The Quidditch World Cup had been all my family talked about for weeks now. With only a day left, the conversations had turned from excited to a complete frenzy. Roger, being head of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team and the oldest of us, was intent on taking vigorous notes for this year's matches and made it clear that his preparations were not to be interrupted.
"Honestly," Oliver Wood says, throwing his broom over his shoulder as we walked back to my house after a particularly exhausting Quidditch game in the fields, "I don't know how many more practices he can make that team go through before there's a mutiny."
I give out a too-loud laugh at this, making sure Roger knows that Oliver was completely right. The last year he'd scheduled so many practices for the Ravenclaw team that for many of them nobody had bothered to show up. Roger shot a menacing look at his best friend but kept his mouth shut as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
Oliver had been hanging around more than usual lately, which was odd since he'd just became the newest member of the Puddlemere United professional team. If you asked me, it seemed like he missed playing for a Hogwarts team. Either way, I didn't bother bringing it up. Having Oliver around meant an even number of us when playing Quidditch in the fields, and less of Roger's 'helpful' tips. Every year I tried out for the Gryffindor team, and every year I didn't make it. Roger blamed it on my lack of natural ability, but I think it had something to do with the head of an opposing team being my brother.
"Mom says dinner's done!" Ben and Gabe call from ahead. They'd reached the house minutes before us, their twelve year old legs working much faster than ours. Roger looks back over his shoulder for Charlotte, who's too engrossed in the latest installment of some book series to pay much mind to the rest of us. She wasn't one for playing Quidditch, but came in handy when it came to absent mindedly keeping track of all the scores for us.
"Charlotte!" I holler, but she doesn't look up. "Oh nevermind." I huff, having no patience. We were born almost exactly nine months apart and I had the strong feeling she resented me for taking up so much of her attentions when she was a toddler and I was still a baby who needed regular feedings and attention.
"She'll catch up." Oliver assures me, his hand rubbing my shoulder quickly before he snatches it away so Roger doesn't see. I can feel the awkwardness rise up between us like a thick paste. Just weeks before in a fit of heightened world cup spirit and too many fire whiskeys we'd shared a very passionate kiss in which Roger walked in on. Needless to say he'd been watching us like a hawk ever since, though we assured them countless times that there was nothing serious going on.
"Better help mom set the table." I tell the Ben and Gabe when I find them polishing their brooms at the backdoor of the house. "And wash your hands! We'll clean up this mess." I gesture to the brooms thrown all over the ground and the dirty rags they'd used to give their brooms a nice clean glow.
"Hope there's pudding." Roger says, to Oliver as they walk up the steps to the house, leaving me and Charlotte alone with the mess.