The Joke That Came True [Spring 2022]

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Samara Raillen

At the age of 20, things had seemed hopeless to Damon Halley. He'd been stuck in a dull job at the ministry, unable to even fly properly, and his dreams appearing to be shattered on the floor. Damon should have had more hope though, as just a few years later his dream would come true, he'd finally become a professional Quidditch player. Despite his early injury, Damon had a long career, without any serious injuries to add to the list. He almost wished that he'd could go on playing forever, and indeed it felt as though he had been playing forever. However, Damon eventually had had to retire at the age of 35, and immediately took a position as a coach.

Damon hadn't actually played professionally for several years now, but he was still occasionally recognised in the streets and asked for an autograph. These events always made him smile, a reminder of the heydays of his career, when he hadn't been quite so fond of signing autographs.

Today, Damon was in Diagon Alley, planning on buying a new broomstick for his son. Just like his own father, he'd spotted some talent in his youngest son, and was determined to give him the best possible start Quidditch wise. He stopped outside a broomstick shop, perusing the display when he heard someone calling out his name from up the street.

[Samara Raillen]

Sam wasn't very big on wearing cloaks -- unless they came with hoods and she needed to hide. This was definitely one of those times. Sam didn't ditch school too often -- but even though it was a N.E.W.T. year, she just had to get out. Too much was going on -- her head was reeling and she needed to take a break, even if just for a day.

That's why this particular February Monday, Sam, cloaked and hooded, but not suspiciously so, was meandering casually down Diagon Alley -- she was actually pretty impressed she'd made it this far. Sam had been saving her money for new Beater's gloves. Oh, yes, Maxhound Beater's Gloves were a Beater's best friend. Grip-enhanced, moisturizing, thin and lightweight, these gloves morphed to the shape of an individual's hands, and they kept your hands warm and active all night. You weren't even supposed to know you were wearing them, and Sam was fairly convinced she wouldn't ever take them off. She headed into Quality Quidditch Supplies, eager to find a black-and-scarlet pair.

She found the rack she was looking for and pulled a pair off eagerly, her eyes wide.

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Did not engage because I have some questions: 1. what team(s) did he play for? 2. what position? :D

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Well, I'm not really sure what team he plays for yet, but let's say the Caerphilly Catapults - like his father xD And he played Chaser (:

Damon turned his head to look down the street, in the direction which he thought he'd hard his name being called from. However, as he turned he couldn't spot anyone walking towards him, or anyone who was even looking at him at all. There was a few witches walking by, but none of them were paying the slightest bit of attention to him. Damon turned back to the shop, assuming that he'd just heard something wrong. Wishful thinking, that's all it was.

Damon stepped away from the window display and entered the shop. He'd known what he wanted to buy before he'd came here anyway, so there really wasn't much point standing around. The tinkle of a bell could be heard as the man opened the door, and then again as he let it close shut behind him. He walked straight across to a shelf full of broomsticks, taking a particularly close look at the price of the new Firebolt.

[Samara Raillen]

When it came to brooms, Samara was a complete elitist. She herself owned a Stardust 1313, and rumors were circulating that Beshemin Broomsticks was working on a fantastic new line, to be released sometime this summer. Oh, Samara wished she could upgrade as soon as it came out -- however, considering her behavior in the past year, she doubted her father would be eager to spend any money on her behalf anytime soon.

Samara glanced over at the man in front of the brooms, and as she watched him examine the latest Firebolt, she couldn't help but snort. "Are you kidding me? The latest Beshemin model is right in front of you, and you're lookin' at that crappy bundle of twigs?" she asked incredulously, shaking her head.

Then she did a double take.

"Merlin's bollocks, you're Damon Halley!" Sam had seen him play for the Catapults several times, as a younger child. She remembered the first Catapults game she'd ever gone to -- and her father had pointed at the chaser and said, in his deep, excited voice, "That's Halley, Samara. He's one of the best darn chasers on the pitch. I worked with him, in my intern days." Samara had been breathless with awe -- her own father knew a Pro Quidditch player, personally!

Samara had always believed her father's statement was true about Halley, even after he stopped playing professionally. Perhaps it was because he had said it with such strong assurance, such excitement. But ever since then, she had always wanted to meet Halley, and so without worrying about keeping her cover, she slid the hood off of her head and strode forward eagerly.

Damon ran a finger along the top of the broom, getting a feel for it's surface. He always liked to do this whenever he bought a new broom, even though it never really said anything about the performance of the broom, it was something like a ritual to him. He did have to examine the broom properly though, and so once his finger had run the length of the broom he moved to pick it up in one hand and judge it's weight. However, just as he lifted the broomstick away from the shelf a voice cut through the air from behind him.

Damon chuckled at the comment. In his opinion the Beshemin models had always been a bit dodgy, he preferred some of the older brands, like the Firebolt, and then just picking up the new versions as they came out. "Well," he turned round to face the speaker as began his answer, "I'd hardly call it..."

He was cut off as the speaker suddenly recognised who he was, and he couldn't help but laugh at her sudden exclamation. Merlin's bollocks..? He'd never received a reaction like that before. "Well yes, yes I am," he nodded in answer, his familiar smirk spreading across his face. The speaker then removed their hood, and Damon was rather surprised to find a teenager stood in front of him. Firstly, she should probably be at school, but more importantly, it wasn't often that he was recognised by someone much younger than himself.

Damon rested the broomstick next to him and leant sideways against it, yet another test he always liked to try out on a broom. "I guess you're a pretty big quidditch fan?" he asked curiously, "It's not often I get recognised by someone your age."

[Samara Raillen]

Sam couldn't believe her luck. He was actually talking to her! "Only sort of a lot," she replied with an almost bashful grin. "And, er, I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm an adult, just like any other," she responded meaningfully, with a tone that indicated she knew all too well that she should be in school, but that she hoped he would help her keep her secret.

"The first Quidditch match my dad ever took me to was Caterphilly vs. Appleby," she told him, her eyes shining at the memory. "I've been to loads of your games, ever since I was four. 'The best darn chaser on the pitch,' Dad always said," Samara stuffed her hands into her pockets, still absorbing the fact that she was finally able to meet him.

But there was something bittersweet about the whole ordeal. Sam felt overwhelmed with the desire to tell her father about this -- but of course, she wouldn't get praise, or reciprocated excitement. She'd only get grounded, scolded, and sent off to think about her actions. Even when it came to the one thing the two Raillens had in common, it was still a hopeless situation.

Damon chuckled as the girl protested that she was, in fact, an adult. The man could see straight through her however, having lied to get himself out of a sticky situation many times himself as a teenager, and her tone made it rather obvious really. Damon knew she was supposed to be at Hogwarts, but really he couldn't help but be impressed that she'd made it this far away from the school - he'd only ever made it as far as Hogsmeade himself. Smirking, he leant forward slightly and muttered, "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

Immediately the man straightened back up again, picking up the broomstick in two hands and twirling it through his fingers as he listened. It wasn't that he wasn't concentrating on what the girl was saying, or that he wasn't interested, he just found it difficult not to play with the broom now that he was holding it. He nodded as the girl spoke, thinking back to some of the matches he'd played against Appleby. One thing she said did catch his attention though, and his eyes flickered up towards her. 'The best darn chaser on the pitch...' Damon grinned at the thought, before adding jokily, "Well, you're Dad certainly knew what he was talking about then."

Damon looked back down at the firebolt held in his hands, before placing it back on the shelf and instead taking a broom from the new Beshemin range. He nodded at the fell of it, "Perhaps you're right. The Beshemin might be better."

[Samara Raillen]

Sam nodded firmly. "My dad knows his Quidditch," she replied, trying not to let it show that the man in question was on her mind in a more negative fashion. It was true; Marcus Raillen could cite any statistic at the drop of a hat, and he would, too, if prompted.

Her previously-faltered grin picked itself up again as his hands traveled over the new MoonBeam, Beshemin's most recent line. "Beshemin's bin flying me true for years," she said contently, leaning casually against the wall. She hadn't tried out the MoonBeam herself, but over Christmas holidays, she'd gotten to see her best friend soar on one in his backyard. He was the nephew of the famous broomstick designer. Sam felt a twinge in her stomach; perhaps it was jealousy that the boy could have his pick of new models from BB; or it might have been because she hadn't talked to Matty in over two weeks...

"You buying for yourself?" she asked inquisitively -- he didn't play anymore, not professionally, so what would he need such a good broomstick for?

"Clearly," Damon nodded in agreement, holding the broomstick in a few different positions out in front of him as he spoke. It was obvious that this broom was good, he just worried about whether it was too good, he didn't want to spend a lot of many on a broomstick for it to only be broken a few weeks later. Still, it really was a good broom. He was almost tempted to buy it for himself! He rested the broom next to him, realising that it was being a little rude, and instead turning his attention back to the girl in front of him. "Does your Dad work in Quidditch then?" he asked curiously, wondering if perhaps he'd come across the man before.

"Really?" Damon asked as the girl mentioned that she'd been flying with Beshemin models herself. "It's lasted you a while then, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad," he murmured, although the comment was more for himself than to add to conversation. "Oh, no," he shook his head as he was asked if the broom was for himself, "I was looking for something for my son. He's quite the player himself if I'm honest."

[Samara Raillen]

Samara watched him fondle the broomstick admiringly; it was sleek and well-crafted, and Sam had a desperate urge to fly the MoonBeam right there in the store -- but the last time she'd tried that, she'd been kicked out, so she supposed she oughtn't try again.

"Oh--how old's your son?" Perhaps the kid was going to Hogwarts; perhaps she'd even seen him around the hallways. "And no, Dad's for the Department of International Cooperation....but he does get to run and organize the World Cup," she added brightly, the pair of new Beaters' gloves flapping about in her gesturing hand as she talked.

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SORRY for the short AND LATE post!

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Given how long it's taken me to post, and the fact that sometimes I only post 3 lines, you really shouldn't worry :L

Damon glanced down at the broomstick next to him again, reaching a hand down to flip over the price tag, his eyes widening at the figure printed there. It was with an obvious reluctance that he placed the broom back onto the shelf - it really did seem like an excellent broomstick, but Damon wasn't in need of one, and there was no way that he'd trust his son with it.

"He's 12," Damon replied, looking back towards Samara, "He'll be in his second year in September, and I think he wants to try out for the Gryffindor team." Damon smiled at this thought, glad that his son was taking after him. "Oh right," Damon nodded, "We may have met each other then. I helped to organise the 1994 World Cup a bit back in my ministry days."

[Samara Raillen]

"Ohh!" Samara quickly thought back to the First Years of that year. Had she met a Halley? She couldn't remember one. But if he was trying out for the team... "I'll be sure to look for him at tryouts, then!" she said, forgetting her secrecy for a moment. "I'm a Beater for Gryffindor." Although she quickly bit her lip; did this coach know her father? If he did, she probably oughtn't say much more about him.

[Random Event]

It just so happened that as the man and the young woman had begun talking, a rather elderly man was monitoring a cleaning broom as it made its way around the back of the shop, sweeping merrily as it went. He leaned forward suddenly -- the woman had removed the hood of her cloak. The old man squinted hard for a while, before tentatively moving closer to them both.

"I say, young lady -- how old are you?" he asked her suspiciously. The gears in his mind where quite obviously whirring, and it wouldn't be very much longer before he realized that she was too young to be out of school.

"You should. I'm sure he'll blow you all away," Damon grinned. His son really was good, possibly even better than Damon had been himself at that age. Not that the man would admit of course, he would never admit that anyone could possibly be a better player than he was himself. "A beater, hence the gloves," Damon replied with a smile, gesturing his head down to the item held in the girl's hands. "Well, Louis plays Chaser, like his Dad of course."

He smiled proudly, until he was interrupted by the elderly man inquiring about the girls age. "She's with me," Damon replied quickly, pushing his hands into his pockets and raising an eyebrow at the old man. "My niece," he added, quickly trying to think of a cover story in his head, "She's Quidditch captain for her house, the headmaster gave her permission to come down and look at some new supplies." He smiled smugly at the man; he couldn't argue with that story, and sure enough he soon returned back to the cleaning room at the back of the shop, muttering under his breath as he went.

Damon turned back away from the man, chuckling slightly. "Right, you owe me big time for that," he joked with girl, shaking his head slightly. "I can't believe I did that - I don't even know your name!"

[Samara Raillen]

"Yeah, Beater through and through," Sam grinned. "But I s'pose Chaser's all right. I--" But she was cut off quickly. She slowly turned to look at the man, thinking fast. She'd barely even been gone, she couldn't get sent back already! Her dad would absolutely murder her. She opened her mouth to say something, anything. But to her slight surprise, the famous man stepped into the fray with a saving line that caused Sam to have to try hard and not let her jaw drop.

As the man shuffled off, Sam's shock turned into a wild smile. She did owe him now. Maybe just giving him her name would be enough. "I'm Sam. Sam Raillen." She started to hold out her hand for a shake, but realized that might arouse the old shop worker's suspicions, and let it drop to her side yet again.

"Sam," Damon repeated, nodding his head in approval at the name before he suddenly did a double-take. "Wait, you didn't say Raillen did you?!" he exclaimed, an amused grin spread over his face."Surely you can't be Marcus Raillen's daughter?!" he asked loudly. He wasn't worried about contradicting the story that he'd given to the old man, so long as the man didn't find out the girls name then there was no problem.

Damon didn't wait for an answer, before throwing his head back as he let out a booming laugh. "Oh, this is just too good to be true. You're Marcus Raillen's daughter, and you're skipping school. Oh, if only I could go back and tell 22 year old Marcus about this, he'd be horrified."

[Samara Raillen]

Marcus--oh, Merlin's bloody corpse, Sam thought desperately. This famous man knew her father! Well, of course he knew of Marcus Raillen, hadn't the man told Samara that they'd been colleagues at the Ministry? Oh, but that was ages ago. Surely they weren't still in contact....?

Now nearing a full-on panic, Samara opened her mouth to respond with something, anything to save her arse, when Halley started laughing. Loudly. Momentarily stunned, she blinked at him. "I...I...." He was...amused by it all. Maybe she would be all right after all.

Relaxing again, she rubbed the back of her neck and let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah, he's er, not a huge fan of it," she admitted, still grinning. "You won't....I mean...you won't actually tell him, will you?"

"Oh no, I won't tell him, don't worry," Damon replied as his laughter began to subside, although an occasional chuckle still escaped. "I think he'd be more annoyed with me to be honest. He..." Damon had to pause to let another laugh out at the very thought, "He always used to say that I'd be a bad influence on any children of his. In fact... he think he once actually said that he'd never let me near any of his kids." Damon chuckled again, hardly believing what a coincidence this was.

"So how is your lovely father?" he asked curiously. It had been years since Damon had been at school with the man, but he still couldn't help making fun at Marcus sometimes. He'd spent years teasing the man at Hogwarts and the Ministry, it was too much of a habit to stop now. "Still at the ministry?" he asked curiously, although he was almost certain that he would be.

[Samara Raillen]

Without even realizing it, Sam winced, bringing her shoulder up to meet her cheek in slight defense at his words. Oh, she knew what her dad would think. But she was also a little surprised. Was this guy actually so much like, well, like her? Weren't all adults supposed to be responsible, no-nonsense types of people?

"He's -- yeah," Samara started lamely, in response to his queries. "Up at the top now, Department head and all," she explained casually, as if it weren't all that exciting. Her father was in charge. As far as she could remember, he was always in charge. Even before his promotion. It was just how her father was. "He's doing well, I think--er...." Chewing her lip thoughtfully, the girl reflected on her past few months of interaction with her father. More owls than usual, he always seemed to hear about her various exploits at school. "I guess I dunno. He never talks about himself or Mum. Just about what I ought to be doing differently. About his expectations for me." She paused. "About my future."

A shudder crept its way up her spine. "But I don't much like to think on the future. Now is now. That's all that matters. Isn't it?" She glanced at Halley, wondering what he thought of her little speech. It had been a bit unprovoked, a little out of the blue. Hell, he probably thought she was just as weird as her father...and maybe she wouldn't be able to get his autograph to show Matty....

But she didn't get the chance. Suddenly outside the window she saw a flash of a familiar Ministry cloak. Her father. Dammit! How did he find me!? She panicked. "Halley, great to meet you, I--" The bell at the front door tinkled. "I gotta go!" Pulling her hood back over her head, she hurried to the other side of the store.

[Marcus Raillen]

Marcus was a man of time. It ruled his every move. Normally during his lunch break, he would be flooing home to dine with his wife; however, today, he had a different goal in mind.

Samara had always been an incredibly wild child. As she drew closer and closer to her final year at Hogwarts, and eventually, adulthood, it was becoming more difficult by the day to reason with her, to get her to listen. The past term was no exception, and now that the new year had begun, Marcus was paying particularly close attention to her performance in school.

So it was to his surprise that, in his recent inquiry to Hogwarts, he'd discovered her grades to be nothing less than excellent. Marcus and Anita had been so pleased, that he'd decided it was time to follow up on all of those hints his daughter had been dropping for months.

Thinking back on the Christmas holiday, he remembered the somewhat wistful look across Samara's face as she finished opening her gifts and realized that new Beaters' gloves were not among them. If Marcus was honest with himself, he'd admit that it had made him feel strangely sad.

She has certainly earned them, now, he thought to himself as he strode down the cobblestones toward the store. She would receive them as a special gift at midterm if she kept up her marks.

He immediately found the Maxhound Beater's Gloves, scarlet and black, in the store, and, without paying much attention to the rest of his surroundings, brought them to the front counter to pay.

[Samara Raillen]

What...was he doing? Samara watched from behind a shelf as her father picked up the exact pair of new gloves she'd been drooling over and intending to purchase that very same day. What did he need with them? Sam scowled slightly -- it was the one thing she'd asked for for Christmas, and hadn't received. Perhaps he knew she was there, watching. Maybe he wanted to piss her off, goad her into giving herself away. Well, she wasn't going to bite, not this time, however much she wanted to.

Why, Dad? Why are you doing this?

She bit her lip, frowning in confusion as she watched him pay.

[Marcus Raillen]

"Mister Raillen, fancy seeing you here on such a sporadic day as this! And without the wife, eh?" The cashier held out the freshly wrapped parcel. "Something for that daughter of yours?"

"Yes, Hank, thank you. A surprise reward for receiving all 'E' marks in her classes."

"You must be quite proud of such a bright young girl!"

Marcus accepted the package from the cashier and nodded toward him. "Indeed, I am quite proud of her. Good day." Without another word, he turned and exited the store.

Smiling slightly to himself, he paced back toward the Leaky Cauldron; for the first time in many weeks, he found himself feeling rather light, as though some uneasy weight had been removed from his shoulders. Perhaps he'd tell Anita; or, perhaps, he would just keep this sensation to himself.

[Samara Raillen]

Samara's jaw dropped. Her mind was reeling. Had her father really just done that? Had he just bought her a gift, a reward for -- for doing something right? She propelled herself away from the shelf, stumbling backward in shock.

So...then...he really was buying them. For me. He was...he's...proud of me. For doing well in school. School...

After she was entirely certain Marcus Raillen had cleared the immediate area of the store, Samara made her way out to the street, and headed down the pathway.

It was time to go back to school.