Name: I'll kill her
Age: She's dead
Hair: Feels sexy
Current Mood: Bell stole my broomstick
Current Location: Storming around my broom.
I swear, I never know what the hell is going on in Bell's head. My grandmother would say she suffers from flights of fancy. My great-grandmother would say she has the devil in her. I'm leaning towards my grand-mother's analogy. For no good reason Bell broke into my room and stole my broomstick this morning. As it was I'd already overslept on an early-morning Quidditch practise I myself had called. Talk about embarrassing. And as I reached into my cupboard for my broom, I realised. Bell stole my broomstick. Not even Fred or George Weasley had that much of a death-wish to even consider touching my broom.
Bell had kidnapped my broom. I've seen that girl fly: she has no sense of self-preservation. She's been through more broomsticks than I've had broken bones. She flies like a maniac. Now, I usually encourage this on the Quidditch pitch – she's our most unpredictable flier. You never know what the hell she's going to pull. But not with MY BROOM.
When I finally got out onto the Quidditch pitch, Fred, George and Harry were having their arses handed to them by my three Chasers. It was embarrassing for the whole male species. Only Harry played half-way decently. That boy is a one-man Quidditch team at times, I swear. It was good though, because Fred and George needed some humility to ground them. Unfortunately, so does Bell.
I got hold of one of the spare brooms from the boy's locker rooms and flew up there, intent on teaching Bell a lesson. Right at the last second I decreased speed, deciding against knocking Bell off her – MY – broomstick, because we were sort of 20 feet or so up in the air. Either that, or the spare broom was like 50 years old and couldn't go any faster anyway. So I just bumped her a bit.
Bell wheeled around, fire in her eyes. Ah, my little hell-fire shows her true colours. "Dammit Fred, watch where you're going!" She yelled, eyes widening and a guilty look flashing over her face when she realised it was me. Now it's time to teach Katrina Anne Bell a lesson in humility. First, a little guilt trip, I think.
"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!" She looked a little hurt I was targeting her specifically, and I felt a little bad. But not for too long.
"Wood," She had her sarcastic, screwed up, constipated face on now, "It's 5:30 in the morning. The whole Quidditch team is out on the Quidditch pitch, in their Quidditch robes, with their Quidditch gear (FALSE – the Weasley's were in their pajamas. Score 1 to me), playing Quidditch. I'd call that a 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, which would consist of us having to perform sloth rolls and starfishes just to keep hold of the Quaffle. It's Quidditch, Wood, not rocket science. Lighten up."
Hang on, this wasn't part of the plan. I was supposed to be making her feel bad, not the other way around. Bell is the only person in the known world that can do that that to me. I can stay up all night and devise the most perfect, fool proof Quidditch game plan, guaranteed to win us every match of the year hands-down, and then in a few short seconds over the breakfast table, Bell can pick out at least a dozen faults with it and send me crashing and burning back down to earth. So yeah, I was sort of pissed off she was criticising my Quidditch plays in front of everyone. There's a time and place for everything, and it was not here.
"Bell, you're suspended from practise. You can wait on the benches until after we finish." So I can spend all of practise time thinking of some smart-arse comments to finally beat you at your own game.
Now, I may not be able to beat Bell, but I know my own team members. I pretty much anticipated her reaction. She pelted her Quaffle at me. I caught it easily. Score one for the Keeper. I pegged it back at her. She missed. Ha! Score two for the Quidditch Captain. And then she did something I didn't quite foresee. She charged at me on her – MY – broom, launching herself straight at me, and as we crashed to the ground my life flashed before me. I saw every Quidditch game I ever played, in minute glorious detail… Damn, in second year I made the best save ever against Ravenclaw…I should really teach the team that move…Damn, I look good in scarlet robes…
I landed heavily. Bell landed even more heavily. On top of me.
"Ooof." I choked. This would have to be the one scenario in the whole world where having a girl on top of me was not what I wanted. And then she purposefully dug her elbow in hard between my ribs as she struggled into sitting position. Still on top of me. If I wasn't in so much pain, I would be worried about having kinky dreams about my best Chaser. But I was in far, far, FAR too much pain for that thought to even cross my mind. Admittedly, the thought flittered across my mind. Very quickly. Just once. It crossed my mind so fast it barely had time to register. So it doesn't count. I mean, I think I just cracked a rib. And Bell was trying her hardest to bruise a few more.
"You, Oliver Wood, are a right royal Scottish bastard." She managed to raise herself to sitting position, but she made no attempt to stop straddling me. By now the pain was receding slightly, and that bloody sexy thought involving Bell sidled more slowly across my brain. Lingered, more like it. And then she slapped me. Thank Merlin for that. I was supposed to punch her in the shoulder in retaliation. I tried. But bloody hell, she was sitting over me and all I could think was:
Bell has boobs. Okay, try not to look at them. I mean, you're at a pretty good angle to check them out, but under no circumstances are you allowed to. She is your team member. And she will kill you. Several times over. Do not think about it, Wood. You're already having inappropriate thoughts. Just get her the hell off you. Punch her in the shoulder. And make sure you don't hit her in the boobs, for Merlin's sake man. Aim higher! Higher!
And that's how I accidentally punched her in the eye. At least it got her off me. I could think clearly again. And I could breathe a bit too, that was also helpful. It was completely and totally an accident, as you can see. But there was no way in hell Bell would think it was an accident.
"You hit me." She said in a small hurt voice, more like a question, like she couldn't believe I'd hit her. She unconsciously raised her hand to just underneath her eye. Merlin knows she's deserved a few well-placed punches over her lifetime, but bloody hell, with that look on her face I just wanted to hug her and apologise profusely several hundred times over.
I was just about to take her into my arms when she head-butted me in the stomach. Okay, I know now I definitely have a shattered rib or two. And I so did not want to hug her anymore. I wanted to strangle her. Holy hell did that hurt like hell. Instinctively, years of wrestling with my brothers took over. I wrapped my arms over her back and pushed her backwards. So, technically, Bell got her hug after all. It seems Bell must have brothers of her own or something, because she shoved me right back. Stubborn mule that she is.
"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." I threatened.
"Wood, it's a flying branch. Relax. You need to find yourself a girl, mate."
"Maybe I've already found one. Or several." I shot back defensively. Bell just snorted in contempt. I should be offended. Bell is quite a tomboy, and at times I think it's cute. It's certainly better for the team if she's not concerned with girl stuff all the time: apparently Cho Chang cries every time she breaks a nail during practise. But to be honest, snorting is not Bell's most endearing habit.
"Oliver Wood, you're too obsessed with Quidditch to ever have a girlfriend."
Okay, she has a point there. I've had a few girlfriends over the years, but they tend to fade away when the Quidditch season begins. But I'm Captain, I have a commitment to my team and my house.
"I'm the Quidditch Captain, Bell. I have a commitment to Quidditch. And I'm the Captain. Me, Oliver Wood. Not you. Say it! Wood is the Captain!"
Now, I'm a Quidditch Captain for good reason. I have a very competitive nature. And unfortunately, at times that competitive nature may get the best of me. For example, it means I never back down from a fight or an argument, when for various reasons I should. For example, I shouldn't have picked a fight with Flint last year because I was heavily and obviously outnumbered. And right now, I should back down a bit from this fight with Bell, because I easily outweigh her and if I don't stop now, I'm going to get too caught up and end up injuring her.
That logical reasoning was all well and good, but before I could help myself I sort of accidentally-on-purpose hit her in the kidneys. Whoops. I knew I'd end up injuring her sooner or later. I hope I didn't hurt her too much.
HOLY BLOODY HELL SWEET MERLIN AND MARY MOTHER OF GOD. She kicked me in the balls.
"You…kicked me…in the balls." I choked out in a small, hurt voice; more like a question of disbelief.
"Um…er…ouch…well then…I guess practise is postponed…indefinitely." George peered over my prone form, wincing in sympathy for me. Yeah, we've all been there: feel a brother's pain.
"I don't think there'll be any little Wood's flying around on miniature broomsticks anytime soon." Thanks Fred. I hope you get dragon mumps off Bill and can never have children either. It would save the next generation having to put up with another dose of Weasley pranks.
"You may all thank me later." Bell panted. I've created a monster. That girl is evil incarnate.
"Practise… 4 o'clock… this afternoon," I managed to wheeze. That is commitment for you. I wasn't going to be able to ride a broom for weeks. Fred and George dragged my sorry carcass off to the castle to Charm some peas frozen for me.
Next chapter: Katie's got to find a way to cheer Oliver up after they lose the Hufflepuff match. Hmmmm...
