My protesting muscles groaned as I walked up the stairs towards the Gryffindor common room – why the hell did our common room have to be in a bloody tower? Why could I not have been a Hufflepuff? Or god forbid, a Slytherin – at least that way I would be on the bottom floor, and I probably wouldn't be in such agony. Wincing as I pulled myself up the last two steps, my calf muscles full of searing pain, I angrily thought of the idiot who had caused this suffering.
Wood. Oliver sodding Wood.
The insufferable seventh year just happened to be my Quidditch captain, and possibly the most egotistical prat there ever was. What made this all worse, however, was that he was friends with my best friends, and somehow managed to be included in our group.
I hated him. He hated me. End of story. (Or not, apparently (this is according to Angelina) I like to talk a lot, and it just so happens that he fuels some pretty heated discussion.)
Today was like any typical Quidditch practice; like usual, I was running just a little late and everything really that could have gone wrong, did. I had managed to get caught up in a conversation with the teacher of my last lesson; this time charms. Flitwick was asking me where the last two weeks of my homework was - I'm not the most capable of witches, and clearly I'm always too busy with Quidditch practice, the amount of practices we seem to have, to get my homework done. You could say that my grades were suffering, little do I care. It was almost half past four, and I had to be down on the pitch ready at dead on half four, in my Quidditch robes with my broomstick and ready to start practice or else, in the words of Wood. Obviously, there was no way in hell that that was going to happen.
I finished up with Flitwick as quickly as I could, giving him the same old excuse, "I've been a bit busy with family issues this week sir! I'm sorry; I'll have it ready for you by next week, if that's alright?" I'd managed to perfect my teary-eyed face, and it worked with most teachers, save for McGonagall who knew that I put Quidditch first and had spoken to me countless times about it, and Snape who honestly could care less about my supposed mummy and daddy issues. At least at times, McGonagall could sympathise with me, she wanted to win the Quidditch Cup just as much as we did. However, I was pretty sure that the teachers thought less of my work and attitude towards work than my best friends, the Weasley twins, yet I seemed to get detention far less frequently. I was pretty sure it was due to the fact that I was a girl and could get away with pathetic excuses, and I constantly flaunted the fact in their faces. So maybe I was a bit over-confident and sure of myself, at least I wasn't like that self-assured male-chauvinist pig Wood, who I was sure was going to murder me for being late to practice for maybe, the fifth time this season? I'd already lost track.
Running through the hallway, heading in the general direction of the Gryffindor tower, I encountered another obstacle in the form of McGonagall. Anytime I needed to get anywhere fast, she seemed to be there ready to stop me and asking what in the heavens I was doing, and right now that would not help me one tiny bit. I ducked my head slightly; a curtain of dark blonde hair covered my lightly tanned face and dark eyes from view, as I slipped behind a group of students who were walking slowly in the direction I needed to go. Thankfully she walked straight past me, and instead began to reprimand Draco Malfoy who was mucking about with his friends. I'd never thought that I'd be thankful for the irritating Slytherins. Like all Gryffindors, I had the same inbuilt hatred for the insufferable, pureblood manic fools and there was definitely little love lost between us. Sure, I didn't take it as far as the Weasley twins did, hexing them at all hours, but I did like a good prank on them every now and again, as much as the next person. How could I not with Fred and George as friends?
Dodging the endless clutter of first years about the corridors (those kids really seemed to get in the way all the time) I finally reached the Gryffindor common room, only to be embraced by Jack Galloway, my closest friend. I pushed him away, knowing that he wouldn't be offended, and yelled whilst scrabbling through the masses of second and third years conversing about the excitement of the Triwizard Tournament (we'd had the announcement just a few days ago), "Sorry Jack. Back in about two hours, must run, Quidditch practice." Before I'd completely turned my head, I saw a knowing smile appear on his face, and grinned.
Jack and I had been friends since what, age two or something like that? We lived next door to each other in a village called Blackwater on the Isle of Wight. There were about 200 witches and wizards in total living on the island, and not many of them were in Gryffindor or even our age. Most people who lived on the Isle of Wight were over 60, and so usually Jack, my older brother Ben (by just one year – he was in Hufflepuff – which I will tell you now, is definitely not a house for duffers, if you ever say that to me, I will duff you up myself), and I spent our time off the island visiting other people, trying to entertain ourselves. Jack was almost the complete opposite to me; he was always calm and collected, and could cool me down really quickly. He was also extremely clever, and I seriously envied the dark haired, blue eyed boy. We were very close, and I could always depend on him. He shared a dorm with the rest of the Sixth Year boys, and was also close to all of my friends; Fred, George, Lee, Angelina, and Katie. The other sixth year boy and two girls in Gryffindor were pretty different; the girls were really giggly and the boy was so shy, that our attempts to become friends with them had been fruitless, and so we'd given up long ago.
I dumped my charms work on my already cluttered bed, and began searching through the piles of clothes that lay about our dormitory (save for Katie's area which as usual was perfectly tidy) – Angelina and I were extremely messy, neither of us could find the time to keep anything clean, and thus we could never find anything. Finally, I found my red and gold tracksuit bottoms, and grabbed a black t shirt, before reaching under my bed for the over part of my Quidditch robes, and my broomstick. Groaning I looked at the clock that every dormitory had, and moaned out loud. Wood was going to kill me - no change there, it was almost quarter to, and I wasn't even changed yet. How did I manage this almost twice a week without fail? Usually I wasn't quite as late as this, but even two minutes and Wood blew a fuse! Typical. He didn't have time for my excuses either, no matter if they were legitimate or not, I received a harsh punishment every time.
I chucked my school robes on the floor – the black cardigan, the robe, the white shirt, tie, black skirt, and tights – and pulled the t shirt on, and the tracksuit, before running as fast as I could out of the dormitory, and the common room and out into the corridor. I made it downstairs as quickly as I could, and was almost at the Quidditch pitch, zipping up my red and gold Quidditch robes, when out into my path stepped – oh god, the holidays had improved him – not that there was anything bad looking on him to begin with. Cedric Diggory. The best looking boy in the school, he had as much a fan club as bloody Wood did. The two were "icons", and rivals, and dare I say it, as did probably every girl in the school, I harboured a slight fancy for Diggory. My friends and I were always talking about his perfect hair and body (well, just Angelina, Katie and I – the boys moaned every time he was mentioned, and made some sort of quip about themselves – "we're not good enough for you are we!") – it was probably the only time we acted remotely girly.
"Cedric, hi." I said almost breathlessly, smiling at the tall and handsome guy. Cedric and I were fairly good friends, we'd spent a few times together chatting about Quidditch, but still I'd managed to fall under his spell. His charm, his looks, in fact everything about him made it impossible to dislike him, yet some still managed it – ie. Wood. I was pretty weak kneed and giggly at the mere sight of him. It was so unlike me to be an idiot over a guy.
"Oi! Spinnet." I heard the rough Scottish accent call. I groaned, and made a face at Cedric, who turned round, to meet the steely cold glare of Wood. Why did he have to be so rude, and interrupt?
"You're late. And now you're talking to the enemy. Get on the pitch. NOW." Wood's voice was laced with anger.
"Who do you think you're talking to?" I replied, full of annoyance. "And the enemy? Really, Wood, are you that pathetic?" Wood seemed to think he ruled my life; he pushed everyone about, but not me. I could stand up for myself, and it was my choice who I spoke to.
"My chaser, who's late for practice." Wood replied fixing his eyes upon mine, daring me to challenge his authority. "Yes, the enemy, next thing I know, you'll be telling him all our Quidditch plans and secrets. Get. On. The. Pitch. I will not ask you again Spinnet." Ugh, I hated him, that complete arsehole. He wasn't a teacher, he wasn't my father, so what was he doing ordering me about like that?
I muttered a quick apology to Cedric, promising myself that I'd speak to him later, and glared evilly at Wood, pushing past him, bumping my shoulder into his. I had to brace myself when I fell backwards slightly; Wood had obviously worked out over the holidays. Not that it made any difference to me. Quidditch obsessive. It seemed to be all Wood cared about – when he joined our conversations, he interrupted with talk about the Quidditch schedule, and plans and tactics, which just pissed me off. I got enough talk about Quidditch with the teachers who told me to stop doing it, and didn't need him trying to make us do more. I ached enough as it was.
As I walked away from the rival captains, I could hear them insulting each other, the iconic two fighting over which team would win next year – there was no Quidditch cup this year although we continued to practice to keep our fitness levels up, and for what were apparently to be "friendly" matches in order to give those of us not involved in the Triwizard tournament an element of competition. When I walked onto the pitch I was met with cheers, and smiles, and when I managed to mount my cleansweep seven, and get up into the air with my friends, I was told about what had happened earlier when I hadn't arrived on time. Angelina recounted Wood's anger at me not being there, and how he had taken it out on all of them. Stupid prat. If he was going to take it out on someone he might as well take it out on me. He didn't have to take it out on my team mates. I'd be letting him know my feelings about that later.
The rest of the Quidditch practice went fairly smoothly, although I must have been yelled out near on twenty times for incorrect broom positioning, not keeping a tight enough hold on the quaffle, and inaccurate passing, when it was clear that I was playing to a higher standard than I had been before, and was definitely not doing anything wrong (I'm not bigheaded, I'm simply just stating the facts). I was fairly pleased to see that my practice over the holidays had paid off, though Wood was having none of it obviously. Wood had no right to lie about my talent, and to insult me and change what I was doing in front of everyone. Feeling pretty dejected after a depressing, and angering Quidditch practice, I landed on the ground with everyone else, and was about to enter the team changing rooms for a shower along with my team mates, when I was called back by the gravelly Scottish voice. Oh, so he was going to tell me off was he? I was going to give him a piece of my mind.
"You were almost twenty minutes late." Wood bluntly stated.
"Not my fault." I responded.
"I don't care. Quidditch practice is compulsory. You've been late six times this season. I have a good mind to chuck you off the team, and I don't think anyone would argue about it."
"I'm pretty sure it's only five times, and you know that Gryffindor would lose without me."
"Now I don't think that's true, there's fresh and better talent out there."
I fixed him with an evil glare, that was a blatant lie. "If you're talking about Fitzpatrick, then you're an absolute prat. That girly idiot wouldn't last five minutes during a real Quidditch game." Gwen Fitzpatrick was a Gryffindor Sixth year who last year had shown interest in becoming a chaser, and Wood had humoured her because he thought she was pretty. That chauvinist arsehole. "You only want her on the team so that someone fawns over you."
"Spinnet, up in the air. 200 bleacher sprints. And then fifty pull ups on your broom. Now."
Angrily I pushed off. How the hell he expected me to do all that without collapsing I had no idea. Clearly he was more agitated with me that he had ever been before. I had a good mind right there and then to resign as chaser from the Quidditch team. The only thing making me continue was my love for the game, if I hadn't enjoyed it so much I would have quit it years ago. Who would choose to spend that six hours a week extra with Wood? The idiot.
An hour later, I returned to the ground, Wood smirking at me. I glared at him, and ignored his expression.
I mentally cursed him, for the fiftieth time in the day.
Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's resident annoyance. I want him dead.