Hello, my name is Katie Bell, or, as Fred and George now dubbed me, "Katie Smell."

"How original" I retorted and rolled my eyes.

"C'mon Katie, you can't shorten your name, and you gotta liven it up somehow." Fred said.

"How about Kate? Or Kat? Or K-love?" I suggested. "Wait! What's wrong with Katie anyway?"

"If that kind of nonsense is what you're into, I guess." Fred said, snatching up his broom on the way out.

I stuck out my tongue, lamenting that I failed to think of a wittier comeback.

Of course that is the moment my eyes met Oliver Wood. My tongue retreated into my mouth and I flashed what I hoped was my most charming smile. I could feael my face smoldering and decided that my untied shoe required my urgent attention.

Oliver scowled. "I hope you're going to take this new strategy we have been practicing seriously, Bell."

"I am." I mumbled at my laces.

"You were a bit sloppy yesterday and we've got to tighten it up if we're going to win the quidditch cup this year! This year is our year- I can feel it! I am sure we would have won it last year if..."

"I know Oliver," I replied, cutting him off. I didn't have 20 minutes for this rant again. No one did with his practice schedule. I finished tying my shoe and swept out the door to meet the rest of the team on the pitch without another glance his way.

In joining with the group, I made the mistake of catching Fred's eye. He touched his nose and mouthed the word "smell" and winked, so I fixed my eyes to ground and focused on my breathing. Stifling giggles was not going to help prove my dedication to Oliver's new strategy.

How fast of a bludger did it take to even temporarily knock the quidditch from Oliver Wood's mind? I wondered while staring at the muddy grass.

Although I would rather die than admit it to his face, I had a hopeless crush on Oliver Wood. Lately I had been making an extra effort to drop anvil-sized hints his way. Why else would any other woman in her right mind ask him for pointers about flying over dinner? The boy never shuts up! And now he's seen my tongue. This did not bode well, especially because of any unfavorable comparisons he might draw between my face and that of a certain reptile that happened to be our mortal house enemy.

I spent the rest of practice channeling my frustration on the pitch. I kept launching the quaffle with so much force that my fellow chasers performed spectacular rolls and mid-air pirouettes to catch it. If nothing else, I was impressed by the talent and flexibility of my teammates.

Walking back up to the castle, my best friend and fellow chaser, Angelina, caught up with me.

"Oi!What was that Katie? Wood will kick you off the team if you have another practice like that! Then what would you have to talk about with Mr. Loverboy?"

"At this point, I don't know who is the bigger idiot. I could probably count the amount of times we have recently talked about non-quidditch related topics on one hand. One of those times was about the weather, which probably would have segued into quidditch conditions if I hadn't already been late to transfiguration and just abandoned him mid-sentence."

"Hm." Angelina chewed on her bottom lip. They walked in silence for a few paces before she said,

"Have you ever tried to... out-quidditch him?"

"Say what now?"

"Out-quidditch him. I mean, you know how if you have a sweet tooth and then you eat so much chocolate you puke, then you won't eat chocolate for a while? Maybe it's the same with quidditch. What if you went so gung-ho into it with him, you would hit some kind of maximum saturation and eventually he would just... get bored."

"Ha!" I exclaimed derisively. "Get bored? Have you met him? This is a dangerous game you want me to play, Angelina Johnson. A very dangerous game."

"How much can a guy really be obsessed with a sport?" she asked.

"Do we really need to find out?"

I shook my head and tutted at the idea, but the seed was planted. I tried not to think about it at dinner, and I used every breathing technique I had learned from my favorite quidditch guru to drive it from my mind as I tossed and turned in bed.

No luck.

Angelina only grinned the next morning when I appeared at the Gryffindor table with hair sticking out at all angles and asked, "Okay, so, how do I do it?"