She's a Liability

Shit Goes Down

"KATIE KATIE KATIE KATIE KATIE KATIE-"

I wrenched my door open to find that bloody wanker of a keeper nearly beating a hole through it with his fist. His hair was still tousled, he hadn't yet shaved, and it was pretty obvious he'd just thrown a shirt on because he hadn't bothered to pull it all the way down yet and the hem was floating somewhere over his navel. I blinked at the swatch of skin for a moment, noting with a somewhat bemused expression that, yes, Oliver Wood has abs. He tugged his shirt down impatiently.

"Oliver Oliver Oliver Oliver Oliver," I replied, in a sleepy sort of way. I'd just woken up, after all. I yawned and wiped the sleep out of my eyes. I didn't have a witty, brilliant response for him that early in the morning. So sue me. A girl can have her off mornings. He was literally bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"The Bats were disqualified," he said in a rush. "Their beaters got in a fight last night so the committee got together this morning and decided that they would disqualify them for unsportsmanlike conduct." He said that last bit so quickly it all sort of mushed together, so he sounded a bit like he was speaking rapid Norwegian.

"Bats," I repeated stupidly. What the hell is he talking about?

"The quidditch team we were supposed to play!" he exclaimed, borderline hysterical. Right. Quidditch. That sport I play for money. He shook his head and raked a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. I blinked at him again, stifling a yawn. "Honestly, you're really thick sometimes."

"Thanks," I said flatly. "That makes me feel all fuzzy inside." I paused for a moment to think while he looked annoyed at my sarcasm. He hates it when I don't take things seriously. Or when he thinks I'm not taking things seriously, but really it's only because it's the ass-crack of dawn and it's really hard to muster up the energy to have a god-damn opinion. "So does that mean we get a by into the third round?" I asked, concerned. "I sent my parents tickets, and I'd hate for them to miss it." He shook his head at me, impatiently.

"No. The tickets should be good," he said in a blur. "They brought the Magpies in, and redrew the seeds," he answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the entire world. "And guess who we drew?" I shrugged. He didn't wait for me to guess. "The Wasps."

I perked the hell up then.

"Dickhead's on that team!" I exclaimed, suddenly very awake. Wood was too wired to even get mad at me for swearing. Which is an uphill battle, by the way. I love swearing, and he knows that. "We better bloody beat him. Or I'm going to die trying." Wood nodded in agreement.

"Game's at nine tonight," he said, tapping his fingers on my door frame. "You wanna come watch film with me? Coach gave me the tapes; I have them in my room. I gotta study their chasers, they've got a different style than the Bats, so I really need to figure them out. I think maybe-" he was blabbering at full speed. I closed my eyes, suddenly very tired, shook my head, and disappeared into my room. I wanted to sleep. But he was right. If there was film, I should probably watch it. I tugged a sweatshirt over my head, grabbed a box of Lucky Charms from my bedside table, and shuffled into his room, where he was still talking like 90 miles a minute.

I didn't listen to a word he said, just plopped my ass down on his bed, in front of the ancient television he'd set in front of it, and opened my breakfast of marshmallow-y goodness. He'd kept his room pretty tidy. His uniform was hung lovingly, almost reverently on the outside of his wardrobe door. A few random clothing items were strewn on the desk, including a Puddlemere shirt. His shoes were in a pair by the door. I crossed my legs, and ate the cereal straight from the bag was he bustled about with tapes. When he'd finally stuck one in the right way (it took him at least three tries. Clearly he didn't take muggle studies) he sat down on the bed next to me. Then he leapt up suddenly as if he'd sat on a tack.

"I'm sorry, Katie, would you like some tea?" He asked, in a mad sort of way. He was being completely mental. I'm pretty sure if he tried to make tea in his current state he'd just slop boiling hot water all over himself.

"No, I'm fine thanks," I said, eyeing him warily. "I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself." He wasn't listening again, just prodding the television experimentally with his wand. The tapes began, and he sat back down again. The screen fluttered to life, tracking three chasers as they wove and ducked in and out of the other players to fire on goal.

"They don't work as a team," Wood remarked after a moment of silent viewing. I chewed my marshmallows thoughtfully. The boy had a point. They worked separately, hardly ever working as a unit. "If you can isolate them, you should be able to get the quaffle away from them pretty easily." I nodded, and pulled out another handful of cereal. He was momentarily distracted by the rustling of the paper. "What are you eating?"

"Lucky charms," I replied through a mouthful of them. He glanced at the screen again, debating whether or not food was more distracting than the tapes. Being male, his stomach won out, of course. He consulted the box, perhaps to check the nutritional content. Let me summarize it for you: "smiles, marshmallows and awesomeness." That's Lucky Charms. No daily value whatsoever, thank you very much.

"They're magically… delicious…" he read doubtfully. The leprechaun grinned op at him from a bowl brimming with rainbow goodness. He raised an eyebrow and gave me a very patient expression that somehow said 'you-are-the-most-bizarre-human-being-to-ever-walk-this-planet'. "What the hell, Katie?"

"Muggle food. They eat it for breakfast. Try it." I offered him some. He dubiously put a few in his mouth, and made a peculiar expression. He chewed thoughtfully.

"They're straight marshmallows!" he exclaimed. "They eat marshmallows for breakfast?"

"Well, not usually," I replied, pointing to the dry sort of cereal bits in the picture. They had tasted a bit papery, and somewhat like cardboard or packing peanuts. And yes, I've had both to compare. Don't ask why. "But I picked all the cereal bits out, so it's actually quite nice." He shook his head.

"These can't be good for you," he said, rolling one in his cheek. "Thought you were off sugar."

"They make me smile," I informed him. "Don't you want to see me happy?"

"No," he answered cheekily. "I want to see you kick ass and destroy the Wasps. Pay attention." He pointed back to the screen, and stretched out on the bed, head up where I was, perched on his elbows, eyes fixed on the screen again. He didn't take away my breakfast though, which was probably a good choice. I probably would have savaged him. As I was, I was pacified, and watched the chasers fly about on the screen.

"Roy's left is weaker," he remarked, brow furrowed in concentration as he tracked the quaffle's path. "See how he tilts to compensate?" Every few minutes or so he broke the silence in this manner, telling me some little tidbit I was supposed to file away for use in dismantling the other team. I lost myself in the flurry of the ball and the movements of the players. The monsters, my fears and inadequacies, crept in, but they were currently kept at bay, perhaps by the tapes. They prowled and circled, nipping at my heels every so often like hungry, mangy wolves.

I was so absorbed that I jumped when I felt a light touch on my leg. Goose bumps erupted in a small patch. Wood's hand brushed past it, lightly, on its way into the Lucky Charms box. He caught my eye and looked somewhat guilty, though he still smirked. "Shut up," he said, looking a bit sheepish as he, the health nut, downed another handful of my deliciously bad marshmallow cereal. He ignored me pointedly while he munched on the handful. I smirked, but, I think I deserve a little credit, I said nothing. I did, however, shift the Lucky Charms a little closer to him.

My parents showed up a bit later, knocking my door, one over. We were on our 5th film and half the Lucky Charms were gone. We were both on our stomachs, and he was blatantly eating the cereal, instead of trying to be stealthy. "That's probably them," I murmured, rubbing my eyes and sitting up with a yawn. Oliver yanked his eyes away from the screen.

"Your parents?" he asked, stretching. I yawned again, and nodded. I was exhausted just thinking about their visit. As I may have mentioned before, my mother is a complete helicopter-mum: hovering, uptight, worrisome. She was a bit hysterical at times, she constantly fretted about me, her only child, and honestly, she was emotionally draining. But my dad, a perfect foil, was about as even keeled as you could hope for. He was calm and methodical, and probably prouder of me than anyone had a right to be. Honestly, his chest swells just a bit every time he talks about his little girl playing professional quidditch. He and I have always got on well, weathering mum's storms with butterbeer and honeydukes stashed under floorboards.

"The woman said room 325," my dad was informing my mother in his typical, measured tempo. Mum continued rapping on my door smartly with her knuckles, her wedding ring knocking against the wooden door, hard. She muttered something I couldn't quite distinguish through Wood's door, but knowing my mother it was probably something perfectly type A. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, before I opened Wood's door.

"Hey mum, dad," I said, grinning sheepishly. My mother whirled around to face me, wearing an impeccably tailored black day dress and pearls. She was thinner than the last time I saw her, probably from eating all that organic food. How perfectly typical. Dad grinned. I crossed the space between us in two steps, and grinned into his plaid-colored shoulder, gripping him tight. He squeezed me back.

"Hey, kid," he said into my hair.

"I told you she got the room wrong," my mother informed my father triumphantly. "So unprofessional, they'll be-"

"Actually," I said, "325 is my room."

"What in the world were you doing in that room th-"my mother began, face scrunching up into her typical worrying, fretting, agonizing lines. Oliver appeared in the doorway behind me. She stopped short at the sight of him, rumpled and looking for all the world like he'd just gotten up. We were both still in pajamas. She gave him a thoroughly disapproving look.

"Morning Mrs. Bell, Mr. Bell," he greeted them politely, extending a hand to each. My mother shook it haughtily, still staring at him suspiciously. "My name's Oliver Wood, I'm keeper for Puddlemere." My dad was a bit warmer than psycho-mum, though a concern line was folded into his brow. He'd met Wood before, though it was several years past.

"Why aren't you in your own room?" Mum demanded, interrupting the introductions and I realized how very compromising Oliver and I turning up in the same room looking as if we'd just gotten up looked. I blushed furiously."You're not…"she looked between us significantly. Subtle, mum.

"God no," I said hurriedly.

"Absolutely not," Oliver added, looking completely and utterly embarrassed at even the thought.

"We were watching game film," I explained, moving aside so they could see the telly. "The Bats got disqualified, so we've got the Wasps tonight. Figured we'd better brush up on their offense." Dad, whose arms were crossed, gave me one long, x-ray look, reading my expression. He seemed to deduce that I was telling the truth, because he relaxed slightly.

"Good on you," he said approvingly. "How do you like the chances, Wood?" Oliver brightened up considerably, of course. They were discussing his favorite subject. I should have known he and dad would get on well. I snorted.

"I think we've got a shot," Oliver began, and they delved right into the thick of it, discussing strategy and defense. I would have liked to join in, but mum was looking edgy again, so I invited her in to my own room this time. Plus, my dad was endlessly patient and obsessed with quidditch. And Wood could talk a fish out of water if you gave him long enough.

I left the door open as my mum swept into the room. I wanted to be able to keep an eye on my dad and Wood. That was a terrible thing waiting to happen right there. Her eyes lingered on the pile of clothes I'd thrown in the corner, and the open wardrobe, which held that dangerous black dress and my other scattered clothing items. "So Oliver Wood, huh?" she asked, smirking like she knew exactly what I was up to. I mean, clearly I was shacking up with my keeper slash kind of best friend. Clearly. "He's rather dashing, isn't he?"

"Mum, no," I said, picking up a shirt and folding it. For appearances' sake. She sat primly down on the bed, which I'd failed to make. "I told you." Behind her, I was hurrying around, picking things up madly. I'm not afraid of much, but I'd say my mum ranks somewhere on that list. "We're just friends."

"You two seemed perfectly chummy, I only-" she began in that falsely innocent voice, glancing towards the door to peer again at the keeper. Yeah, I get it, okay? He's kind of adorable and rugged and shit. Shut up about it.

"You've been reading Witch Weekly again," I accused. She crossed her legs. "Mum, they're always running articles about me and Wood. And me and Red And me and Pter, which is ridiculous because he's got a girlfriend." I rolled my eyes. I didn't even bother anymore. "I'm not sleeping with all of them." I bustled over to the tea set and began preparing tea. Hopefully if she had something to drink she'd stop with the interrogation.

"Not all of them? Which one are you sleeping with, then?" She asked shrewdly. I winced.

"None of them. I phrased that weird." I tapped the tea pot with my wand. It rose to a rapid boil, and I dropped a few tea bags in. "How many sugars would you like?"

"None dear, I'm off processed sugar," she said. I raised my eyebrows, but because my back was turned, she didn't see. She didn't take milk or cream either, so I brought her a mug of it, earl grey. "Thank you," she murmured, taking a long sip, eyes closed. She finally looked somewhat calmer. Travelling always stressed her out. And, by default, when she's stressed, everyone's stressed. She examined me over the steam. "You're looking a bit skinny," she remarked.

"I've been eating everything in sight," I said, waving my wand at the clothes in the corner. They straightened themselves out. I busied myself with closing the wardrobe and covering that dress up before she started in on it and demanded to see me in it. "You look skinny too."

"Well thank you, sweet," she replied, looking pleased. She took another sip of her tea. Her eyes searched my face again. "Have you been sleeping enough? You look a bit peaky."

"Just a little nervous, Mum, I'm fine," I told her soothingly. She opened her mouth again to protest. "Relax. I got this."

"I know," she said, eyes warm. "But you're still my little girl and I'm still allowed to worry."

"You don't have to worry," I told her, though I was somewhat distracted as I watched another figure appear outside the door. Red Barten. God damn it. "It's going to be… good," I said haltingly as I watched the progress. Red and my dad shook hands, the beater grinning from ear to ear. This was not good. He was so dangerous. "Mum, I've got a friend I want you to meet," I said, making my way to the door.

"Katie!" Red exclaimed gleefully when I showed up next to him and my dad and Oliver. "Wood was just introducing me to your dad." He grinned. "I was just about to ask if he's got any good embarrassing stories about you." I sighed in a resigned sort of way. My dad held his hands up in surrender, looking more youthful in the presence of these two quidditch playing morons.

"And you must be the lovely Mrs. Bell," Red said, spotting Mum over my shoulder. "I'm Red Barten. It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, grasping her hand and shaking it. Still holding it, he spun her deftly." I can see where Katie gets her stunning good looks." He looked her up and down. "And, may I say, that is a fabulous dress." My mother, damn her, was pink at the cheeks and giggled like a school girl. Wood caught my eye and grinned. I rolled my eyes.

"Red, if you put the moves on my mother I'll disown you." He released her hand, looking completely unashamed.

"Oh he was just being friendly, Katherine," Mum giggled. Dear lord, can anyone bloody resist that boy? I glared at Red. He grinned cheekily, brown eyes dancing, freckles all mischief.

"Yeah, Katherine, I was just being friendly," he said, pulling me into a hug. He scuffed up my ponytail playfully.

"Keep it in your pants," I muttered. He snorted.

"Want me all for yourself, eh?" I didn't dignify that with a response. Just broke away.

"Have you guys settled in yet?" I asked my parents, who were watching the three of us interact, my mom with a somewhat sappy look and my dad with a rather proud one. "I couldn't get you rooms in the same hotel, because all the teams are here," I fretted, doing my best mum impression.

"We're in the hotel across the street," my dad replied, flashing me room keys from his pocket. "It's nice, got a mini bar and everything." He winked at me.

"Michael," my mother said disapprovingly. "We're on an all organic diet, remember?" He smiled at my mother sweetly, and then when she wasn't looking, he rolled his eyes at me. He mimed choking while she dug in her purse for her own set of room keys. His belly was entirely gone now, and his belt had a few new holes.

"We'll see you tonight, Kate," Dad said briskly. "Good luck today." He pulled me in for a hug. I squeezed him back, and he whispered in my ear. "Butterbeer. Carbs, pasta, anything," he was desperate. "I'm starving." I broke away and he winked again. I laughed.

"But I thought we'd go out for lunch," Mum exclaimed, looking positively heartbroken.

"Kate has to prepare, sweetheart," Dad explained patiently. He drew an arm around her. "Plus, I thought maybe we could go out." He kissed her shoulder, and she looked pacified. "I mean, we've got a hotel room and all." I hid behind my hands and groaned. He might be saving me from a day with my mother, but I didn't need my mind picturing…

Damn it. I'm going to have to gouge my eyes out now.

"Okay guys," Coach Fleal told the team as we sat around him wearing our game robes. His expression was determined, though quiet. The stork-man was serious. Dead serious. Selman was pacing behind him, nodding along with his superior's words. "This is a different game, a different team than the one we were training for." He looked around at each of us. "But that doesn't mean we can't grind their asses into the dirt." There was a noise of approval from Ed, Red's beater counterpart. "I want you guys to play hard, I want you to play smart, I want you to destroy them. Wood," he addressed the keeper next to me, who looked only slightly green. "Keep an eye on Fletchly." Oliver nodded in a businesslike manner. "Red, Ed?" The two partners in crime perked up. "Give 'em hell."

"Will do, coach," Red said. Ed saluted.

"Chasers, isolate them if you can." Josclind, Henry and I nodded. My heartbeat could probably be heard outside, in the stands. It was certainly hammering in my head. "Nathan," he addressed our seeker, who was busily picking at his gloves. "Watch out for Dirk. He's a mean son of a bitch. The seeker's mouth became a tight line, and he, too, nodded.

"Alright guys," he said bracingly. "Hard, smart, fearless. Go."

Then we were in the tunnel. I glanced at Oliver while we walked through to the pitch, just once. In the half-light, his face was all angles, all cheekbones and lines and planes and shadows. He looked like he could fight the whole world with one hand behind his back, and one eye closed. He looked fierce and ready and bloodthirsty. Looking away, I gritted my own teeth. Dirk was going to die. We were going to kick his sorry ass up and down the pitch until he was bloody and sore and crying for his sodding mommy. Suddenly, I felt strong and sure and so bloody ready I could tear the whole stadium down. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, setting goosebumps off on my arms. I smirked, as I heard the first roar of the crowd.

And everyone was going to see Dirk lose.

As we stood waiting for the announcer, it began to rain. Not lightly, but not buckets either. Just enough rain to set the scene for the blood bath. "Goggles on," Wood ordered tersely. No one questioned him. Outside, we heard a low vibration as anti-weather charms kicked in, covering the stands in a magical barrier against rain. It would not be a courtesy extended to the actual pitch, however. No. On the pitch the weather was a part of the war.

"You're on," the check wizard informed us. "Chasers first. Left, center, right." Without a word, Josclind, Henry and I moved closer to the opening. Red gave me a good slap-pat on my shoulder as I passed him. I nodded stonily in return. My heart was loud in my ears, louder than anything. I shifted from foot to foot, waiting as the announcer finished shouting the Wasps' names. As the last note of his last word died down, I straddled my broom.

Game on, bitches.

"AND NOW, PUT YOUR WANDS IN THE AIR FOR PUDDLEMERE UNITED!" There was a deafening roar, and my pulse accelerated to a wild tempo in my ears. It was a wild war beat, crying for action. I could fight a hippgriff. "PLEASE WELCOME… GHENT!" Henry disappeared in a blur, to enormous applause. "WADCOCK!" Josclind barreled out of the tunnel like a tank. And then… "BELL!" I'd never heard so much noise as when I roared into that stadium. I took a lap at breakneck speed, banking the turns violently to blow off a little steam. After a quick lap, I broke sharply and squinted through the rain to find my mum and dad watching from the team box. My dad had a Puddlemere jersey on, and his face was painted blue. He was shouting and whooping recklessly. Mum was clapping a little hysterically, Puddlemere scarf tied round her waist. I could fight a whole herd of Hippogriffs.

Looking around, I saw a "BELL FOR MINISTER OF MAGIC" poster, with my beaming face on it, a few teenage guys bravely wearing the Weasley Katie-Bell underpants outside their clothes, a knot of screaming girls with shirts that had the slogan "YOU'RE GONNA GET YOUR BELL RUNG" and painted blue faces, and even a couple of insane blokes with full body paint jobs. Two words: hell yes. I was going to destroy Dirk Springer.

Squaring my shoulders, I looked back to the pitch. Wood was already in front of his hoops, and he gave me a quick nod, more like a jut of his chin. I nodded back. The referee drew level to the circle of players, wearing a striped black and white poncho. He gave us all a warning look, then released the snitch. Above the circle, Nathan and Dirk hovered. As the snitch disappeared into the night, both of them craned their necks after it. I scowled at Dirk, hard, and then ripped my eyes away to focus as the bludgers belted out. Finally, the ref took the quaffle out from under his arm, tossed it up into the steel grey storming sky, and the game began.

Possessed with a sudden maniac energy, I shot forward into the fray, intent on the crimson ball. Dropping into a steep dive, I scooped it up, hugging it close to my chest. With my other hand, I urged my broom faster, bending low and close to the shaft as I accelerated through the rain, wet ponytail whipping behind me. A bludger whizzed past my head. I ducked even closer, and knew Josclind and Henry were flanking either side of me. Two of the Wasps' chasers showed up, blocking my path. I dropped low to avoid them, leaving them scrambling to spin around and give chase. "BELL'S ROARING UP THE PITCH, JUST SPEEDING ALONG, BEAUTIFUL BROOM WORK-" I climbed rapidly to the level of the hoops, only the keeper remaining. He was zeroed in on the quaffle and my face, every muscle tense as I faked left, then reverse passed to Josclind, who sank the quaffle, beautifully, in the far right hoop.

"AND PUDDLEMERE SCORES! BELL AND WADCOCK WASTE NO TIME AND BEAT THE KEEPER TO BRING THE SCORE TO 10-ZIP!" I found myself crowing in triumph. Josclind gave me a little smile and an approving nod, before we turned to chase the quaffle again. "THE WASPS' ROY HAS GOT THE QUAFFLE NOW, SPRINTING UP THE SIDELINES-" Henry cut Roy off, forcing him to change direction. I flew to his other side, boxing him in. He reversed again, only to find Josclind blocking his path. He fired off a pass to Edgemont, the left wing. So we tore after him.

Ed shot a bludger that fluttered Edgemont's hair as it passed. He ducked though, so only Wood was left. I bit my lip. Oliver sized him up. Edgemont shot, and Oliver lunged. The quaffle just glanced off Wood's fingers and through the left hoop. Oliver swore, though the specific words were lost in the rain and the roar of the crowd. He retrieved the quaffle, jaw grinding, and pitched it to me, the closest.

As soon as it touched my gloves, I bolted off again. Riteman, the third chaser was on my heels. I wove between the other players. More bludgers. After a few near death experiences, I passed to Henry, who darted through a narrow opening between their beater and dirk. I charged after him. Henry looped and scored. "20-10, PUDDLEMERE!" Henry celebrated with an arm jerk, before Edgemont had the quaffle again. We wheeled about as he changed direction, dodging bludgers. The raindrops were pelting painfully off my face as I herded the other chaser, blocking, whirling and forcing him to change direction constantly. He tried to pass to Riteman, but Josclind, pushing defense on his left, intercepted.

YES!

I caught her pass and we were down the pitch again. A bludger crashed into my ass, bruising it, causing me to yelp and fishtail. But I kept going, ducking past Dirk again as one of their chasers pursued me. Red, grinning, sent a booming bludger past me towards the other chaser, and I heard it hit behind me, hard. Newly open, this time, I shot. It was good, sailing easily through the middle hoop. " 30-10! PUDDLEMERE IS JUST RUNNING AWAY WITH IT TODAY, FOLKS!" I punched the air wildly, filled with a fierce glee.

The quaffle changed hands quickly. Roy had the quaffle again and went screaming up the pitch towards Wood. Henry came out of nowhere, pushing Roy out towards the crowd. Roy bent closer to his broom and let the turn slingshot him past Henry. This time, Wood made a fantastic save, punching the quaffle so hard I'm surprised it didn't break his knuckles. "SUPERB SAVE BY KEEPER OLIVER WOOD! PUDDLMERE IN POSESSION AGAIN!"

We continued in that manner until the score was 170-60, us. It seemed the Wasps strategy involved the beaters taking us out early, because their chasers were large and imposing and terrifying, but not spectacular. I lost count how many times I saw my life flash before my eyes as a jet black projectile rocketed past my nose.

The rain was ice cold as Red and Ed Raced the other beaters to each and every bludger. Sometimes our guys got there first, and sent the balls careening off to threaten the Wasps' lives. Sometimes they ended up swimming madly just to try to knock them off course. It was getting tough to see. Screwing my face up, I fired on the hoops again, and was rewarded with the announcer shouting out another Puddlemere goal. 180-60. The wind howled deafeningly as I wheeled again and fought against it. I crashed straight into none other than Dick-Head, wearing a smirk. I growled and cut left. He blocked me. I went right. He tracked that too. I was slower, and tired of fighting against the wind. Behind him, his chasers advanced on Wood. I needed to be there.

"Alright there, Bell?' he bellowed, sneering. I yanked my broom up and jetted past him. Wanker. I didn't know what he was playing at, but I wasn't in the mood. I went to join the attack on the enemy chasers, but they scored. 180-70. Wood's face was a snarl as he chucked the ball back into play. He was livid. A bludger knocked the quaffle free and we dived, giving in to gravity as we plummeted towards earth. I managed to wrestle it from Edgemont and tried to pass to Josclind, but the build up of water on my goggles was so bad I was 5 feet wide of her. I gave chase. Josclind retrieved the quaffle, but was boxed in by the beaters. I received the pass back, and belted down the pitch, only to have my path blocked by Dirk again. I passed to Henry and veered around the seeker, swearing under my breath. Henry scored. 190-60.

As the game carried on, it seemed that in light of our scoring prowess that Dirk felt he could be better served by body blocking all our attempts on his keeper. I grew more and more pissed as the night wore on. Nathan was still frantically searching for the snitch when Dirk intentionally flew into me. I wasn't in possession, I hadn't made any lewd gestures. I didn't even deserve it. He just did. As I grappled with my slippery broom, I waited for the ref to call him for a foul, but the whistle never came. The crowd below us bellowed for a call, even as Dirk sneered. Still no whistle. So I tried to ignore him. Even as I wanted to rip him off his broom and shove it up his ass, I ignored it. Instead, I settled for accepting a pass from Henry and scoring. It was almost as satisfying.

He pushed me again sometime later, so hard I was literally hanging sideways off my broom. Even stiki-grip gloves weren't enough in the rain. "OI!" I shouted when I'd righted myself. "SOD OFF!"

"Anger management," he tutted. I rolled my eyes and dropped low to avoid him. I was so tired every motion hurt. My fingers were frozen through in the unnaturally cold April rain, and my legs felt like they'd been pummeled with marbled for days. He cut me off so sharply our brooms collided. I grimaced as my shoulders protested to my breaking. There was a swift, stabbing jab in my solar plexus, knocking all the wind out of me. The bastard hit me. He didn't get called for that either. Fine. I shot up and around him. Wasps scored, and Wood bellowed furiously as he hurled it back to Henry. Our keeper was not having the best of games either.

I was shooting on goal when Dirk turned up again. "PMS-ing, eh, Kates?" he laughed. I got the shot off, not even caring if it went in, and snapped my head around to seethe at him. I was ready to fight a whole legion of blast ended skrewts.

He did not just call me Kates.

I was done taking the high road. I was done being polite. I hissed. I was done being human. "Does Wood still fuck you when you're like this?" he asked conversationally.

BAM.

He was smashed by a magnificent roundhouse kick courtesy of yours truly. My foot and his stupid face collided with an oh-so-satisfying crunch. He looked so very surprised and shocked that all he could do was gape at me for a span of nearly thirty seconds. That dumb-ass smarmy sneer was gone.

That's right, bitch.

Of course the ref saw that one. He awarded the Wasps a penalty shot but I was beyond caring. He could have thrown me out of the game if he wanted. I kicked Dirk Springer in the face. His eyes were watering and he was swelling beautifully. "GOOD SHOT, BELL!" a bloke below me yelled. He was followed by a smashing roar of applause.

Evidently I'm not the only one that thinks Dirk Springer's a right git.

Wood managed to save the goal by the tips of his fingers, and play resumed. Dirk evidently was a fast learner and left me the hell alone. I tried to pretend I wasn't too proud of myself, even as gale-force winds set in and we had to cling to our brooms to hang on. I don't know how many minutes passed that way, us clutching our brooms just to keep our tired asses on.

Below us, however, a soap opera was unfolding. Nathan had spotted the snitch and Dirk was tearing after him. The whole game stopped, as we all held our breath. The crowd roared their approval, they were on their feet, stomping, cheering, shouting. Dirk wasn't going to catch Nathan in time. We were going to win! There were two loud impacts. Nathan, focused on the snitch did not see both bludgers come hurtling his way. Red rushed to get in front of it, but it was too late. Not one, but both of the bludgers collided with our seeker. He dropped like a stone to the ground as Dirk snatched up the golden snitch.

No.

Even as that slimy bastard held the little golden ball aloft, I couldn't believe it. We did not fight this hard and go this long just to lose to Dirk Springer. Nathan, on the ground, was swarmed by healers. I hung on my broom, still in shock.

No.

I found myself screaming it: no!

But my voice was lost to the wind.

A/N- Alright, who loves me? I love you guys This one's like two chapters in one. It took me a whole box of freezer pops to crank out. But I hope you liked it. And like I said. This rapid updating will not be a habit. So... enjoy. :)