*Chapter Four*

The next morning, Oliver awoke to the lovely sounds of Rachel getting sick in the bathroom.
He smiled wryly, then stood up from the chair where he'd attempted to sleep the night before and stretched. He then went over to the bathroom door and rapped on it lightly with his knuckles, calling, "Rachel...are you all right in there?"
"What do YOU think?" Rachel yelled back crossly, then began to gag again.
"She's back," Oliver muttered to himself. In a louder voice, he asked, "Do you want breakfast or something?"
"Oh yeah, Oli," Rachel called angrily. "I'm SO in the mood to eat at the moment."
"Well, excuse me," Oliver said, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of his tone. "But I wasn't the one who downed about fifty glasses of some SMOKING mystery drink last night, so I wouldn't be snapping at me."
Rachel uttered a few words that Oliver knew he wouldn't dare say in the presence of his mother, and then the toilet flushed and the door swung open, slamming into his face.
"Dammit, Rachel, watch where you're going!" he exclaimed, lifting a hand to his nose to make sure it wasn't broken.
"Sorry," she replied in a tone dripping with fake sweetness. "Perhaps if you got a brain and didn't stand in front of the door, those little incidents wouldn't happen."
Oliver groaned and took his hands away from his face, then had to hold back a gasp. THAT was Rachel? Her gold hair was stringy, greasy, and tangled, her eyes were bloodshot, and below them there were huge, dark circles.
"Lookin' good," he couldn't help but mutter sarcastically.
Rachel raised one of her fingers at him, and Oliver was pretty sure the gesture wasn't to show off her manicure.
"Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," he commented.
"I feel like the Weird Sisters are performing inside my head," Rachel replied dryly. "So don't mess with me."
"Oooh, I'm scared-"
"You should be," Rachel interrupted, giving him a death glare. "Now, don't mess with me."
"All right, then," Oliver muttered, going over to the chair where he'd slept and glaring daggers at it (his back still felt stiff...) before taking his coat from where he'd hung it on the back.
"Well, I'm going to go find something for breakfast because frankly, I'm starving," he announced, shrugging into his jacket.
"Could you pick me up some ice cream from Florean Fortescue's?" Rachel asked as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail.
"Why don't you just get it yourself?" Oliver retorted.
"Yeah, I'm really going to go out in public looking like this," Rachel said sarcastically. "I'm sure the guys would be falling all over me."
"Oh, come on," Oliver said, giving her his most charming smile. "It won't be any fun alone."
"Perhaps you don't understand," Rachel said snappishly. "My head is throbbing, I'm seeing two of you at the moment, my stomach is doing cartwheels, and I look like a hag."
"You don't look that bad," Oliver said truthfully. The mischievous sparkle was beginning to return to her eyes, which improved her appearance somewhat. "And the fresh air will make you feel better."
"Oh, fine," Rachel huffed. "But give me a minute to get ready."
"Sure," Oliver said.
Rachel disappeared into the bathroom, and Oliver heard her mutter a few spells under her breath before emerging, her hair shimmering and silky again and face flawless.
"Okay, let's go," Rachel said, grabbing his arm and practically dragging him out of the hotel room. As they walked through the Leaky Cauldron, Tom chuckled at Rachel.
"Why's the toothless guy laughing at me?" Rachel asked Oliver under her breath.
"You don't want to know," Oliver replied.
"Fabulous," Rachel muttered dryly. "You know, I really don't know why I did that, since I am not a drinker, never was, never will be. I have no idea what happened last night or why the hell I woke up in a hotel room, but it better be rated G or I'm kicking your ass."
"Nice language," Oliver remarked. "And don't worry, it was perfectly G rated."
"Good," Rachel said, satisfied. "And forget anything I said, in case it had anything to do with love, romance, or any of that junk."
"Don't worry, it didn't," Oliver lied, crossing his fingers behind his back.
"Let's go to Fortescue's," Rachel suggested. "I'm dying for a vanilla ice cream cone."
"Okay," Oliver agreed. They reached the ice cream parlor within a few minutes, and Mr. Fortescue quickly whipped up their orders.
They found a table outside, and Oliver unfolded that day's issue of the Daily Prophet that someone had left there. He immediately flipped to the Sports section. A headline in bold black letters jumped out at him.
FEMALE PUDDLEMERE UNITED FANS CALL TEAM SEXIST.
"Uh oh," Oliver muttered under his breath before proceeding to read the article.

'Female fans of the popular Quidditch team Puddlemere United have been complaining about the fact that every team member is male.
"I know they think of it as some sort of tradition," Sarah Austin, 29, says. "But some should be changed. It's hopelessly old fashioned."
Another female fan, Tessa Gordon, (36), says, "Puddlemere is an excellent team, but there are some amazingly talented female Quidditch players out there these days, and they deserve to have a chance as well."
Some other female fans of the team haven't been as civil. Sherry Addams, 25, says, "They're narrow-minded gits with fluff for brains, and if they're going to keep being sexist imbeciles, then I'm finding myself a new team to support."
The outbreak of rants came to be when a rumor circulated that the Puddlemere United Keeper is about to retire. According to an inside source, a young woman tried out for the part of the Keeper along with two men. The Daily Prophet couldn't find out about who the woman was, but can easily say that she has many supporters.
If Puddlemere United wants to keep its female fans, there will most likely be a female Keeper very shortly.'

"Damn!" Oliver swore under his breath. He'd never get it now...there was no way.
"What?" Rachel asked curiously, leaning over his shoulder to get a glimpse of the article.
"Nothing," Oliver said quickly, folding up the paper again. He couldn't let her see it...he couldn't stand to be stuck with her while she gloated all day.
Too late.
He looked over at her, and her expression was smug and full of amusement.
"So," she said with an unbearably satisfied smile.
Oliver was silent as he studied his ice cream, which was beginning to melt under the bright morning sun.
"So," Rachel repeated, then laughed. "It looks like you can't be so sure about getting this position after all."
"It's not a sure thing that you'll get it," Oliver said weakly.
Rachel laughed again, and Oliver balled his hands into fists, mentally repeating over and over, It's not good to hit girls. It's not good to hit girls.
"Puh-leeze," she dragged the word into two syllables. "Puddlemere United isn't going to risk losing fans. I've got it in the bag."
Oliver tried to think up some sort of retort, but after about two seconds of serious denial, he realized that it was true.
He'd never get the position now.

~*~

"Really, Oli, stop moping," Rachel said in an infuriatingly happy tone as they walked down Diagon Alley later that day. "There'll be other Quidditch positions, I'm sure. And being a reserve must be so fulfilling. And-"
"Rachel, just shut up," Oliver cut in angrily. "You can stop rubbing it in my face."
"Aw, must I?" Rachel asked sweetly. "It's so much fun."
Oliver didn't bother to reply. Instead, he groaned in frustration and parted from her, entering Quality Quidditch Supplies.
"Good afternoon, welcome to Quality Quidditch Supplies!" a way-too-perky witch that looked about his age greeted him.
"Hi," Oliver muttered under his breath. The witch looked a bit crestfallen that he didn't return her frighteningly enthusiastic attitude.
"If I can help you with anything, just let me know!"
"Okay," Oliver mumbled, studying the Firebolt display in the window.
"Would you like me to show you some of our sale items?"
"No."
"Oh. Well, thank you for taking your time to shop at-"
"LADY!" Oliver shouted. She winced, then stared at him in shock. "I AM NOT IN THE MOOD! GO BUG SOMEONE ELSE!"
The witch, however, wasn't going to be stopped that easily.
"Are you sure, sir?" she asked, tone still ridiculously perky. "To the left we have an amazing sale on Quaffles, twenty percent off-"
"I'm SURE!"
"Are you SURE you're sure?" the witch asked, raising an eyebrow at him and smiling at the same time. It looked disturbing, to say the least.
"I'm SURE I'm SURE!" Oliver confirmed angrily.
"Are you SURE you're SURE you're sure?"
"YES, I'm SURE I'm SURE I'm SURE!"
"Are you SURE you're SURE you're SURE you're SURE?"
"YES, I'm SURE I'm SURE I'm SURE I'm SURE!"
"Are you SURE you're SURE you're SURE you're-"
"YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT I'M SURE OF?" Oliver yelled.
"Sure!" the lady said, beaming.
"I'M SURE THAT I'M GOING TO GO COMPLETELY INSANE AND CHUCK THOSE TWENTY PERCENT OFF QUAFFLES AT YOUR FACE IF YOU SAY 'ARE YOU SURE?' AGAIN!"
The lady was still undaunted as she asked, "Well, I'm SURE you'd like to look at Snitches then! They're THIRTY percent off."

~*~

"Where have you been all day?" Callen asked when Oliver entered the house.
"Nowhere," Oliver replied angrily as he stormed up to his room. He narrowly avoided tripping over Callen's kneazle, who yowled, insulted.
"Oh, toughen up," he muttered before entering his room and slamming the door. Rachel's note still sat on his bed in her loopy, girlie handwriting. After staring at it for a few seconds, he took it in his hands and ripped it into tiny shreds, then threw it into his wastebasket.
"Screw her," he muttered to himself.
As if the world wasn't treating him badly enough, at that moment an owl flew up to his window and tapped on it with its beak.
"Great," Oliver mumbled. "The letter that makes it all official."
Reluctantly, he walked over to the window and easily slid it open. The owl flew in and stuck out its left foot. Oliver removed the letter glumly, and the owl flew back out the open window.
"Like I really need to read this to know what it's about," he muttered, then slit open the envelope and unfolded the letter. Sure enough, right there in black and white, the letter read:

'Dear Mr. Wood,
While you showed great talent on the Quidditch field, we regret to inform you that the position was given to Ms. Rachel Knight. However, we're sure you'll have a great future in professional Quidditch, and your time will surely come.
Sincerely,
Puddlemere United'

Oliver felt hot tears well up in his eyes, but quickly blinked them back. He didn't cry-it was just pathetic.
"Oh well," Oliver muttered to himself, his voice shaking. "There'll be other positions. This one wasn't that important anyway." He paused, his words echoing in his head. "Oh, stop lying to yourself, you idiot. This was your chance and you lost it thanks to that stupid witch. It's-"
His conversation with himself was cut short when someone knocked softly on his door.
"Oli?" Callen asked softly. "Can I come in?"
"Sure," Oliver said miserably. His sister entered, obviously nervous-she was chewing on the end of her glasses, a sure sign that she was feeling a bit anxious.
"Hey," she said, sitting down on his bed. "What's that?"
Oliver handed the letter to her wordlessly, and she put on her glasses, then skimmed the letter. When she looked up again, her eyes were full of sympathy.
"Oh, Oliver," she whispered, standing up and wrapping her arms around him. "I'm sorry."
"It doesn't matter," Oliver said softly. "I knew it was too good to be true."


A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out...Rachel (the real one) was about to rip my throat out. *shudder* Her Oliver obsession is just CREEPY. :) Okey dokey, Rach, I'll stop insulting you now. Not that I'm insulting you...obsessions are a good thing. All righty, I'll stop rambling now. Thanks for reading, all you fabulous people, and now you know what you have to do. NO, NOT press the back button! REVIEW. I'm *SURE* you'd love to. Thaaaaaaaank you :D