse you into next week."
"You know," said George, sitting back down, "one slice of cake really was plenty."
The table went up in laughter, and Bucky wound an arm around Harry's waist. His head still resting against his shoulder, "I told you it would be fine," he said.
"Yeah, you did," said Harry, "I'm just not used to things going the way they should."
"There is still time for it to take a turn," said Ron cheerfully.
Hermione sighed, "if you just jinxed things, Ronald-"
"I was kidding!" he said, eyes wide, "you don't think I did?"
"No," said Harry, "you didn't. Everything's going to be alright this time."
"Steve might even get a date," said Bucky, "unless he somehow manages to seriously fuck up, which historically is possible."
Steve seemed to manage not to mess it up because when he came back out of the house, he dropped next to Bucky, grinning wide, with a blush dusting his cheeks.
"You've got something on your face," said Bucky gesturing to the corner of his mouth.
Steve blushed and rubbed at it, "I think- uh- I might have got a date," he said.
"What, is it with you and redheads?"
Steve shrugged, "I'm not complaining."
Harry leaned in front of Bucky, "you know," he said, "we have breakfasts at our house on Saturdays, and Ginny comes-"
"Sometimes," said Bucky.
"When she feels like it," amended Harry, "but she might come more often if you're there, so you should come."
Steve took a moment to answer.
"I think," he said, "I would like that a lot."
"Good," said Harry, "you have a fireplace, right? I think I can get you hooked up to the floo network. The Minister owes me a bit of a favor."
"Floo network?"
Bucky leaned back, letting the conversation wash over him. It had been a long day, and he was tired and happy to let everyone talk around him. Maybe he didn't get to talk to Steve like he'd hoped, but that wasn't what today was about.
This had been a test to see that somehow after everything, they could find a way to be in each other's lives, and it looked good. There wasn't a world in which he didn't see this working out unless Natasha didn't keep her promises, but it looked like she had, at least for now. And if that changed, they'd figure it out. They'd made it this far, and nothing would stop them now.