A/N: I guess I should start with my ritual apology for the fact it takes me
so damn long to write these chapters. The truth is I have several chapters
written - they're just not revised or typed up yet. And believe me, it's
hard getting time on the computer in my house. I regret to announce that I
simply don't have time to send shoutouts to every single reviewer. =-(
Well, I mean I do, only then it would take me two months between chapters
instead of one . . . Anyways, if you particularly want to talk to me (can't
think why you would, but crazier things have been done . . .), feel free to
read my bio and email me. Anyways, here's the concluding section of chapter
ten.
*
ON WITH THE FIC!!!
*
.- ~*~ -.
Disclaimer: Is this actually a legal requirement? Or do people just put disclaimers in to make themselves look cool?
.- ~*~ -.
Relating Relations ~ Chapter Ten: Part Three: The All-Important Game
In the end it was Alicia who convinced me to come down to the locker rooms. I changed in sulky silence, wondering why it couldn't have been Oliver.
I felt guilty though. I mean, he had a point - I had been really mean to him. And apparently I hadn't even succeeded in my purpose - he didn't hate me! How could he not? I mean I still wanted him to talk to me, I just wanted him to leave me alone. No, wait . . . I mean I still wanted to be civil acquaintances, but not anything closer. So I should have been glad he didn't come to coerce me out of my dorm. Right?
I sighed, and rested my head against the cool locker.
A hand rubbed my back. "Are you OK?"
I turned around to face him. "As if you really cared," I said with an attempt at distant nonchalance.
Oliver just looked at me and slowly raised an eyebrow. I broke into a smile. Yeah, he saw right through me. He always does.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you," I mumbled.
"Well whenever you feel you can tell me what's going on, let me know, alright? This isn't like you, and we both know it." What was that about him seeing through me? What about the letter? What if he didn't believe it? I felt strangely happy for a moment before reminding myself that that was a bad thing. Shit. All that emotional uproar for nothing.
I remembered that Oliver was still standing there. I slipped on my gauntlets and smiled at him.
"Let's go pound them."
My problems could wait until *after* the game.
Oliver gave me a smile and then snapped back to captain mode. Gathering the team about him, he led us out onto the pitch.
I saw rather than heard the crowd yelling. I walked in my own world, concentrating on the new play Wood had taught us last practice. Feint down, then up, then spin and layback for the give-n-go. I touched the turf, scooping a little of the muddy grass up to stuff under my sock for good luck.
"Captains, shake hands."
I sent calming vibes to Oliver, but they didn't seem to soften the murderous glare he was giving Flint.
"Mount your brooms."
I clambered onto my Cleansweep Seven, stroking its handle soothingly as I felt it quiver with excitement. Finicky things, broomsticks.
"Three . . . two . . . one . . ."
We were off. Alicia took immediate possession of the Quaffle, and I fell into formation. Soaring along I cared only about the Cup.
I swerved to avoid a Bludger just as Alicia passed me the Quaffle, and Warrington intercepted. I tore back after him.
CRUNCH.
George Weasley got him first. Let's hope he broke something.
Ange grabbed the Quaffle and sped away. I kept Warrington at bay, crossing my broom in front of his. Ange deked Montague, and-
"Ange! Duck!" I yelled.
She ducked and rolled to avoid the Bludger, and buried the Quaffle in the right hoop.
"Yes!" I screamed with the crowd. Ange and I exchanged grins, and then she was spiralling out of control dangerously close to the ground.
"Sorry!" called Flint. "Sorry, didn't see her."
Like hell he didn't.
I saw a scarlet movement out of the corner of my eye and then Flint's nose was gushing courtesy of Fred Weasley's bat. I sighed. Honestly. Couldn't he just leave it at increasing our lead? Why waste it?
Sure enough, Madam Hooch awarded a penalty to the Slytherins as well as to us. Testosterone. I ask you.
Alicia put the Quaffle away no problem. Then it was Flint's turn.
"Come on, come on . . . you can do it Oliver," I muttered.
Flint flew forward. He aimed left, feinted right, and shot to the left. The Quaffle spiralled towards the hoop . . . and straight into Oliver's outstretched hands.
I let out a proud whoop. Oliver gave me an infectious grin as he threw me the Quaffle. I feinted down, then up, and spun away from Montague's clutching hands to toss it back to Alicia. I received the give-n- go and we were off again.
A few minutes later, I dodged Warrington and pelted forwards to find only Montague between myself and a thirty-nil lead. I came level with him, then quickly stopped and reversed, letting him soar out over the crowd. I lay against my broom, urging it forwards.
Then suddenly my neck jerked and I was cartwheeling through the air. A lucky grab found my broomstick again as Madam hooch blew her whistle. I clambered back on, moved my neck to assure myself of no serious damage, and shot Montague a contemptuous look. Cheater.
Madam Hooch sent him away with a flea in his ear, and I got my thirty- nil lead.
The next piece of excitement came as I circled, marking Flint. I saw Harry go into a dive, and for a moment I doubted the boy's mental arithmetic. Then I saw Oliver determinedly not looking at his right goal post, where I glimpsed a shimmer of gold.
I sneered at Flint as Harry's quick maneuvering sent the two Slytherin Beaters crashing into each other, and hurtled down to complete the Barkov Bend. Angelina streaked up the pitch neck and neck with Flint, and lost possession as a Bludger sped past her right ear. Flint caught it and sped away towards Oliver, who looked very small from my distance.
Flint shot high, with so much force that Oliver's hand was pushed back through the hoop. I swore in unison with Lee up in the commentator's box. The Slytherins cheered. Oliver sent me an apologetic look and I shrugged.
We'd get it back.
.~*~.
Half an hour later we were leading 70-20 thanks to two more ridiculous fouls, a spectacular save by Oliver, and a goal apiece for Lish and I. We also had an injured Keeper - two Bludgers to the stomach will do that.
Anytime now, Harry.
As if he'd heard me, Harry suddenly shot upwards, his hand outstretched. Before he could clinch the victory, however, his broom slowed down and stopped.
That rotten, stinky, slimy, good-for-nothing, blankety-blankety-blank- blanking MALFOY!!! He had grabbed the tail of Harry's Firebolt and was hanging on for dear life.
Madam Hooch's whistle sounded again, and she screeched at Malfoy for a good five minutes. It wouldn't be her fault it the bastard could still hear this evening.
Alicia took the penalty, but threw it well wide in her anger. I chanced a look back at Oliver. I had thought his stare murderous before, but that look paled in comparison to the daggers he was now glaring at Malfoy. It would almost be worth losing the match to watch Wood kill Malfoy. At least Oliver could put it towards his community service credits.
We struggled to regain our composure as the Slytherins continued to foul us left, right, and centre. I really need to look up a jinx against Slytherin gropers. Yech.
Oliver got control of himself, and quickly restored our calm by yelling at us in his most customary drill sergeant's voice.
"Smooth swing, Fred! Tighten up-crisp passes, girls!"
"Ladies!" I yelled back at him, pulling a face.
He rolled his eyes. "Harry - HURRY UP!!!"
I snatched the Quaffle from Flint and hurtled straight at Warrington, who quickly got out of the way. I passed to Alicia, who quickly passed to Angelina below her. Suddenly my check had disappeared. I looked around to see six green players converging on Angelina. I froze. She'd be smashed to smithereens!
Before I could do anything a red blur zoomed towards the group. Harry. The Slytherins scattered. Ange soared to the undefended hoops as the crowd took a collective breath. Despite Wood's lectures on concentration, I glanced over my shoulder.
Shit. Malfoy was diving, miles ahead of Harry.
"GO, HARRY!" I heard Wood roar.
As Harry dove I heard Lee proclaim, "SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor lead by eighty points to twenty!"
Good girl, Angelina.
Keeper Bletchley didn't even bother to throw the Quaffle back to centre field. He just tossed it idly from hand to hand, a satisfied smirk on his ugly face. Ooooh I think I just found my inner testosterone . . .
I snapped my attention back to Malfoy to avoid attacking Bletchley. I almost did a double take-Harry was drawing level!
Maybe we had a chance?
Only 30 feet to go . . .
Harry threw himself forwards, grabbing with both hands, and pulled out of his dive. For a split second there was silence, and then the stadium erupted.
We had won.
.~*~.
Fifteen minutes later I was still sobbing uncontrollably and hugging everyone at random. I couldn't compete with Oliver, though,-he was sobbing so profusely he could have filled the Cup in ten seconds flat. He lifted the Cup high above his head, and I beamed through my tears even as the crowd did the impossible and increased in volume.
We were borne away on the shoulders of the red-and-gold crowd. Only when Oliver insisted that no, people not registered on the team were definitely not allowed in the locker rooms did they let us down.
Oliver hugged each of his players before dismissing them to the showers, saving me for last. Pulling me into a bear hug, Oliver whispered ecstatically into my ear.
"We won it, Kat! We finally won it!"
"Was there ever any doubt?" I asked teasingly.
"Not once you said it would happen." He grinned cheekily. I rolled my eyes. Shameless flatterer. Gotta love him.
"Mmm, I love you Oliver," I whispered to his neck, and pulled his mouth down to mine. It took him a moment or two to recover from shock and kiss me back. As his tongue pressed insistently against my lips I regained my senses. My euphoria dropped away as quickly as it had arrived with Harry's superb capture.
I did the only sensible thing: I ran.
.- ~*~ -.
THAT'S ALL, FOLKS!
Toodleoo.
.-MadMadamMim--.
*
ON WITH THE FIC!!!
*
.- ~*~ -.
Disclaimer: Is this actually a legal requirement? Or do people just put disclaimers in to make themselves look cool?
.- ~*~ -.
Relating Relations ~ Chapter Ten: Part Three: The All-Important Game
In the end it was Alicia who convinced me to come down to the locker rooms. I changed in sulky silence, wondering why it couldn't have been Oliver.
I felt guilty though. I mean, he had a point - I had been really mean to him. And apparently I hadn't even succeeded in my purpose - he didn't hate me! How could he not? I mean I still wanted him to talk to me, I just wanted him to leave me alone. No, wait . . . I mean I still wanted to be civil acquaintances, but not anything closer. So I should have been glad he didn't come to coerce me out of my dorm. Right?
I sighed, and rested my head against the cool locker.
A hand rubbed my back. "Are you OK?"
I turned around to face him. "As if you really cared," I said with an attempt at distant nonchalance.
Oliver just looked at me and slowly raised an eyebrow. I broke into a smile. Yeah, he saw right through me. He always does.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you," I mumbled.
"Well whenever you feel you can tell me what's going on, let me know, alright? This isn't like you, and we both know it." What was that about him seeing through me? What about the letter? What if he didn't believe it? I felt strangely happy for a moment before reminding myself that that was a bad thing. Shit. All that emotional uproar for nothing.
I remembered that Oliver was still standing there. I slipped on my gauntlets and smiled at him.
"Let's go pound them."
My problems could wait until *after* the game.
Oliver gave me a smile and then snapped back to captain mode. Gathering the team about him, he led us out onto the pitch.
I saw rather than heard the crowd yelling. I walked in my own world, concentrating on the new play Wood had taught us last practice. Feint down, then up, then spin and layback for the give-n-go. I touched the turf, scooping a little of the muddy grass up to stuff under my sock for good luck.
"Captains, shake hands."
I sent calming vibes to Oliver, but they didn't seem to soften the murderous glare he was giving Flint.
"Mount your brooms."
I clambered onto my Cleansweep Seven, stroking its handle soothingly as I felt it quiver with excitement. Finicky things, broomsticks.
"Three . . . two . . . one . . ."
We were off. Alicia took immediate possession of the Quaffle, and I fell into formation. Soaring along I cared only about the Cup.
I swerved to avoid a Bludger just as Alicia passed me the Quaffle, and Warrington intercepted. I tore back after him.
CRUNCH.
George Weasley got him first. Let's hope he broke something.
Ange grabbed the Quaffle and sped away. I kept Warrington at bay, crossing my broom in front of his. Ange deked Montague, and-
"Ange! Duck!" I yelled.
She ducked and rolled to avoid the Bludger, and buried the Quaffle in the right hoop.
"Yes!" I screamed with the crowd. Ange and I exchanged grins, and then she was spiralling out of control dangerously close to the ground.
"Sorry!" called Flint. "Sorry, didn't see her."
Like hell he didn't.
I saw a scarlet movement out of the corner of my eye and then Flint's nose was gushing courtesy of Fred Weasley's bat. I sighed. Honestly. Couldn't he just leave it at increasing our lead? Why waste it?
Sure enough, Madam Hooch awarded a penalty to the Slytherins as well as to us. Testosterone. I ask you.
Alicia put the Quaffle away no problem. Then it was Flint's turn.
"Come on, come on . . . you can do it Oliver," I muttered.
Flint flew forward. He aimed left, feinted right, and shot to the left. The Quaffle spiralled towards the hoop . . . and straight into Oliver's outstretched hands.
I let out a proud whoop. Oliver gave me an infectious grin as he threw me the Quaffle. I feinted down, then up, and spun away from Montague's clutching hands to toss it back to Alicia. I received the give-n- go and we were off again.
A few minutes later, I dodged Warrington and pelted forwards to find only Montague between myself and a thirty-nil lead. I came level with him, then quickly stopped and reversed, letting him soar out over the crowd. I lay against my broom, urging it forwards.
Then suddenly my neck jerked and I was cartwheeling through the air. A lucky grab found my broomstick again as Madam hooch blew her whistle. I clambered back on, moved my neck to assure myself of no serious damage, and shot Montague a contemptuous look. Cheater.
Madam Hooch sent him away with a flea in his ear, and I got my thirty- nil lead.
The next piece of excitement came as I circled, marking Flint. I saw Harry go into a dive, and for a moment I doubted the boy's mental arithmetic. Then I saw Oliver determinedly not looking at his right goal post, where I glimpsed a shimmer of gold.
I sneered at Flint as Harry's quick maneuvering sent the two Slytherin Beaters crashing into each other, and hurtled down to complete the Barkov Bend. Angelina streaked up the pitch neck and neck with Flint, and lost possession as a Bludger sped past her right ear. Flint caught it and sped away towards Oliver, who looked very small from my distance.
Flint shot high, with so much force that Oliver's hand was pushed back through the hoop. I swore in unison with Lee up in the commentator's box. The Slytherins cheered. Oliver sent me an apologetic look and I shrugged.
We'd get it back.
.~*~.
Half an hour later we were leading 70-20 thanks to two more ridiculous fouls, a spectacular save by Oliver, and a goal apiece for Lish and I. We also had an injured Keeper - two Bludgers to the stomach will do that.
Anytime now, Harry.
As if he'd heard me, Harry suddenly shot upwards, his hand outstretched. Before he could clinch the victory, however, his broom slowed down and stopped.
That rotten, stinky, slimy, good-for-nothing, blankety-blankety-blank- blanking MALFOY!!! He had grabbed the tail of Harry's Firebolt and was hanging on for dear life.
Madam Hooch's whistle sounded again, and she screeched at Malfoy for a good five minutes. It wouldn't be her fault it the bastard could still hear this evening.
Alicia took the penalty, but threw it well wide in her anger. I chanced a look back at Oliver. I had thought his stare murderous before, but that look paled in comparison to the daggers he was now glaring at Malfoy. It would almost be worth losing the match to watch Wood kill Malfoy. At least Oliver could put it towards his community service credits.
We struggled to regain our composure as the Slytherins continued to foul us left, right, and centre. I really need to look up a jinx against Slytherin gropers. Yech.
Oliver got control of himself, and quickly restored our calm by yelling at us in his most customary drill sergeant's voice.
"Smooth swing, Fred! Tighten up-crisp passes, girls!"
"Ladies!" I yelled back at him, pulling a face.
He rolled his eyes. "Harry - HURRY UP!!!"
I snatched the Quaffle from Flint and hurtled straight at Warrington, who quickly got out of the way. I passed to Alicia, who quickly passed to Angelina below her. Suddenly my check had disappeared. I looked around to see six green players converging on Angelina. I froze. She'd be smashed to smithereens!
Before I could do anything a red blur zoomed towards the group. Harry. The Slytherins scattered. Ange soared to the undefended hoops as the crowd took a collective breath. Despite Wood's lectures on concentration, I glanced over my shoulder.
Shit. Malfoy was diving, miles ahead of Harry.
"GO, HARRY!" I heard Wood roar.
As Harry dove I heard Lee proclaim, "SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor lead by eighty points to twenty!"
Good girl, Angelina.
Keeper Bletchley didn't even bother to throw the Quaffle back to centre field. He just tossed it idly from hand to hand, a satisfied smirk on his ugly face. Ooooh I think I just found my inner testosterone . . .
I snapped my attention back to Malfoy to avoid attacking Bletchley. I almost did a double take-Harry was drawing level!
Maybe we had a chance?
Only 30 feet to go . . .
Harry threw himself forwards, grabbing with both hands, and pulled out of his dive. For a split second there was silence, and then the stadium erupted.
We had won.
.~*~.
Fifteen minutes later I was still sobbing uncontrollably and hugging everyone at random. I couldn't compete with Oliver, though,-he was sobbing so profusely he could have filled the Cup in ten seconds flat. He lifted the Cup high above his head, and I beamed through my tears even as the crowd did the impossible and increased in volume.
We were borne away on the shoulders of the red-and-gold crowd. Only when Oliver insisted that no, people not registered on the team were definitely not allowed in the locker rooms did they let us down.
Oliver hugged each of his players before dismissing them to the showers, saving me for last. Pulling me into a bear hug, Oliver whispered ecstatically into my ear.
"We won it, Kat! We finally won it!"
"Was there ever any doubt?" I asked teasingly.
"Not once you said it would happen." He grinned cheekily. I rolled my eyes. Shameless flatterer. Gotta love him.
"Mmm, I love you Oliver," I whispered to his neck, and pulled his mouth down to mine. It took him a moment or two to recover from shock and kiss me back. As his tongue pressed insistently against my lips I regained my senses. My euphoria dropped away as quickly as it had arrived with Harry's superb capture.
I did the only sensible thing: I ran.
.- ~*~ -.
THAT'S ALL, FOLKS!
Toodleoo.
.-MadMadamMim--.