Hey guys! Audience participation time: I'm entertaining the notion of changing the story's title from "There's no 'I' in Team," because it's a pretty amiguious title that has nothing to do with the story. I was thinking of changing it to something along the lines of "Keeping Score" coz, you know, they're always scoring points off each other coz they're so competitive and, yeah, they play Quidditch, and yeah, you know... Uh, well, it sounded better in my head...Yeah...Just let me know what you think.


Name: Katie Bell THE GREATEST
Age: 16
Hair: Sloppily plaited.
Current Mood: Holy freaken freak I am a genius
Current Location: Wood's room, stealing his broomstick.

Using infallible Katie Bell logic, I woke up early this morning and decided if Wood didn't have his broomstick, he couldn't come to practise. Okay, it'd take more than a missing broomstick to put him off his game, so to speak, but I woke up in a mischievous mood this morning.
Wood had the hangings around his bed closed, so I couldn't even see what he looked like asleep. Not that I cared or anything. I mean, I'm sure he looked cute when he slept, so I sorta wanted to know what he looked like… I don't know. I just wished I could see his face as I soared out of the window and onto the Quidditch pitch on his broomstick.

Everyone else was already on the pitch, in various stages of consciousness and Quidditch robes. The Weasley twins still had their pajamas on and had half-heartedly draped their robes over them.
"Where's Wood?" Fred yawned sleepily as I descended off the broom.
"Wait, is that his broomstick?" George asked. I just grinned.
"Wood's had some unforeseen problems and asked me to take over training today." The Weasley twins high fived as the rest of the team cheered. "Okay, boys against girls. Girl's are going to whip you guys good." With no Oliver to guard the boys' hoops, this was going to be a knock over.

We were winning 780 to 110 (Harry makes a pretty damn good Chaser and Keeper) when something rammed into my back, almost pulling me off my broom.
"Damnit Fred, watch where you're going!" I snapped, before I spun my broom around. To face a very annoyed Oliver Wood. I don't actually think I've seen him more annoyed in my entire life, even including all those times we've lost Quidditch games. Which is a few.
"Bell, what the hell are you playing at?! You are aware we're only days away from the game, and now you're gallivanting around, wasting our precious practise time!" Well excuse me. My rational, logical self told me that now would not be a good time to answer him back. Not now he's all worked up. I should just have my small victory and we should all just get back on track for some serious practise. Serious my arse, scoffed my stubborn side.
"Wood. It's 5:30 in the morning. The whole Quidditch team is out on the Quidditch pitch, in their Quidditch robes (in Fred and George's case, sort of), with their Quidditch gear, playing Quidditch. I'd call that fairly satisfactory Quidditch practise. Which I'd say would be a hell of a lot better than what you would manage. If it were you running this practise we'd still all be half asleep in the locker rooms listening to some of your plays, where we have to do sloth rolls and starfishes just to keep hold of the Quaffle. It's Quidditch, Wood, not rocket science. Lighten up." That vein was throbbing in Wood's neck again. Eh.
"Bell, you're suspended from practise. You can wait on the benches until after we finish." I threw my Quaffle at him in disgust. He caught it (damn it. I so did not see that one coming) and pegged it back at me. I wasn't fast enough to catch it and it clocked me fair in the side of the face. Wood tried to hide a grin, but he didn't do it fast enough.
"GAHHHH." I shrieked, heading straight for him, still seated on the broomstick. For the second time that day I tackled him knocking him clean off his broomstick. Unfortunately, I also fell off mine.
"Someone really should stop them before they get hurt." Angelina offered dully, before magicing the ground softer for our landing.

Let me just say, Angelina could have Charmed the ground a little bit softer than what she did. Oliver and I tumbled heavily to the ground. I fell on top of him, my elbow winding him.

"Ooof." He breathed. I was fine; he cushioned my landing.
"You, Oliver Wood, are a right royal Scottish bastard." I huffed, planting my knees either side of his chest and slapping him across the cheek. Actually, he looked pretty cute up close. He had that sort of confused quizzical look on his face. I watched the red hand-mark from my slap flush across his cheek and felt sort of bad. Ruining a face like that, if only for a few minutes. I don't know why, but I leaned in a bit closer. Perhaps to inspect my handiwork. Perhaps to try to rub the red hand-print off his cheek. I don't know why really.

And then guess what Wood did? Guess? He socked me one in the eye and I rolled off him in shock. That fricken kilt wearing bastard Scotsman gave me a black eye. I think he was aiming for my shoulder, but I don't care. I was playing nice: I was only slapping. Now I was going to pull out the big guns.

"Oww. You hit me." I accused. Wood looked like he might be thinking about apologising, if he could catch his breath. I don't care. He struggled to rise, managing to lift himself up onto his elbows. If that's how he wants to play it, Katie Bell has a few power plays of her own. Still upright on my knees, I head-butted him in the stomach, winding him again. He wrapped his muscled forearms (somebody's been hitting the Hogwarts gym on the forth floor) around me and wrestled me back. If he uses this as an excuse to feel me up, I have absolutely no qualms about kneeing him in the ball-sack.

I dug my heels into the ground and we both struggled to our feet, still arm-locked and attempting to wrestle each other to the ground.
"I swear Bell, if there's so much as a twig out of place on my broomstick, you'll be doing drills with a medicine ball for the rest of the week."
"Wood, it's a flying branch. Relax. You need to find yourself a girl, mate."
"Maybe I've already found one. Or several." I just snorted in contempt. Sure. When house elves fly.
"Oliver Wood, you're too obsessed with Quidditch to ever have a girlfriend."
"I'm the Quidditch Captain, Bell. I have a commitment to Quidditch. And I'm the Captain, so stop trying to ruin practises and steal my broomstick. I'm Captain. Me, Oliver Wood. Not you. Say it! Wood is the Captain!" He grunted, like the egotistical maniac he is. When I refused to repeat what he said, he snuck in a dirty punch to my kidney's that made my knees buckle. If he was going to play dirty...

Oliver Wood tensed for a split second then went limp, collapsing to the ground.

"You…kicked me…in the balls." He finally choked out.
"Um…er…ouch…well then…I guess practise is postponed…indefinitely." George said, wincing in sympathy for Oliver.
"I don't think there'll be any little Wood's flying around on miniature broomsticks anytime soon." Fred voiced.
"You may all thank me later." I panted. I won! I am victor. Fred and George backed slowly away from me, fear and respect in their eyes.
"Practise… 4 o'clock… this afternoon," Oliver wheezed with superhuman effort before Fred and George took pity on him. They hoisted him to his feet, marching him back to the castle, supporting him between themselves.

Katie Bell: 3. Oliver Wood: We'll give him 1 for giving me a black eye. Scottish bastard.