AN: Wow, guys it's been a long time. I hope y'all like it. It's my first go at a Shacklebolt story, so tell me what you think. Thanks guys, y'all are the best!

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Kingsley Shacklebolt was a great man. During his time at Hogwarts he was a Prefect, Quidditch Captain, and Headboy. Before his schooling was complete, the first war against Voldemort was finished, but Kingsley had a sinking feeling - even then - that this war was not fully over.

Immediately following graduation he went into Auror training. It was there that he made a name for himself as dependable, loyal, and to be feared in battle. He rose through the ranks quickly and as the Second War approached, he joined the Order of the Phoenix. He fought in the battle of Hogwarts and soon after became Minister of Magic. Though he originally had no intention of keeping the position, he prospered and stayed in office. Through his life and reaching his twelfth year as Minister, he had maintained a calm and soothing demeanor. He never lost his temper, never lost his head.

And so it surprised his assistant Jimmy Perkins one rainy Saturday afternoon to find the Minister jumping up and down in his office, smiling with glee and excitement he had never seen Shacklebolt exhibit.

"Sir!" Jimmy said, quite alarmed. "What's happened?"

"What's happened? What's happened, you ask?" Kingsley asked as he came and shook Perkins' hand. "We're going to the Quidditch World Cup Finals, of course!"

Of all the things, Perkins' thought weakly. The shock of seeing Shacklebolt lose it had bewildered him. "Yes, sir."
Minister Shacklebolt waved the Prophet in front of his assistant to read as he regained his composure and returned to his desk. On the front page was the English National Quidditch team smiling proudly into the camera. Still in uniform, Perkins could make out the three yellow dragons of their emblem. The top and bottom dragons held a bludger, whilst the middle held the quaffle. And though the picture was in black and white, he could remember that the dragons stood proudly on white and red checkers.

Perkins greedily read the fresh-off-the-press article, though not because he loved Quidditch. It was rather that he had little-to-no knowledge of the sport that caused his eyes to scan quickly across the page.

For the first time in over two centuries, the English National Quidditch Team will be headed to the Quidditch World Cup, set to be held on Friday August 13, 2010 at six o'clock sharp in the abandoned location of Northern France against Bulgaria. Bulgaria has been to the finals six times in the last ten World Cups, all of which were won except for the 1994 match vs. Ireland.

Perkins scanned the rest of the article before his eyes came back to the picture of the seven players who would be playing in the match two weeks from that day. The Seeker, Gwendolyn Delany sat in the center, the Snitch in her hand, smiling wildly. She was the youngest on the team, barely twenty years old. The two beaters were twins Marcus and Hannah Grotchen; though they looked nothing alike, they each sent a competitive glare towards the camera. The Chasers had all their arms locked together. From left to right, they were listed as Seamus Koon, also young and grinning wildly- Perkins had been at Hogwarts in the same year as Seamus. Next were the gay married couple that seemed to know exactly what the other was thinking, Daniel and George Whittaker.

Last, whose Perkins' eyes lingered the most, was the eldest witch on the team, though only 34. She looked to be seriously injured, as she had to be held up by her teammates for the picture. She had blood smeared above her lip and on her chin, having obviously broken her nose. Yet despite the blood, and the swollen eye, or in fact because of it, Elizabeth Gleeson, Keeper, looked absolutely stunning. Her grin was of pure elation, much like the one that Minister Shacklebolt wore.

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Sydney Blake is ten years old when she finds out what her destiny is. Sydney Blake is ten years old when she meets Elizabeth Gleeson and decides in that moment that she is going to play Quidditch.

She's a muggle-born orphan who knows that the only reason she's sitting in the locker room at the Quidditch World Cup is because people feel sorry for her. Her parents died and she was sent to an orphanage for young witches and wizards. Sydney also knows about the war, and she knows that she's here as a muggle-born too. For society to pity her and remember that she's a person too. She understands some of the political games that grown-ups play at. She knows that she's not been sent to England's locker room for her, she's sent here as a message to the public.

So, begrudgingly, Sydney does her part. She smiled for the cameras earlier in the day with the team. They spoke to her briefly, but impersonally. Sydney got a signed broom from the team and there were more pictures. Now, with less than 30 minutes before the match begins, she's forced to sit in their locker room and wait.

It is pretty cool, she thinks to herself as she watches the players. She doesn't know all their names or positions. In fact, she doesn't know much about Quidditch, except that it's a magic sport. But she does know how much people love the game and she does know that she is getting a once-in-a-lifetime experience. So she doesn't complain, she hardly talks, and she watches. They don't notice her.

The tiny girl who looks only a few years older than herself is pacing back and forth the room, muttering to herself. She's very pretty, Sydney thinks, in the red and white uniform she wears. She looks like she could just as easily be heading to a fancy ball.

In one corner of the room, she sees two men, husbands Sydney remembers, rocking back and forth in sync and whispering to one another. She can't hear what they're saying, but they both look nervous, and they don't look like they're talking to each other, but more at each other.

One of the bigger men she met, his name is Seamus, just like one of the little boys in the orphanage. He sits straight up, like stone. He's pale and not moving and he looks a little green, in Sydney's opinion. In the center of the room, the siblings, are stretching and doing weird jumping jacks and other exercises.

Sydney may be young, but she can feel the nervousness in the air and it makes her sit a little straighter. She's so focused on all the movement from the athletes that she's startled when someone sits beside her. When Sydney looks up, she's surprised to see one of the athletes, Elizabeth Gleeson, she learns later after frantically looking up the Keeper's name in the program.

Elizabeth smiles down at Sydney, and she notices that Elizabeth looks calm. "What do you think of everything, Sydney?" Elizabeth asks. Sydney is taken aback that this powerful looking woman remembered her name.

"It's cool," Sydney barely manages to squeak out, and she berates herself for it later.

"I'm glad," Elizabeth says sincerely. "The first Quidditch game that I watched, I was so confused by the way everything worked. I'm muggle-born, just like you. I only knew about football, nothing about flying on broomsticks and Quidditch."

"Really?" Sydney asks, awestruck for the first time. "You're muggle-born too! But you're so good at Quidditch. I mean, you must be to be at the World Cup."

Sydney doesn't notice the shadow that passes over Elizabeth's face, and doesn't hear the slight hardening of her voice. "You bet. Being a muggle-born doesn't mean you're any less of a witch than anybody else. You can be good at anything as long as you practice enough."

"Sometimes the other kids tease me for having muggle parents," Sydney says in a whisper. She's not sure why she says it. She wonders later how Elizabeth could have sat and listened to her story right before she was about to play arguably the most important Quidditch match of her life.

"I used to get teased too, when I was younger," Elizabeth starts, and then instinctively, places an arm around Sydney's shoulders. "But you know what? The kids who teased me were just mean and felt bad about themselves. They thought that teasing me would make them feel better, but it didn't help them. Me though, I ignored them and I turned out much better for it."

Too aware of the fact that Elizabeth had an arm around her shoulders to say anything coherent, Sydney just nodded. The two of them sat in compatible silence for quite some time, before someone official looking came in to tell the team that "it is time."

All of the other players went to the exit quickly, but Elizabeth took her time. Calmly, with a smile on her face she said to Sydney, "Wish me luck, little sister."

"Good luck," Sydney beamed.

Sydney Blake was ten years old when she found out what her destiny was. She was ten years old when she met Elizabeth Gleeson and decided in that moment that she was going to play Quidditch. When she receives a letter from Elizabeth two weeks later, and keeps receiving them for years after their first meeting, Sydney's decision is only cemented.

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The match is brutal.

It lasts six hours, has to have medi-witches and wizards called to the field on seven separate occasions for five different players. The score remains evenly matched and low because England's and Bulgaria's Keepers are the best in the world.

Bulgaria played with amazing force and tenacity, with incredible saves and small victories, but no one would remember it. In the record breaking crowd, and star-studded to capacity, no one would remember Bulgaria as anything other than the stepping stone to the first World Cup that England had won in over two centuries.

Harry Potter, laden with children, would remember the way in which the small and lithely Gwendolyn Delany had paced right next to Bulgaria's long and muscular Seeker. The way in which she had feigned away from the snitch, only to come back, with a full force of speed, to catch the snitch from behind Bulgaria's back. Her scream of delight and victory eclipsing the entire collective roar of the stadium.

Hermione Weasley, nee Granger, would remember the way in which the crowd reacted to each and every save and goal made by England and despite her dislike of the game in general, found herself shouting and cursing at the referees and getting caught up in the wild atmosphere of the crowd.

Ron Weasley would remember the agility of England's Beaters. The twins reminding him of the way in which his own brothers had played. The timing, the fierceness, the ability to seemingly read the other's mind. If he weren't so caught up in similarities between his brothers and the Beaters, he would have paid more attention to the Keeper, to Elizabeth Gleeson.

Everyone would remember Elizabeth Gleeson. Even if it was not the first thing they recalled from the match, she would be there in the back of their minds. Captain of the England's strongest Quidditch team, she was also the first muggle-born to ever play Quidditch professionally. Yet neither her status as Captain (also one of the oldest veteran players), nor her status as muggle-born were the first one would mention about her. They would speak first about the way in which she competed.

She sat on her broom as if she had been born on it. Her broom wasn't a tool, or an object that kept her in the air; it was an extension of her body. Elizabeth didn't seem to have to guide the broom or make it work for her: it was a part of her. She dominated the sky and she moved as gracefully as a ballerina.

In her final professional match, she set a world record breaking number of saves in a match lasting under ten hours, 253. She took the world's best offense and smashed it to pieces. Her record stood for almost a century.

The final score was England 510, Bulgaria 190. The match was brutal, bloody, and long, and forever after people would name it the greatest match that England had ever played. The match and all the players would go down in history, would never be forgotten. Each year on August 13th, everyone would remember the way in which England played. Elizabeth Gleeson, world renowned Seeker, would remember that day for a completely different reason.

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"ENGLAND WINS! ENGLAND WINS! GWENDYLON DELANY CATCHES THE SNITCH RIGHT FROM UNDER VLADIMERNOVA's NOSE! ENGLAND WINS 510-190!"

Elizabeth remembers every second from the time she hears the announcer go crazy to the moment she receives medals from Minister Shacklebolt. Previously, she had been watching Bulgaria's Chasers, their outside left in particular, who had gotten 11 of the 19 shots past her. She hadn't seen Gwen grab the snitch, but she heard the shout of joy almost simultaneously with the announcer's.

Disbelief pulsed in her stomach, but when she whipped her head to the far right side of the pitch she could see Gwen holding the Snitch high and above her head as she began descending to the ground. Elizabeth let out a shout and raced towards her teammates on the ground.

In a near crash that led to rough housing and hugging and crying, Elizabeth was overwhelmed. There was blood, sweat and mud, and the seven of them couldn't separate from each other. Everyone was being kissed and hugged. Her bruised ribs protested, but they couldn't have been farther from Elizabeth's line of thought. This better than any high, she thought to herself as members of the crowd rushed the field and lifted the team onto their shoulders. It was on the shoulders of England's most avid fans that Elizabeth felt her jaw begin to ache with a smile.

Still being passed around the group of fans, crowd surfing so to speak, the officials called for a semblance of order. It was useless, but eventually, Elizabeth and her teammates were set down in the center of this huge crowd. A ministry official placed magical borders so that the crowd wasn't pushing in on the ceremony about to take place.

When the official - the only one on the pitch with a sour expression on his face -held up the golden cup with England's name on it, a hush fell over the audience.

"On today, August 13, 2010, the Quidditch World Cup goes to the country of England." Exhaustion left her completely in the excitement and victory, sweeter than any she'd ever tasted.

They smiled for all the pictures and shouted to all the fans, had a short press conference, even signed some autographs before they were shuffled into the lock room.

"We've won the bloody World Cup!" Elizabeth shouted to her teammates until her voice ran hoarse. Champagne spilled out of seemingly every crevice, until they were all drenched.

She's not sure how much time has passed when she arrives to the after party. She knows that it's late in the evening the day following the Quidditch Match. She and Seamus Koon, who sustained several injuries spent the day leading up to the grand and important party in a hospital wing being healed to full extent. They slept throughout the day as the medi-witches and wizards worked their magic.

When they were released from the hospital ward, they spoke only of the victory and the party to come. "Don't be late Seamus," Elizabeth warned with raised eyebrows.

"Lizzy," he said, using her team nickname. "I wouldn't dare be late to my own party. Women will literally be falling over me and praising the ground I walk on. We're going to meet the Minister and, word has it, Harry Potter himself! Plus, I want my medal."

Seamus stuck his tongue out at Elizabeth and she poked him in the side. They parted ways and though she'd been riding a high all day, the mood began to sink and a melancholy overwhelmed her.

As she looked at herself in the mirror night, she was both feeling powerful and victorious, but also an overwhelming sadness. For the end of her career, and for ways in which it had began.

Trying to shake herself out of the strange mood, she checked herself one more time. She's wearing a golden floor length dress that accentuates every curve. It's the most expensive thing that she's ever owned. It shimmers as she moves and sets a contrasting image to the way she looks in her Quidditch uniform. Where the uniform gives her a boxy and almost mannish figure, the dress only accentuates her femininity. Her long blonde hair is pulled up into a fancy ponytail and curls down the right side of her neck, stopping just at the collar bone. She looks beautiful, Elizabeth knows, but she also looks all her 34 years. For as beautiful as she looks, she doesn't look innocent or soft, and she can see the laugh lines beginning to form about her eyes and lips.

Elizabeth watches her lips curl up into a smile in the mirror. She's going to knock 'em dead.

When she arrives at the party, despite her warning to Seamus, she realizes that she's the one who's late. He teases her for a bit, before they turn their attention towards the podium, where Minister Shacklebolt is about to begin the ceremony of awarding the medals.

Elizabeth didn't listen to what he said, but heard his silky and foreign timbre fill the quiet room. She stared at the man who she had once hated with nothing more than curiosity. She hadn't seen him in person for nearly fourteen years. He had aged, she noticed, but it was hardly noticeable. His physical appeal, Elizabeth noticed with a wry smile, was something she hadn't paid attention to the first and last time she saw him.

He finishes his speech. People clap. England's Quidditch Team is asked to stand and receive their medals and they do.

Kingsley Shacklebolt places the medal over each one of their heads and shakes their hands. When he reaches Elizabeth, she wonders if he recognizes her. She can't tell because there's nothing in his eyes but warm congratulations.

He smiles and shakes her hand and says into her ear as he places the medal around her neck, "That was the best game of Quidditch I've seen in my life." There's a spark of awareness and a hot flash of desire when his fingers graze her neck.

Thousands of people have told her that in the less than 24 hours since she and her team have won the World Cup. It's a crazed, but empty congratulations. She knows people are just so caught up in the moment that they cannot remember any other game, but Elizabeth senses that Kingsley Shacklebolt's statement is genuine.

"Thank you, Minister. We certainly had a time of it."

"Please," he says with a smile, "call me Kingsley."

His request is polite, and his name is fine, but Elizabeth can't resist the urge to tease him in her own secretive way. She would never have guessed that the young Auror who had brutally interrogated her over a decade ago would have ended up the Minister of Magic.

"Thank you, but I think somehow that Minister is more fitting."

They don't have time to speak more, because the guests are cheering and the music begins. Each of the winning athletes begins to socialize and drink and finish out the celebration that began the day before.

Elizabeth cannot help but feeling detached from it all. Her thoughts are bittersweet and were already heading down a darker line of thought than should be held at a party. After saying hello to old friends and teammates, she sees her opportunity of escape through a set of terrace doors on the far side of the room, away from the dance floor and dining tables.

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Kingsley counted once, and then once more. Only six of England's greatest Quidditch players were in the Ballroom celebrating victory in champagne and dancing. The Whittakers were snogging in a corner, dressed to the nines in their tuxedoes. The beautiful seeker was surrounded by admirers. The male Grotcher twin was using wild hand gestures, reliving each swoop and play to several giggling women, pawing to get closer to the excellent specimen of a man. Seeing Seamus Koon and Hannah Grotcher in the middle of the dance floor, Kingsley remarked to himself that, for once, the rumors were true.

Kingsley greeted and spoke with dozens of dignitaries and friends as he circled the room looking at the players, but he could only count six. Where was the seventh? Where was Elizabeth Gleeson? Curious, Kingsley saw an open balcony and moved quickly towards it. As his security detail moved, Kingsley signaled them off as he went onto the balcony, closing the terrace doors behind him. It was there, with the night sky filled with stars and the full moon shining, that he found her.

As he approached this woman, she greeted him without turning her back on the sky lights.

"You don't remember me, do you Minister?" Elizabeth asked. She didn't see him raise his brows in surprise at her awareness.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Kingsley said, as he mirrored Elizabeth's position, leaning elbows on the balcony and looking forward to the sky. He tried not to grimace however, because he was fairly certain he knew what memory she was referring to.

"It was a very long time ago, fourteen years. Amelia Bones was helping me find a way out of the country, when Voldemort decided to kill her."

He looked directly at Elizabeth for the first time that night. So little did she resemble the young woman whose eyes were wide in shock and terror, whose frizzy and ratted hair was so different from the sleek golden way it fell tonight. He would have been forgiven for not recognizing her. But yes, he did remember her. How could he forget?

"You saw her murdered," Kingsley said softly.

"You brutally questioned me for three hours after her body was found," Elizabeth said, turning to look at Kingsley's face. Yes, he remembered the way tears had fallen down her face and yelled back at him in frustration. He had thought she was a strong lead, that she could have overheard something that would have changed something. Amelia had been his dear friend and he was furious in his grief. He had not been kind to that young woman. "I hated you for that."

Because there was no maliciousness in her voice, he asked, "Do you still hate me?"

She gazed at him thoughtfully and Kingsley for the first time realized the calculation in her eyes. She might have been England's greatest athlete, but she was also quite intelligent.

"I try to, but then I remember that you cried at her funeral. The Aurors were kind enough to give me Polyjuice for that one occasion."

Silence followed, interrupted only by the jubilant noise of the party that spilled out from the terrace doors. They didn't talk for several minutes, a sadness engulfing them. But they were two people who had learned to accept the moods as they came and to ride them out. They may not have thought about it consciously, but they recognized themselves in the other.

Kingsley broke the silence, "Why do you think of her on such a happy night?"

Elizabeth smiled at him for the first time and Kingsley felt an unexpected shot to his groin at her beauty and just the way she simply was. "I'm afraid that it's not a short story, Minister."

"It's still early," Kingsley responded, too interested to know that it was already well past midnight.

"This was my last match as you know. I suppose I was getting so nostalgic about the full circle my career has gone. But I couldn't think of the end, without thinking of the beginning." Kingsley noticed that she wasn't really talking to him. She was looking at him and telling him, but she was working it all out to herself.

"I had just started playing professionally when the Second War started. Just minor leagues, but I was gaining traction quickly. Just as I was about to sign with the Wasps, I was attacked. Death Eaters killed my parents in front of me, made me watch and told me I was the 'Mudblood Keeper that needed to be kept.' Aurors got there before they finished playing with me. I survived and I went into hiding.

"Amelia was the third person that I stayed with. She was arranging to get me out of the country. I was not a grateful guest to her. I was sullen and I lashed out whenever she tried to talk to me. I didn't want to talk to anyone. With one blow, my family and career were destroyed, I couldn't think of anything else.

"One night though, she finally coaxed me into talking about Quidditch. She said that she'd watched me play and thought I was brilliant. She told me that I was important and could be the role model for every muggle-born child. Amelia told me that they would need me after the war. A public figure that children would love and breed a new generation of acceptance.

"I cried that night. I was just a Keeper, I didn't understand the politics of it all. I couldn't fathom how it was important or what kind of impact I could have. After she died, I couldn't fathom it either. I never wanted to play again, but when the war finally ended, I did it because of what Amelia told me, because she seemed to believe it."

Elizabeth's voice was steady throughout her story. She didn't cry, but her eyes became damp. Finally she seemed to focus back on Kingsley's face rather than on her words. He watched fascinated as pink tinged her cheeks.

"Thank you for listening," she said and in the blink of an eye seemed to shake herself out of the memories. "Minister, what are you doing out here listening to me?"

"You interest me, Elizabeth," Kingsley said simply and Elizabeth's stomach did a small somersault as he said her name.

"I imagine many things interest you, Minister." Elizabeth smirked and looked up at the most powerful man in England. He was in his mid-40s, she knew, maybe 10 years older than herself. He might have been out of the Auror Department for neigh over a decade, but she'd bet that he was toned and built and prepared to duel at any moment.

"Many things interest me, people especially, you in particular." Kingsley hadn't meant to be so forward with her. In fact, he hadn't been so forward and honest with what he'd been feeling towards a woman since before the Second War began.

"You interest me too, Kingsley," Elizabeth said. She'd meant to say it jokingly, but it came out surprisingly sincere, and using his name felt oddly intimate. "I've found myself wondering over the years, what kind of man you are."

The two of them were startling close. He could smell the spicy perfume she wore and she saw for the first time that there were speckles of gold in his chocolate-colored eyes. It didn't make sense to either of them, but suddenly they were leaning closer. It was hypnotic, and before either realized, they were in the heat of a kiss.

Kingsley pulled her closer so they're chest to chest. His hands cupped her face as he delved his tongue into her mouth to tease her. In the back of her throat, Elizabeth made a noise of pleasure and pushed Kingsley so his back was leaning on the ledge. It was a heady feeling and neither were sure how much time had passed when they pulled apart.

Boldly, Elizabeth asked, "Does your security team have to screen me if I were to spend the night in your room?"

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Kingsley had Elizabeth pressed against his door, his lips demanding as he searched his pockets for the room key. She was clawing at his shoulders, trying to bring him closer, trying to get more friction between the two of them. Kingsley pulled away slightly to slide the key into the door, but paused on a groan as Elizabeth began sucking on his neck and nibbling on his ear.

With more force than was necessary, Kingsley pushed the door open and slammed in behind him. Before, he could grab Elizabeth again, she was attempting to kick her shoes off, and Kingsley followed her example.

With her shoes off, Elizabeth was almost a full foot shorter than Kingsley. Surprised and aroused by how small she was, Kingsley lifted her up and damn near ran into the bedroom. He kissed down her neck and collar bone to the cleavage left open by her dress. With nimble hands, he unzipped her dress and the gold shimmered into a pool at her feet, leaving her gorgeous bronze and toned body bare to him.

Kingsley felt his erection pulse and jump forward as he got onto he gently pushed Elizabeth so that she sat on the edge of the bed. He got on his knees and before Elizabeth could react, Kingsley had his tongue at her wet, hot center.

"Oh Merlin," she said as his tongue swirled and she gripped his hair in her hands. He never slackened his pace. The hard way he licked her clit had Elizabeth's orgasm building quicker and quicker, until, with one final satisfying lick, she came undone around him.

Kinsley, so hard that it hurt, disrobed and climbed on top of Elizabeth who was still making pleasant noises from her orgasm. They made eye contact, Kingsley asking permission and getting a frenzied nod from Elizabeth.

As he sank into her, they groaned in unison.

"You're so fucking tight," he said in a raspy breath that sent a jolt straight to Elizabeth's stomach. She hadn't expected quite a mouth on the Minister.

He was moving gloriously slowly, but it wasn't enough. It had to be faster, harder, more. Elizabeth asked, "Please, please, faster."

Always the gentleman, Kingsley obliged. He reached down to play with her clit and smirked as her breathing got heavier and started mixing with moans and incoherent begging. He was so close, watching her alone could have brought her over the edge. Then he saw her mouth open in a silent scream, and her body shake, wrecked with her second orgasm and Kingsley came undone, pushing into her until he was spent.

Still breathing heavy, Elizabeth opened her eyes as Kingsley rolled off her. They stared at each other for a moment before both broke out in wide grins.

"Minister, I had no idea what you were capable of."

"I also should have known about your nimbleness, being a World Cup Champion and all," Kingsley replied with a grin and pulled her into a satisfying kiss.

Elizabeth pushed down the ridiculous hope and happiness coming from her chest. She daren't hope that he was feeling the same. But he didn't move away from her, kept his arms wrapped around her in a caring embrace.

Exhaustion hit them both at once, and they adjusted next to each other, on the cusp of sleep. "Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?" Kingsley asked, his voice slightly marred by sleep.

Elizabeth smiled and nodded into his chest. "I would love to go on a date with you," she sighed and then sighed his name, "Kingsley."

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"On January 1st 2011, immediately following Jennifer Odgden's inauguration as Minster of Magic, former Prime Minister Shacklebolt announced his engagement to Quidditch World Cup Champion, Elizabeth Gleeson. Though for the past several months, reporters have been unable to confirm a relationship between the two, Shacklebolt commented that the legendary Keeper had accepted his marriage proposal. Though neither Gleeson nor Shacklebolt are new to the spotlight, their relationship is the first romantic affair that either of them have had exposed to the press, having London all abuzz with excitement. An insider look at their relationship from a source close to the couple states that:

'Elizabeth and Kingsley are almost inseparable. They are very close and even though they don't show much public displays of affection, the tension and love between the pair is palpable.'

An exciting turn of events for the former minister, claims Lance Undine, Head of Magical Games and Sports, who met Gleeson at the World Cup in mid-August after she led England to victory over Bulgaria. According to Undine, that was also the night that the couple met, when Gleeson received her Champion's Medal directly from former Minister Shacklebolt.

The wedding is supposedly set for sometime this summer, but in the meantime the pair are working in tangent with opening several new and improved orphanages for magical children throughout the UK. They have been seen together on numerous occasions for benefits and fundraisers to fund their project. Wherever they go, all of England wishes the best of luck to their favorite Prime Minister and Quidditch Queen."