A/N_ I'm very, very sorry. I know you all probably hate me for taking so long, but I'm going to try and defend myself. Track. lots of it. everyday. even during easter holiday. SO yeah. Track.

Disclaimer: Remember. I run in circles for fun…?

She's a Liability

Ever the Optimist

"You'll be with us," one of the chasers called to me, tossing a quaffle back and forth between his hands. He had spiky black hair, and his actions were swift and his fingers fluid. I resisted the urge to track the ball with my eyes, and instead smiled at him. Oh, the perils of being easily distracted. "I'm Henry, by the way," he introduced himself, extending a worn in hand... "And this is Josclind," he said, with a nod towards the severe, focused raven-haired women sitting astride a broom next to him. As if I needed an introduction. It was Henry Ghent and Josclind Wadcock for Merlin's sake. I had only watched them play since I was in third year.

"Nice you meet you," I offered trying not to seem too obsessive and excited, and not at all like I'd had a poster of this very team on my wall at Hogwarts for a good 4 years. Henry smiled, and tossed me the quaffle. Josclind merely nodded curtly. I attempted a small smile and felt my courage fail. I was mere feet from the people I'd idolized for years. I believe I'm allowed a bit of shock and mental overload.

"And you've already met Oliver, yes?" Henry said, nodding over my shoulder. I turned to see my favorite maniacal quidditch captain grinning at me. But it wasn't just any grin. It was the "I'm-Oliver-Wood-and-I'm-going-to-kick-your-arse" grin. I named it. Because it's his favorite, and usually occurs right before I'm supposed to attempt to score on said captain. This is exactly why, when Henry told me seconds later that we were in fact, going to do so, I wasn't surprised.

At that moment, I flashed the "Katie-Bell-is-going-to-kill-Oliver-Wood-Grin." Because it's my favorite.

For the first time in many years, I was hovering, quaffle in hand, in front of Oliver Wood. My objective was simple: score. It sounded simple, anyway, when Henry had explained it. He had a very soothing voice. And in theory, it was simple. Just pitch the ball through one of three hoops, right? Wrong. In reality, I realized I was 50 feet in the air, developed a sudden, inexplicable fear of heights, and Oliver Wood appeared to have grown 30 feet since the last team I'd seen him. Did I really do this every week at Hogwarts? Along with my spontaneous fear of heights, I began to doubt everything I ever knew about quidditch. I doubted the lessons trained into my muscles. Lessons that the keeper in front of me had taken special care to beat into me through hard work.

"Never let them intimidate you," was number one. Already I was failing miserably- the gigantic stadium with its perfectly manicured field had seen to that. Add in the distraction of meeting my sports heroes, and I was worse than Snape in a beauty supply store. Plus, Oliver Wood seemed a whole lot scarier than normal- which was odd, considering I'm not afraid of him. Suddenly, he seemed a whole lot stronger than I remembered, with tan skin and an awfully determined expression.

Taking a shaky breath, I sat a little straighter on my broom. I could tell that the monster in front of me was already analyzing me, as his eyes were skimming over my position, lingering of my grip and seat on the broom, as if he could read my mind. He was cold, cruel and confident. And I was in big trouble. But I couldn't let him know that. If he sensed even the slightest hesitation, or weakness, he, tactician that he was, would exploit it ruthlessly. I met his eyes and stared back fiercely, daring him in my head to back down. Inside, I was terrified. In fact, inside I was a little kid wetting my pants. But let Oliver Wood know that? Never.

I faked left and passed right. I shouldn't have- it was the most basic move in the book, and both Oliver and I knew it. He caught it easily, and with a slight smile, tossed it back. I felt a deep crimson heat on my cheekbones, and bit the inside of my check, as I often did when I was agitated, or nervous. I passed it to Henry, for his turn. Oliver stopped his attempt as well, as well as Josclind's. Feeling perhaps a little better, I reset myself and tried again. He caught it again, but on the tips of his fingers.

"Come on Bell! I taught you better than that!" he bellowed, after the fifth time. I'd nearly had him on the last one, a reverse swerve, but he still managed to hang on to the quaffle for the save. Frustrated, I pelted it back with increased venom. It was a knee-jerk reaction, and I watched, biting my lip, as it hurtled towards his head. It was on a crash course with my dear ex-quidditch captain's lovely, although perhaps oversized head. If it made contact, I was so dead. Like six-feet-under-in-less-than-a -second dead. I half-wanted to see it smash into his head- the thrill of daring to be bad ad all that, plus the mere fact that he deserved it, but fortunately he ducked and it flew past his head and into the hoop. Oliver Wood's Quidditch Rules Number Two: Anger is good. Except when directed at Captain.

He watched the trajectory in shock and then glared at me. "That was deliberate!" he shouted, face red at the edges. Danger. I felt like tell him 'damn right it was,' but instead, I restrained myself. Instead, I accepted the quaffle with a look of almost remorse and replied:

"Sorry Wood. Lost my grip." It was day one, and I didn't need Puddlemere's Keeper mad at me. Even if that keeper was Oliver Wood. And he totally deserved it. He looked as if he might yell some more (he loved it so) but the coach must have given him a look, because he just swallowed and told me to be more careful next time. Unpunished murder attempt on Oliver Wood. That has to be some sort of record.

I slipped normal clothes on my clean limbs after practice ended two hours later. I was sufficiently sore, even though the workout was much less intense than the suicide pace Carnell had forced upon us. I tied my shoes, and placed my broom in the locker they'd set aside for me. Inside, I'd found a uniform with my name on the back, and a whole set of brand new, top of the line gear. I had to say, I was impressed. Being the girl that I was, I immediately had to examine every bit of it, just to revel in the awesomeness of it all. There were knee guards with leather so new it shone, gloves that were soft as cotton but grippy like rubber, and arm braces with straps that would magically adjust themselves. I was in quidditch heaven.

I was drooling over the knee pads when Josclind walked in from the showers, already dressed. Reluctantly putting the knee braces away, I dusted off my knees and stood up. I shut the locker. She said nothing, just continued on her way as if I wasn't even in the room. She tossed her own immaculate pads into the locker. I scuffed the toe of my sneakers on the locker room floor. I cleared my throat. She continued to ignore me.

"I... err… it was nice to meet you," I offered haltingly, and then immediately regretted it as soon as the words were formed and past my lips. I could have hardly made myself sound more unintelligent. She sighed through her nose, as if annoyed, then fixed me with a piercing brown.

"Look," she said. "You seem like a smart girl. A little 'aw, shucks, mister' for me, but still." She finished putting her things away and shut the locker. Then, she fixed me again with that awful stare. I felt exposed. "I'm not here to make friends," she continued. "I'm here to play quidditch. All of us are." She rubbed her hands together and raised her eyebrows at me. "I don't hate you. I just don't have the time for you. For all I know you could be the nicest person in the world. In fact, from what I've heard, you probably are. And maybe that's why I'm making this clear to you now. Fantastic. You can be Mother Theresa. As long as you're a good quidditch player, I don't care. I'm here to win." She tied her shoes idly. "We square?" all I could do was nod. Then, she clapped me on the shoulder and left. I stood for a little while longer, reeling, then followed suit, still shaking my head.

I stepped out of the locker room, and was about to apperate home, when who should I catch sight of? Oliver Wood of course. I smiled, and jogged to catch up to him. "So how's Amira?" I joked, nudging his shoulder. He looked around, confused, and noticed it was me. His ears turned a wonderful shade of pink, and he shoved me back.

"Fine," he answered simply, to try and put me off. We walked in silence for a moment, as I waited for him to elaborate. I should have just hit him over the head with a brick- the boy doesn't do subtle.

"Aaannnnnnnddddd?" I prodded him. He looked at me blankly. I felt like slapping my forehead with the flat of my hand. I ended up scoffing and rolling my eyes instead. "Details, Wood! I'm a girl. I have to know things!" Another shoulder bump. He folded his arms.

"So now you decide to be a girl," he growled, eyes rolling.

"I've always been a girl," I reminded him. "You've just been too busy to notice." I fluttered my eyelashes at him daintily.

"How convenient," he said acidly. I wrinkled my nose at him. He cast me a dark look. I responded by cheerily grinning at him, flashing a bright smile. I find it ruins his day. That's the best thing about being an optimist- you get to be happy all the time, and as an effect, piss other people off. Especially Oliver Wood. You can never be happy in his presence. It wrecks his dark aura.

"My timing is impeccable," I said in the sweetest of tones, ever the sunny blonde. He glowered at me.

"Except in quidditch," he replied, sticking out his tongue. Somehow, it kind of hurt. "You kind of sucked today." I glared at him, stung. By the end, I had landed several shots- I thought I hadn't done that badly.

"Wow, Oliver, tell me how you really feel," I replied bitterly. From inside my pocket, I flicked my wand at him and set a tickling curse at him, thinking the incantation in my head, rather than aloud, so he'd be caught unawares. A most peculiar look crossed his face as the first effects of the magic began to take effect. He was fighting the laughter that was bubbling up inside of him, which was so powerful he began to convulse uncontrollably. I eyed him with a slight air of apprehension, mixed in with poor restraint. I was two breaths from a giggle fit. To the unenlightened outsider, it might have looked like the boy was having a seizure. Finally, the laughter broke loose, and he fell to the ground, laughing hysterically. He held his sides as they heaved, laughing. I raised an eyebrow at him, in a surprised, doe-eyed manner. He was breathless and groping for his wand, which I took into my possession. For his own good of course.

"Bell you-"he choked out, wheezing. I smiled coyly and waited until he could finally squeeze the words out. "Are. So. Dead," he finished, between gasps. I wasn't worried. I'm faster than him. I think. I dangled his wand above his head, just out of reach.

"Say you're sorry," I ordered, enjoying the death glare I received.

"Bell," he said in his warning tone. I raised my eyebrows at him and raised my wand. He rolled his eyes. I jabbed it at him, and increased the intensity of the spell. He laughed harder, until he couldn't breathe, and then fell silent, even as he was still wheezing. I raised an eyebrow. Then he jumped again, but this time, grabbed my leg. "Give. Me. The. Wand." He said in his best threatening voice. It might have been scary, except for the fact that he ruined the fact by giggling uncontrollably between words.

"After you say sorry," I told him. Instead, he took a swipe at the thin wooden rod, and missed, because he was laughing so hard. Tears were in his eyes, and he couldn't see. Oh, it was beautiful. Then, he latched onto my knees and brought me to the ground with a great thump, as I was caught off guard. "Hey!" I protested. He had managed to find his wand. Oh shi---- I mean, Merlin. (In case you haven't noticed, I've been trying to swear a little less lately. Alicia says it makes me sound unintelligent. Usually I wouldn't give rat's ars— I mean, bum, but she's really persistent. I've learned it's easier just to agree with her.) Standing up, he wiped the water from his face. From my position on the ground, he was quite monstrous and towered over me. I grinned sheepishly. He seemed to be considering how best to torture me. In fact, I believe he was delighting in it, because he was taking his time. Time that I was using to formulate a plan. I might need it.

Oliver Wood, as we all know, is definitely a jock. Obviously, considering he's a professional quidditch player. But what people don't usually know is he's actually pretty smart sometimes. He had to be, to get all his homework done during the few moments he let us rest between practices. In fact, if he had actually tried, and hadn't spent most of his time thinking about quidditch, he might have been closer to the top of his class. He did manage to get into McGonagall's NEWT class, anyway. As it was, he is Oliver Wood, and his brain without quidditch is fried, and he ended up in the middle 30s of his class. His grades weren't Hermione Granger caliber, but then, whose are? If he put his mind to it, he might be able to cause some actual damage. (Then again, it is Wood.)

And, not to toot my own horn, but when it comes to on the fly spell work, I'm pretty inventive. I've had to be, living around Fred and George for this long. I also wriggled my way into McGonagall's NEWT level class, and loved charms. I was good at Defense against the Dark Arts, especially in the year Lupin taught- he was one of the best teachers I've ever had. Admittedly, my potions work is a little shabby, but I think that had more to do with Snape than with me. (Actually, that was a lie. I'm terrible at potions. I blew a cauldron up once, in my fourth year. I got a week of detentions for that. Oh, you should have seen the look on Wood's face when I told him I couldn't practice- you might have thought I told him I thought quidditch was for losers at that he was a slimy git. Oh, Merlin- his face was magenta. I thought he was going to snap me in half. Luckily, I'd decided to inform him in a public place- too many witnesses.)

"Hiya Wood," I said cheerily, with a sheepish expression. I rose to my feet. He was shaking his head. I detected a hint of a smile. Oh good, he isn't mad. Red and friends walked by on the top of the hill.

"Cya Katie!" he bellowed, waving. "Later, Wood!" I smiled widely and waved. He noticed our drawn wands. "You're not going to kill each other, are you?"

"No," I said, at the same time as Oliver said "Possibly." I whipped Oliver's wand away from him. Red laughed.

"I like her," he said for the second time that day, and then continued up the path without another word. I grinned after him; Wood glared.

"Now don't change the subject," I said as he turned back to face me. My voice was slightly darker. "Is she nice?"

"I…err…" he began intelligently. His ears were as red as the Gryffindor crest. I raised an eyebrow, wondering if I'd have to beat it out of him.

"Is she pretty?" I taunted, drawing out the last word just to tease him. He rolled his eyes, a habit of his lately, and took a half-hearted swipe at my hair, which I easily dodged. The end of my ponytail flicked out of his reach. "Violence, Wood," I reminded him happily. "We don't hit girls."

"Oh, you hardly count," he replied, grinning and swatting at me again. I feigned offense, hands on hips. He raised an eyebrow, slightly amused.

"I resent that."

"You kick too much butt to be a girl." I snorted. He's actually kind of being nice. "And do stuff like that," he added. "Nasal explosions are not lady-like."

"Oh shut up."

"And that. Rude." I smacked him on the shoulder. "And that," he listed. I crossed my eyes and stuck out my tongue. "Oh that's attractive," he said sarcastically. "I can't see why the boys aren't lining up for you."

"Quidditch is my boyfriend," I said in decidedly poor imitation of his distinctive accent. He scowled, and stuck out his tongue. (In a very mature manner, I might add. Not.) Then, lightning fast, he released my indignant, messy hair from the band that restrained it. Face boastful, he then stretched it across two fingers, and fired it in my face. I glared at him as it hit my forehead. He smiled a wicked little boy grin, freed his wand from my fingers, and then proceeded to apperate before I could smack him around a bit more. I scowled at the empty space he'd been occupying a few moments before. Then, I belatedly realized he also avoided my question. I scowled and put my hair up. Bugger.