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Grail had been working to scrounge up enough money to get his ass to New York since he found out Scarlett would be playing for the World Cup. He knew he’d never have enough, even with the two jobs he already had, so he had gotten the money doing something he knew he was good at - fighting. When he was younger he went out of his way to get into brawls at bars, but over the years, he had learned to manage his explosive temper by being more productive with his energy. He had been raised in the muggle world, so he knew all about their sports, though he had taken to boxing. It was one of few things he could appreciate about a world he hated as much as he did, mainly because it gave him the opportunity to knock someone’s teeth down their throat and earn money for it at the same time.

Luckily for Grail, he was good at it, though he also knew he couldn’t show up looking like he had just gone through a fucking blender. That was where Devon Quigg came into play; Scarlett’s best friend, who was a sucker for the romantic notion of him doing what he could just to watch her play at least one game. She patched him up the best she could, giving him a few potions he couldn’t afford on his own. He could have taken Scarlett up on the offer to pay for a room, and his tickets, but he had too much pride to accept it. His pride had a way of getting in the way of a lot of things.

He made Devon promise to not say anything to her friend, so he could try and surprise her after the one and only match he would be able to see. He’d be in the country for another day, but he could only afford one ticket since it was the World Cup. When England had won, he shared the same enthusiasm as the rest of England’s supporters, and had gone to wait near the locker rooms, knowing the players would emerge once they were washed and dressed. As soon as he saw the brunette he had traveled overseas for, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he waited amongst her adoring fans, offering his program, watching her sign it.

“Make it out to ‘a concerned onlooker’,” he answered, knowing she had no idea who she was directing the question at, too caught up in what she was doing.