A/N- You can thank a particularly muddy but fun cross country course for this early post. I'm in a fantastic mood (completely wrecked my rival in the meet and shattered her time- maybe next time she'll think twice about elbowing me and spraying mud. heheh.) and I thought I'd share the love. Although, maybe I've just gone insane. In any case, you get the chapter early, and my blood stream's thick with wonderful feel-good endorphins from my run. The world is a shiny happy place.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is much too intelligent to run through hurricane Hannah. She did not mock the sky when it only dumped a foot of rain on her head.
She's a Liability
With a Burning Passion
After finally completing every physical test the healers threw at me, I was released from St. Mungo's for a few quiet weeks before graduation. Puddlemere had agreed to keep my signing a secret until I had my diploma in hand, although, already, it was proving difficult. I had sworn my friends to secrecy, and evidently, Oliver had been ambushed by Witch Weekly reporters upon leaving the hospital. And they don't play fair, either- they only hire witches, and they only hire witches of a certain size, if you know what I mean. The only reason I know is I might have been looking into it as a possible career move, and on the application, they asked for my measurements. People wonder how they get their inside quidditch scoops, but let me tell you- hormone driven male quidditch players don't stand a chance. And to think Alicia is boggled as to why I won't read that trash. (Except for that one time in the hospital, but I was desperate.)
I spent two days at home with my parents before returning, during which they discussed, in depth, how I should still study hard and make good grades, so I would have something to fall back on.(Like we hadn't already had the same conversation in depth, over a two hour period in the hospital. There was a reason I was able to just spit out the same reply when Angelina had visited. ) Well, more accurately, my mother talked, and my dad and I listened. Mum had wanted me to become a healer, and was disappointed, to say the least, with my career choice. I wasn't- after spending too many days in the hospital over the years; I would not be able to stand a role reversal.
Dad, however, was secretly thrilled. He and his buddies followed quidditch the way muggles in my country follow football-obsessively. When my stuff was packed, and I was ready to return to Hogwarts, both embraced me; mum briefly, and dad a little longer than usual. "I'm proud of you," he muttered into my ear, when he was sure my mum couldn't hear. "Now I expect to be hearing about you kicking some major arse on the radio very soon young lady," he said, in his best over-bearing dad imitation, though slightly ruining the effect with the profanity he slipped in. I nodded into his shoulder.
"Okay, dad," I answered, pulling away with a smile. Perhaps my mother didn't approve, but things were looking up; I was almost finished with school, and I was moving up in the world of professional quidditch. Life is good.
And for a while, life was good: we won the quidditch cup, the whole school regarding us like gods. I suppose this is what it's like to be famous, I thought as yet another first year girl asked me for a play-by-play of the game: from a girl's point of view, of course. Grinning good naturedly, I proceeded to recount it for her, as more round eyed students gathered round. I half expected them to break out some popcorn.
But then, everything changed. Death Eaters invaded the school, our potions master turned out to be a murdering scumbag and Dumbledore died. Perhaps the most shocking was the last item, because the headmaster was the kind of wizard you supposed would live forever, if such a thing were possible.
Sitting at his funeral, I contemplated my life's purpose; a pass time I usually avoided at all costs, but at a funeral, it seems to be obligatory to rethink all your life choices. Am I doing the right thing, playing quidditch while the most powerful dark wizard of all time was on the loose? I suddenly felt a nagging sense of guilt, magnified by the sobbing witches and wizards surrounding me. Even a few, hot tears drifted down my own cheeks and I remembered my first week at Hogwarts, when I had gotten entirely turned around and ended up in Herbology instead of Potions. The tall, gray man had approached me, eyes twinkling as he smiled, and lead me to my class, even protecting me when Snape's face twisted into a malicious snarl at my lateness. Who knew that the very same professor would one day take the headmaster's life? The service was over. I stood up, and began to file out of the rows with the rest of the guests. I was suddenly angry as I pictured the sneer and hooked nose of the back-stabbing git, with his face framed by curtains of greasy, unkempt hair.
I wasn't looking where I was going, and bumped into a very solid someone clad in a dragon-skin jacket. "Sorry," I muttered, without looking up. I can't believe it's over, I thought grimly.
"Just out of the hospital, and she thinks she can rule the world," a voice said, affronted. I eyes widened. Were they talking about me?
"Children today," another voice agreed distastefully. "Think they can walk all over their elders!" I spun around to apologize again, this time profusely, and found myself face to face with the shiny dragon skin covering Fred Weasley's chest. I forgot how tall he was. I took a quick step back, and turned my face up to his. George, his mirror image, stood next to him, clothed in the same black dragon skin.
"Well, sorry, your old-ness" I answered, drawing out the end of the 'sorry' to turn it into an attitude filled two syllables. For once, they looked relatively solemn. George smiled.
"I guess this means you're free then," he remarked, gazing at the Hogwarts Express, which was waiting at the station. "At large, in the world." He shook his head. "What a scary thought." I smacked his arm, and Fred sniggered.
"At least I finished all my years at school," I retorted pointedly. "I didn't bust out half-way through my last year!"
"Classic," the twins chorused simultaneously, as a wicked, identical grin cracked both their faces.
"You have to admit, that was pretty good, Katie," Fred said reasonably. I reluctantly nodded. He was right- the Umbridge woman was a right old hag. I still have a slight trace on my hand from where she made me cut into my own skin. Ironically enough, the words "I must respect my elders", were the choice words she'd decided to use.
"Yeah," George grinned. "We heard that even you got into it with her," he said. I gazed intently at my shoes. Fred gasped.
"No! Little Katie Bell? Got into it with a teacher?" he asked in scandalized tones. I am not little, I thought rebelliously. I suppose, at 5'6", to the 6'2" twins, I was little, but I still didn't like it. I made a noise of protest. George nodded solemnly.
"Yes, even little Katie Bell," he said, with mock sadness. "What has this world come to?" I scoffed, rolling my eyes as I scuffed my toe in the dirt.
"Tell me again, what did you do to tick her off?" Fred asked, eyeing me expectantly. I blushed and examined my toes.
"I, uh, asked her which side of her family had mated with a grindy-low," I answered in a low voice. I had seen the hag earlier, and didn't feel like renewing old acquaintances. The twins howled with laughter. "And when she asked me to repeat what I said, I told her that for all I cared, she could sod off, because her class was a bloody waste of time." The tears started flowing as the two hooted, their sides heaving. "We're at a funeral, and you two can't behave?" I asked, only half exasperated. They continued to laugh, unabashed for the next few moments.
"We stand corrected," George declared, wiping a tear from his eye. "That is classic."
"Brilliant," Fred agreed gleefully. I shrugged.
"It earned me a month and a half in detention, every day after school," I replied, holding up my hand, to show them the engraved into my skin. I couldn't help as a small grin escaped onto my face. "But it was totally worth it. Her face turned like nine shades of tomato!" I guiltily glanced around, and saw the toad nodding along with whatever the minister was saying, her face oddly stretched in a fake, sickeningly sweet smile, with the bow on top of her head in great danger of falling out in the vigor of her nodding.
"What's this about tomatoes?" Alicia asked, appearing with her hands on her hips. "You guys still aren't off about whether it's a fruit or a vegetable, are you?" she rolled her eyes when we didn't answer. "Because Katie's right, Fred, it's a fruit." Are we talking about tomatoes at a funeral? It was surreal. Fred crossed his arms resolutely.
"It is not. You put it in a salad- it's a vegetable." I caught Alicia's eye and fought a smile. How many times have we been over this?
"Some people put oranges in salads," Angelina, also clad in black, pointed out. "And they're a fruit."Both twins gaped at her.
"Since when?" George demanded. "I don't even like salad, and even I know that's just wrong!" She shrugged. He continued on his rant. "I mean, how do you come up with that?" he marveled. He's got a point. "Who just up and decides one day 'oh, I think I'll have some oranges on my salad today, thanks'," Alicia blinked at him.
"Plenty of people," she answered. "It's actually pretty good, you know." She admitted. Their mouths fell open even wider, their likeness to gasping goldfish growing exponentially. Angelina nodded along with her, agreeing. Looking to me, the one who was most likely to agree with the male side of things, they searched for some back up. Grinning slightly, I shrugged.
"You too?" Fred demanded. "I cannot believe I'm friends with people who eat oranges on their salad."
"Or people who eat salad at all, for that matter," George added, with a look of disgust. "Appalling," he scrunched up his nose as if he smelled a rather unpleasant aroma.
"Distasteful." Fred added. George nodded.
"Bloody f-"George began, trying to out-do his brother.
"We get the picture," Angelina cut in smoothly, rolling her eyes. "You both hate salad." We have the weirdest conversations.
"Not hate- detest," George corrected her with a pompous air, earning himself a smart whack on the back of his head from Angelina.
"With a passion," Fred added, allowing Alicia to smack his arm.
"A burning passion," George piped up, holding Angelina away at arm's length, so she couldn't hit him. She settled for kicking him none too gently in the shins. I hope it was worth it, I thought with an amused smirk as he doubled over, wailing about how his legs would never be the same. Fred copped a quick look at Alicia who was watching him with raised eyebrows. He meekly shut his mouth.
"The burning passion of a hundred wild fires, yes," I finished in a bored drawl. I'd learned the game long ago- one up the statement uttered before you. Whoever is the most creative wins. Both boys 'oohed' appreciatively. For good measure, Angelina roughed up my hair. I pretended to glare at her, but ending up laughing instead. Real somber, Katie. You're at a funeral, for god sake. I pushed the thought away. Dumbledore would have been happy to know that we were enjoying ourselves. The world has been dark. He'd have loved to know it was a little brighter. I checked my watch as the ebb of the river of witches and wizards strengthened. "I should go," I remarked. "I have to catch the train back, so…" I grimaced. My last ride on the Hogwarts Express. "It was nice seeing you guys again," I said, hugging Fred, then George. "I might be a little busy next week, because they're going public with the signing tomorrow," I said into Alicia's sweet-scented hair. She nodded, and I moved on, embracing Angelina.
"You too, little Katie Bell," Fred said, emphasizing the adjective and smirking.
"All grown up," George added, pretending to flick away a tear as he blatantly looked me up and down in a perfect impersonation of Marcus Flint. I smacked him."Now don't forget us when you're famous," he warned, shaking his finger at me. Like that'll ever happen. Me? Famous? The idea had vaguely occurred to me, but I had never allowed it to completely form.
"I'm not going to be famous. It's reserve team, " I reminded him. The two scoffed.
"Katie, Katie, my naïve, talented little friend," Fred said, shaking his head in a fatherly way. "Sure, right now you're not famous, but when you hit it big…"he wiggled his eyebrows at me.
"Yeah," George agreed. "You'll have to come do an endorsement deal with us." I laughed. "I can see it now," he said, his eyes strangely far-away. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder as Fred mirrored his action on my other side.
"Katie Bell, star center of the Champion Puddlemere Untied Quidditch team," Fred painted a picture with his hands.
"Uses Weasley's Wizard's Wheezes to sabotage her overbearing keeper, the maniacal Oliver Wood," George continued. I snorted.
"And if it's good enough for Katie-" Fred said in a sing-song voice.
"It's good enough for you!" The two finished in unison.
"Do you rehearse this stuff?" I asked, laughing. "Seriously. How much free time do you two have?"
"Wait, don't answer that." I said, noting their diabolical expressions.
Those two should be outlawed.