The magical moving company had been quite a help, though the twenty-one year old was in possession of only a few items. Unmatching furniture sat in random spots throughout the apartment, and Mathieu had been quite thankful that he hadn’t needed to travel cross country with everything himself. As it was, the young keeper was unwilling to allow the company to take possession of his quidditch supplies – after all, that was his career and his passion… if something happened to his broom, he’d be out of a job!

The youngest Vaillancourt stood inside Juliette’s flat, one hand clasped tightly on the handle of his broom; the other gripped a chest of quidditch balls. He’d purchased the full set a few months back, to practice with actual balls instead of charming random objects to fly at him. It had been a smart, yet expensive, purchase. With a quiet sigh, Mathieu felt the familiar pressing on his body and with an audible pop! the boy transported himself and his most prized possessions to his new home.

Materializing in the hallway, Mathieu grinned enthusiastically. He’d never been the best at apparition, and knowing that he’d managed the feat without splinching – and ended up in his desired location was enough of a reason for jubilation. He walked down the hall looking for 3G, dragging his crate of balls behind him. He made it all the way down the hall before realizing that the numbers were about as far from 3 as one could get in Dorothea’s. He was stranded on the sixth floor with a heavy box of balls, and only a set of stairs to lead him to his own floor.

With a deep sigh, the professional quidditch player started down the stairs, with the box of quidditch instruments banging unhappily behind him. Clunk, clunk, clunk… down the stairs he went, until all hell broke loose.

The latch on the crate sprang open, allowing a single bludger to break free. Back up the stairs it fled, hitting into walls and doors along the way. The poor ball was simply looking for a way outside – though it was causing quite the chaos in its pursuit. Holes peppered the walls, doors were dented, and Mathieu was left standing upon the landing mouth agape.

It was well after lunch, or would have been for someone other than Iggy who had just woken up and was making breakfast.  Lots of bacon, an egg or two, and a potion that he kept on hand for the worst mornings.  He looked terrible he was sure, but at least the night before he'd managed not to sick up all over himself or the flat.  And between waking up alone and he was still wearing pants, he hadn't forgotten bringing someone home.  Though he had yet to find his shirt or jacket.  Or had he been wearing robes.

He threw back the potion, trying as hard as he could not to taste any of it.  It wasn't as bad as wolfsbane, but that was a low bar that most potions could pass.  Unless you forgot the healer's name and he was in a foul mood.  A piece of bacon in his mouth, he sat down to start eating when he heard the distinctive sound of a crate banging down the stairs.  The charms on the walls seemed to do the trick keeping the noise out, and his noise in, but for whatever reason, Iggy had not been able to get the same spells to stick to the door.  He'd have to hire some—CRASH.

Something was tearing up and down the hallway.   Sounded like someone was trying to demolish the floor.  Grabbing his wand, he moved as quickly to the door as his head allowed.  "What the f–" A bludger zipped through the air aiming straight at his head.  Despite his shock, and hangover, he managed to duck, which only served to allow the rogue iron ball into his flat.

"Expulso!" He shouted, a chair exploding as the spell missed the bludger.  "Damnit! Expulso!"  He shouted again, this time hitting the bludger which exploded in a spray of iron.  He turned storming out into the hallway, "What the hell?  Does this look like a quidditch pitch?"