Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Harry Potter.
January
"Shadows settle on the place that you left,
and if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones." - Youth by Daughter
Katie Bell knelt and pushed a row of Boxing Telescopes and Decoy Detonators to the side. She stuck her head into the space created and craned her neck to see into the back corner of the shelf, making small clicking noises with her tongue. Something squeaked in the darkness, and Katie wiggled her arm into the space.
"Ah, there you are." Her fingers brushed against soft fur.
Katie pulled boxes of Decoy Detonators off the shelf and dumped them on the floor beside her until she caught sight of a tuft of pink fur. Slowly, so as not to startle the tiny creature, she reached forward. The Pygmy Puff eyed her warily and, deciding she was untrustworthy, rolled out of reach.
"Oh, come on!" Katie swore and sat back on her heels. Pushing a chunk of hair out of her eyes, she rubbed slowly at her face and gave the fluff-ball a dirty look. "You're lucky you're cute," she told it.
The Pygmy Puff chirped in response, and, behind Katie, a chorus of squeaks rose from the cage she had set on the ground earlier. Just before closing up George's shop, a small girl had managed to undo the lock on the cage. How she had managed that, Katie didn't know, because the lock was magicked shut and the cage set up on a high shelf. The girl's mother had apologized profusely and dragged her daughter out of the shop. However, the damage had been done. The Pygmy Puffs, sensing a chance to escape their nightly enclosure, had made a quick escape and found all the best hiding places in the shop.
Sarah, the part-time help Katie had forced George to hire four months ago, stayed as long as she could to help corral the puffs, but Katie was eventually left with the job of finding and catching the last one. The puff in question watched Katie intently as it chirped and rolled side to side. Scooting up, the boxes of detonators she had dropped on the floor being shifted out of the way, Katie slowly reached forward.
"That's it. Come here, little guy."
The Pygmy Puff took a step back, and Katie pushed on forward. A stack of Boxing Telescopes dropped to the floor with a clatter, but Katie ignored them. They were sturdy devices made with abuse in mind. The barest hint of silky fur passed through her fingers, and Katie, thinking she had him, shoved herself forward. Her shoulder knocked hard into the shelf, and she recoiled as something punched her in the side of the head.
"Shit." Katie jerked back with her hand pressed to her face and eyed the Boxing Telescope—its malfunction courtesy of a faulty trigger—with contempt.
The puff on the shelf chortled as he watched Katie.
"You think this is funny, huh?" Katie scooped up boxes of telescopes and detonators and dumped them on the shelf beside the Pygmy Puff. "Fine. You can just stay there all night," she told it. "See if I care."
Katie lifted the cage of puffs and stood. They rolled back and forth, their tiny squeaks and chirps conveying their amusement at Katie's predicament—at least, it seemed that way—and she gave them the darkest look she could muster as she set them on the back counter.
A chunk of brown hair fell down from her ponytail, and she pushed it out of the way as she surveyed the joke shop. The broom and mop she had charmed earlier had run out of magical energy half-way through their work and needed to be re-charmed. Katie renewed the spells, and they jumped to life in renewed animation.
She moved to the register and tapped it with her wand, a roll of parchment feeding out of the side of the register detailing the day's profits and losses. Rolling it into a tube, she bent down to toss it into the box George kept beneath the front counter when the front door opened.
"I'm sorry, but we're closed." Katie frowned—she was certain that she had locked the front door—and peeked over the edge of the counter.
"George Weasley!"
Angelina Johnson stormed through the shop, weaving quickly through the shelves and displays. A gust of cold, January air blew in behind her. Katie, familiar with her friend's tendency towards the dramatic, stepped out from behind the counter and followed Angelina to the back of the store. She caught sight of her friend's stony face and winced, feeling momentarily sorry for George. However, whatever he had done to unleash Angelina's rage, Katie figured he had committed a social unforgivable.
"You get your sorry arse down here and have the balls to break up with me to my face," she shouted up the stairs that lead to George's apartment.
"I don't think he's home," Katie offered. The charmed broom had finished its work, and she reached out to grab it before the spell wore off. "I haven't seen him all day."
"Oh, he's home." Angelina glanced at Katie and returned to shouting up the stairwell. "I know you're home. So, you might as well get your arse down here and talk to me." She paused, waiting for an answer. "Come on, George. We all miss him, and this doesn't fix anything."
Katie heard a faint reply from up stairs.
"Fine, I'm coming up, then," Angelina said and started up the stairs. Halfway up, she turned around and called back down the stairs. "Katie?" She reached into the inside pocket of her peacoat and pulled out a sheet of parchment, handing it to her friend. "This is for you."
The parchment advertised:
MONTROSE MAGPIES
Open Tryouts
Position: Chaser
Date: Tuesday, January 26th
Time: Noon
Location: Brechin Esk Stadium
Please bring your own broom and gear. Tryouts begin promptly at noon.
A small, black and white image of a magpie flew from one end of the parchment to the other. Katie smoothed out the parchment and sighed, her eyes skimming over the words several times before shaking her head.
"You're mad, Ange," she muttered to herself and left the parchment on the back counter as she went to collect the de-charmed broom and mop. She placed them in the cupboard in the back of the shop.
Behind the front counter, Katie pulled out the folder of owled-in orders. She had fallen behind in filling orders over the past week. Flipping through the two dozen or so orders, Katie sat down on the stool and began sorting them according to the store section the particular items were in. She had gotten through nearly all of them when Ange reappeared.
"I think we're finally through." She pulled up the second stool and rested her chin in her hands as she watched Katie.
Katie flicked a glance at Ange. "Again?"
"He won't talk to me, and I don't know how to get through to him."
"He's grieving." Finished sorting, she tidied up the piles.
"We're all grieving and trying to put our lives back together after the war." Ange grabbed a stack and flipped through them as she stood up.
Katie took the rest of the piles. "What did he say this time?" She moved to the far back of the shop where George kept the unshelved merchandise. She pulled several Skiving Snackboxes, a handful of Ton-Tongue Toffees and some Canary Creams off the shelf.
"He said that life had no meaning anymore, and our relationship had no meaning anymore." Ange poked through the various enchanted quills, checked the order in her hand, and grabbed a half dozen Self-Writing Quills.
"Oh, Ange."
"Don't." Ange shook her head, jaw set in anger. "I'm just done."
Katie watched as her friend tore off a short length of brown paper to wrap the quills in. She had known Ange long enough to see through the visible anger and down to the pain simmering beneath. Setting her armful of joke products down, she wrapped her arms around her friend.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
"Me too." Ange leaned into Katie for a moment before pushing away. She reached over and grabbed the Quidditch tryouts flyer. "Magpies are holding tryouts." Her finger tapped the parchment, and the tiny magpie flying over the top swerved out of the way.
"Yeah, I saw." Katie gave the parchment a cursory glance as she folded brown paper over the edges and corners of the boxes she wrapped. She tapped her wand against the side of the package and the recipient's name and location were instantly written in bright orange ink.
"And?"
Tossing the package in the bin designated as "Outgoing," Katie leaned against the counter, facing Ange, whose face had brightened since they had stopped discussing George.
Ange waggled her eyebrows up and down. "Magpies, Katie," she repeated as if that said enough.
"I don't think so."
"And why not?" She set the parchment down and folded her arms. "This has been your dream since—well, since forever."
Katie gave her friend an exasperated look.
"Well, fine. It's been your dream ever since Oliver told you that he thought you had potential."
"I was fourteen." Katie returned to her stack of outgoing orders.
Ange reached her arm across Katie and snatched the orders out of her hand. "You once had a dream, Katie."
Making an attempt to reclaim her order sheets and failing, Katie dropped her arms and sighed. "Yeah, I once wanted to play for the Magpies, but that was a long time ago. You know, I once fancied Oliver, too," Katie said and looked at Ange, her meaning evident in her eyes, "but a lot has happened since then."
Ange leaned forward and squinted. "Do you still fancy him?"
Katie groaned as her friend laughed at her expense.
"That tells me more than enough." Ange grinned, pleased at the near-confession she'd received. "I still can't believe you fancied him." She snorted, a sound entirely unbecoming of her. However, she had never been the type of person to worry over what other people thought of her. "Oliver Wood!"
Katie darted forward and grabbed her sheets of parchment. The heat of old memories and emotions crept up her face. "I was fourteen years old." She turned away and resorted the orders.
"Fifteen," Ange provided. "I distinctly remember you bringing him up in conversation even after he'd graduated."
"Fine, fifteen," Katie grumbled and glared down at the top-most order, a particularly detailed one requesting a variety of fireworks. It was addressed to a bloke in Gryffindor Tower, and Katie knew Professor McGonagall would have a conniption fit to see them flown into the Great Hall. She wrapped them anyways and tapped the package with her wand, shrinking it down to acceptable standards.
Her friend had wandered off into the empty store. From the back counter, Katie could hear her cooing softly. She poked her head around the corner and immediately frowned.
"How do you do that?"
Ange looked up from the Pygmy Puff in her arms. "Do what?"
"I spent a half hour trying to catch him." Katie gestured at the puff being cuddled against her friend's face.
"You have to have the right touch." Ange regarded the puff adoringly before undoing the clasp on the cage and setting him down with the others. The cage clicked shut, and Ange returned to the back of the shop where she began buttoning her coat back up.
"You're leaving?" Katie glanced at the dozen orders left.
"I have an early morning," Ange said, wrapping an arm around Katie, and gave her friend a stern look. "Think about what we talked about." When Katie said nothing she added, "Seriously, Katie, you need to start pursuing your dreams. It's time to start living."
"I am living." Katie gestured to the shop.
"No, you're not." Ange let go and pulled her mittens on. "This is not living. This is called helping George when he can't help himself."
Ange left, and Katie listened for the Crack! of her apparating before returning to her work. Forty-five minutes and twelve filled orders later, Katie tapped her wand against the control panel on the wall behind the back counter. The brightness of the shop dimmed to a low glow, and she pulled her coat and things from beneath the counter. Turning to leave through the backdoor, she paused and turned. The flyer still remained on the back counter, and Katie, against her better judgement, took it and folded it neatly. As she passed by the apartment stairwell, she paused and glanced up into the darkness.
"Goodnight, George."
A shadowed figure with hands shoved into his pockets appeared at the top of the stairs and answered, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.
"You should go to the tryouts, Katie."
oOo
Darkness. There was only darkness and the memory of pain. It ached in her legs, in her side, in her fingers. In her ears, her heart pounded a rhythmic staccato that beat in her chest like a drum. Screaming surrounded her, resonating in her ears, as bright light flashed around her. Somewhere deep down, she knew the light to be deadly. A chaotic rush of action surrounded her and she realized it was impossible to tell friend from foe. Her wand wavered. The screaming continued and she realized it was coming from her.
She looked down to see a necklace dangling from her fingers.
oOo
Katie poured a shaky cup of hot chocolate. The mere smell soothed her frayed nerves and worked to wipe the horrors of sleep from her mind. Her fingertips buzzed faintly, and she shook and wiped them on the soft cotton of her pajama pants. The sensation diminished slightly, and Katie picked up her mug of cocoa, moving into her living room.
Neuropathy. That was what the Healer had told her. The cursed necklace had damaged the nerves in her fingers, but the intermittent tingling and buzzing would eventually fade. They had faded until the final battle when Katie had been hit with a curse, reigniting the nerves in her fingers. She remembered the moment it had happened—the curse had been bright red and felt jagged .
She folded herself into the couch and set the mug down on the edge of the coffee table. Leaning forward, she surveyed the puzzle pieces laid out across the table and picked up a few. Half of the border was finished along with large sections of the middle. Tiny figures flew in and out of view, half of them wearing blue robes, the other half wearing black. A golden snitch zipped across one section and through another before hanging still for a moment. She had started the puzzle a few days before her decision to try out for the Magpies, and, now, the sight of the players sent a quiver of anxiety through her abdomen. She set the pieces back down and glanced at her front door.
Her broom—an old Firebolt from her Hogwarts years—leaned against the wall beside the door. Katie went and picked it up, running her hand over the sleek surface. She had spent the better part of the previous afternoon trimming the bristles and oiling the wood until it shone. Holding it, her heart pounded at what she was about to do tomorrow afternoon. Taking a deep breath, she sighed forcefully and returned her broom to the wall.
While it had been a few years since she'd played an official game of Quidditch, her life hadn't been completely devoid of the game. Out of Hogwarts, Katie had joined a village league and played once or twice a week when she wasn't helping George. Two weeks before the tryouts, Ange devoted several hours of her time helping Katie train in a field on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. George had even worked with her one day—granted, it was a day Ange was busy at work—hitting bludgers her way with a ferociousness that had her shouting her comparison of him to Oliver. George had taken it as a compliment.
A quarrelling mix of emotions bubbled in her stomach. She felt at once excited and nervous, as if she were approaching a cliff with the intent of jumping. Closing her eyes, she breathed in and out, trying to make each breath of equal length. The floor beneath her feet felt solid, reassuringly solid and able to support her. She imagined all the frenzied energy in her draining out through her feet and into the floorboards.
Breathe in again.
And once more out.
She opened her eyes, feeling decidedly more steady. Taking her mug of hot cocoa, she downed the rest of it and set the mug in the sink. Returning to her bedroom, she slid under the covers and extinguished all the lights with a wave of her wand and a whispered Nox.
And there Katie remained—awake with eyes open—as the clock cycled through all the early morning hours and the sky began lightening from black to dark blue.
oOo
Brechin Esk Stadium, home to the Montrose Magpies, was located just inland from Montrose Bay and far enough away from the center of town that it was nearly in the neighboring town of Kinnaber. Muggle repelling charms kept the non-magical folks from wandering too close, but that was generally unnecessary save for the occasional hiker and odd farmer trying to locate his lost herd of sheep.
Katie couldn't count how many home games she had attended before and during Hogwarts with her father. However, being in the stadium now—not as a spectator but as a potential team member—sent an electrical jolt of excitement through her and set her heart on a sprinting frenzy. Above her in the stands, the Magpies' banners, black and white with a magpie in the center, flapped noisily in the wind. She'd had one just like it spelled to the wall above her bed growing up and in her Hogwarts dormitory.
And now she stood where she had always dreamed of standing—down on the pitch, broom in hand. It was a cold day, a vicious wind whipping in from the nearby bay. Katie, thankful for the warming charm she'd remembered to cast on her clothing, waited with two dozen other Magpie-potentials for the tryouts to begin.
In front of Katie, two women—one tall and burly, the other thin as a broom and mousy—chatted comfortably with each other.
"All I'm saying is that it's odd for a team to hold tryouts midseason." The burly woman held her broom over her right shoulder. Katie could see Firebolt 2000 etched into the handle.
The mousy woman leaned over, eyes gleaming. "I heard their Chaser broke her contract and quit the team."
"Not true. You don't just up and quit the Magpies. They aren't the most successful team in the league for nothing, you know?"
Katie leaned in slightly to their conversation. The bloke standing beside her grunted, and she glanced at him. He had a heavy set to his brow and what seemed like a perpetual glower—currently directed at the two women—that reminded Katie strongly of Marcus Flint. His gaze shifted to Katie, and she turned away, moving slightly away from him. The hair at the back of her neck stood on end.
"Alright! Gather 'round and listen up." Cormack McLeod, a Scottish man with broad shoulders beneath his black Magpies robes, strode onto the pitch, hands clasped behind his back. "I will explain how this will work only once. If you canna keep up, then you can get off my pitch."
Katie, taking in a deep breath, turned to the Magpies' manager with relief.
"If I call your name, you are to come with me. If I don't, you're with Hollister," he said, indicating with a jab of his thumb the assistant manager standing off to the side with his arms crossed and a surly grimace on his face.
McLeod stared down at his clipboard and rattled off a dozen names in rapid, quick-fire succession. The two dozen potentials filtered off towards McLeod or Hollister, Katie joining the other eleven players with McLeod. She took note that the burly woman—Dorothy Osman, Katie remembered—joined her group while the mousy woman headed over to Hollister. Beside Katie stood Jared Finkleman, the Marcus Flint look-a-like, his hulking form towering over her like an overgrown troll.
"You lot, this way." McLeod gestured to them and began walking to one end of the pitch.
Katie followed, and they were soon all up on their brooms. McLeod waved his hand, and a series of evenly spaced markers extended across half of the field.
"This is a ladder drill to test your speed, agility, and flying skills," McLeod shouted, his voice magically amplified, while his hand pointed behind him. "If you're not up to speed, consider yourself cut."
Katie tensed as she waited for the whistle. When it sounded, she drew in close to her broom and took off. Osman pulled ahead of her right away, already turning at the first marker as Katie approached the flashing red light. As she spun around, she swerved out of the way to avoid a head-on collision with Finkleman, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth.
It continued as such through the first round—Osman slightly ahead as Finkleman rode on the tail of Katie's broom—until halfway through the second round when Osman wobbled on her broom. Though a barely imperceptible wobble, it gave Katie enough of a chance to pull ahead. She glanced behind to see a hand belonging to Finkleman reach out as he leaned forward. Katie swung her hips to the side, her broom following and hitting him squarely in the shoulder.
She heard him grunt as she swung around and began the third round, quickly ducking down as she passed him. A hand grazed her shoulder but didn't have enough grip to take hold as McLeod blew the whistle.
"You better watch yourself, Bell," Finkleman growled as he passed by her.
Katie gave him nothing more than a cursory glance as she circled around McLeod with the rest of the players.
"You and you," he said, pointing to a red-headed girl and a boy who looked barely old enough to be finished with Hogwarts. McLeod leaned to the side and indicated two more people.. "And you two. You're all out."
The four, heads hanging, headed back down to the pitch as McLeod returned his attention to the remaining eight. They formed a single file line at McLeod's bellowed instruction. Katie made sure to place at least one other person between her and Finkleman. No longer moving, Katie noticed the biting wind as it nipped at her face. Osman queued up behind Katie.
"Finkleman's got it out for you. What'd you do? Kill his owl?" she hissed in Katie's ear.
Katie shook her head and shrugged. "I did nothing."
"Well, watch yourself. I know his type. He sees you as a threat and will do anything to make sure you don't get the position."
"Me? A threat?" Katie shivered as the cold air found a way around her heating charms. She longed to be moving again.
"You're faster than him," Osman pointed out, "have better flying skills, and are more agile on your broom."
Katie glanced at Osman, impressed at her assessment. "What about you? Do you think I'm a threat?"
"No," was her short answer. Osman surveyed the other players. "Quidditch is all about working together as a team. Seeing you as a threat is counter-productive."
"BELL! Quit lolly-gagging."
Jerking around, Katie flew forward, McLeod watching her closely. A Quaffle was thrown her way from a floating magical bin off on the sidelines. Katie caught it easily one handed and chucked it at the far left goal hoop. A Chaser Trainer—an enchanted Keeper device designed to fly between the three hoops at random intervals—wove from the far right hoop to the left but didn't make it in time and Katie scored a goal. Another Quaffle was sent her way, and Katie went up against the Chaser Trainer over and over again, only missing two goals out of ten.
Her fingers began to buzz faintly, distracting her. She dropped the last Quaffle, the red ball slipping through her fingers. Cursing quietly as anger bubbled up in her, she dropped into a dive and caught the Quaffle. She hugged it to her body as she turned upwards and raced back towards the hoops to send it flying towards the center hoop. The Chaser Trainer sensed her move and caught the Quaffle. Katie swore again.
"Bell, nice dedication." McLeod nodded her way before calling the next name. "Yates. You're up."
She rubbed her fingers against her legs absently as she flew to the end of the line and watched the rest of the players have their turn. Two rounds of the Chaser Trainer later and McLeod cut two more, leaving six people remaining—Katie, Osman, and Finkleman included.
They returned to the ground where Hollister's group of six waited for them—the mousy woman not present. Katie landed effortlessly and noted, with pleasure, the surge of energy coursing through her. A smile grew across her face as McLeod explained the second phase of tryouts.
"Congratulations. You twelve have survived phase one. Phase two is about working together as a team. You will be divided into teams of three." He began pointing and directing people into small groups.
Katie was placed in a group with two players from Hollister's group, a tall young man, with stunningly bright blue eyes and long hair pulled back at the nape of his neck, and a lithe girl with her hair cut short.
"Katie Bell." She stuck out her hand.
"Edgar White," the blue-eyed boy said, smiling but not taking her hand.
The girl grabbed Katie's hand and shook it firmly, her eyes darting to Katie before returning to McLeod with steady focus. "Tess. It's a pleasure."
They waited on the ground as two groups of three launched in the air and began a series of drills requiring them to work together as a team. McLeod and Hollister surveyed the two groups, gesturing back and forth and even arguing at one point. Two more people were cut, McLeod shouting down to the pitch that Chesterfield and Finkleman were to replace them.
By the time Katie's group was up in the air, only six people remained. Hollister tapped her group on the back with his wand, their shirt's turning red while the opposing three—Finkleman, Osman, and Chesterfield—were black.
"We're treating this like a mock game, black against red. Line up across from each other," McLeod instructed.
Katie positioned herself between Tess and Edgar, Finkleman taking the spot across from her. He leered at her, and Katie sent him a steely glare. Hollister, Quaffle in hand, hovered slightly beneath them. With the whistle's screech, Hollister tossed the Quaffle up. Finkleman lunged forward and immediately crashed into Katie as he scrambled for the red ball. The impact was jarring, but she was ready, having ducked her head so her shoulder would take the majority of the impact.
Finkleman, however, had misjudged the impact. His hold on the Quaffle loosened, and Katie stole it from his grasp. She swerved right and pulled up, casting her gaze out to spot Edgar three broom-lengths away. Osman moved to intercept as Katie threw the Quaffle but missed as the ball arced just out her reach. Edgar caught the Quaffle, and Katie dodged Finkleman as she moved further up the pitch to position herself.
Edgar passed the Quaffle back to Katie, and Katie sent it on to Tess, who scored. Katie pumped her fist in the air twice before rounding back. They continued, Katie's team scoring twice more against Osman's two goals, until McLeod shouted up that Finkleman and Tess were to trade places. Edgar met Katie's eyes and grimaced. She laughed and lined up in the center of the pitch.
Osman caught the Quaffle and dipped down below Finkleman. Katie took off after Osman. Something screamed by her ear, and Katie startled. A bludger—McLeod releasing one— raced after Osman, and just as it was to crash into her hip, she swooped out of the way and threw the Quaffle. Edgar intercepted the attempted goal and made a long pass to Katie. Finkleman was immediately at her side, reaching for the Quaffle.
"Give me the Quaffle, Bell." He grabbed the ball, and Katie, surprised, let him have it.
Quaffle under his arm, he took off down the pitch. Edgar kept pace with him, avoiding Chesterfield's attempts at blocking him. Chesterfield, relentless in his attempts to interfere with Edgar's flying, eventually forced Edgar off course. The bludger flew figure eights through the mock game, smashing into brooms and glancing off limbs. Finkleman chucked the ball into the middle hoop and missed. He cursed loudly.
"I'll not have tha' language on my pitch, Finkleman." McLeod's face reddened as he shouted.
Finkleman made a rude gesture behind McLeod's back as Osman reclaimed the Quaffle. Osman's team scored three more times before Katie got her hands on the Quaffle. Hugging it to her body, she darted around Osman but was unable to overcome Chesterfield's blocking. Glancing to her left and right, seeing neither Edgar or Finkleman, Katie took a chance and let gravity drop her two metres down. Her stomach lifted into her throat, and she distantly heard McLeod shouting from down on the pitch. Out of Chesterfield's way, she spotted Edgar and passed to him who sent the Quaffle to Finkleman. He tried to keep the ball to himself, but Osman—having considered his rude attitude an insult to the entire group—followed close on his tail, forcing Finkleman to pass back to Katie.
Katie took the Quaffle and quickly passed it to Edgar, the two of them sending it in quick passes down the field as they avoided Osman and Tess' pursuit. As Katie approached the goal hoops, Edgar passed her the ball, looping it around Chesterfield and back into Katie's hands. Just as she was about to make the goal, a bludger glanced off the side of her head, her vision filling with flashes of light.
A whistle was blown, and McLeod screamed angrily.
"FINKLEMAN! You're out!"
Finkleman landed on the pitch and threw his broom down. "This is a bloody—"
McLeod pushed his face into Finkleman's personal space. "This drill was about working as a team. Using your broom as a bat to send a bludger into your teammate's head does not constitute teamwork. You failed, Finkleman." He pointed to the changing room. "Get dressed and get out."
Katie touched down and pressed a hand against the side of her head, just above her ear. She shook her head to clear her vision.
"Bell, Osman, and White. You three stay behind and wait outside the changing room for our decision," McLeod said as Finkleman sulked back to the changing room. "The rest of you, I'm sorry, but you're out." He turned his attention to Katie. "Bell. I want a Healer to check you out."
They returned to the changing room. A woman wearing the white robes that denoted a Healer waited outside the door and beckoned to Katie.
"Katie Bell?"
She nodded.
"I'm Healer Jackson. Please, come with me." She turned and began walking down the hall but stopped when Katie didn't follow.
"I'm fine, really," Katie said. The throbbing in her head had faded, and her vision had cleared.
"Head injuries are nothing trivial," Healer Jackson said, her words clipped and professional. "If you're fine, then it'll be a quick in-and-out check." She gestured down the hallway. "This way please."
Katie followed her into a small room and sat down on a table which the healer had indicated with her hand. Healer Jackson, checking something on a clipboard on a side table, turned and faced Katie.
"What is your name?"
"Katie Bell."
The Healer nodded, satisfied with her answer. "Do you know where you are?"
Katie suppressed the urge to laugh. "Yes," she answered and added, when the Healer continued to stare at her, "Brechin Esk Stadium. Quidditch tryouts."
A pleased smile formed on the Healer's face. "What is the date?"
Answering, Katie couldn't hold back a laugh as the healer muttered something about being alert and oriented while scribbling on the clipboard with a self-inking quill. Once finished, she placed her hands on Katie's head, pressing in a few places. Katie winced as her fingers found the place where the bludger had glanced off her. Muttering an apology, the Healer tapped Katie's head with her wand.
A pale, yellow light appeared over Katie's head, listing various pieces of information. Scrolling through the information, the healer nodded and canceled the spell.
"No concussion." A small crease formed between Healer Jackson's eyebrows. "You do have some old neurological scarring in your history."
A hard lump formed in Katie's throat, and she struggled to swallow. "The war," was all she managed to say.
The Healer's clipped and professional demeanor slipped slightly as she nodded with understanding. "I see a lot of that these days."
"That—that isn't going to—"
"Impact your ability to play Quidditch?" The Healer said.
Katie nodded.
"Do you get any numbness, burning or tingling in your fingers or hands?"
"No." The lie hung heavily between Katie and the Healer.
The Healer smiled. "Then you should be fine."
Relieved, Katie slid off the table. "I'm okay to go, then?"
"Yes. Please wait outside the changing room while a decision is made."
oOo
Katie pounded on Ange's door as she bounced lightly on the balls of her feet. It was well after four in the afternoon, and Katie knew Ange should be home. A ball of excitement and frenzied disbelief made her legs feel like they'd been hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx—though that could have been the three hours spent flying.
"Ange! I know you're home." Her fist pummeled against her friend's front door, but she got no answer.
Knocking twice more, the second one causing Ange's elderly neighbor down the hall to poke her head into the hallway, Katie gave up and disapparated to Alicia's flat. Alicia answered the door on the second knock.
"Katie?" she asked, opening the door a crack. Her eyes were red, and shadows hung beneath them, but she smiled to see her friend. "What are you doing here?"
"Guess who is the Montrose Magpies' newest Chaser?"
"I know Reiner quit." Alicia arched her eyebrows. "Are you going to make me guess, then?"
"You're looking at her." Katie threw her arms out as if placing herself on display.
Alicia shook her head and stepped out into the corridor, closing her door. "What? You're what?"
"I tried out for the Magpies this afternoon."
Her friend adopted the same look she would get when Oliver made them run lap after lap during their years on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. It was the same look one would give someone when they thought they were kidding and more than a little barmy.
"You did what?"
"I tried out for—"
"Yes, yes." Alicia flapped her hand. "I got that part." She stood in the hall in her pajamas, shaking her head, mouth open. "I don't believe it."
"I know, right?" Katie dropped her eyes to the cotton pants and shirt Alicia wore. "Are you still in your pajamas?
"I was sleeping."
"It's the middle of the day."
Alicia looked away and shrugged. "I was tired."
Katie studied her friend critically. "You okay?"
"Fine." Alicia smiled.
"You're sure?"
Alicia's smile deepened. "I'm fine."
"Well, get dressed." She took Alicia by the shoulders and hugged her tight. "We have to celebrate."
"I don't—"
"But first I have to tell my mum and dad."
Katie spun and disapparated with a crack.
Author's Note: Yes, I'm starting another fic while I have another one going and while I participate in the QLFC (Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition). What can I say? I was inspired. I would like to thank my lovely beta, Mal (Malhearst) who has put up with my frenzied excitement over the last few weeks and is as excited as I am about this. I would also like to thank Mel (MelodyPond77) for if she didn't recommend those Oliver/Katie fics a few weeks ago, then I wouldn't have been inspired to write my own.