A/N: I know, I know, it's been forever and then some. *sigh* A million apologies to all you absolutely marvelous reviewers out there :) I love you guys. Just to apologize in advance, I'm SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY for my lack of actual Quidditch playing writing skills. I am not a sporty girl...Quidditch is my favorite sport actually, and it's nonexistent, so what does that tell ya? ;)

All righty, on with the fifth chapter of For the Love of Quidditch! *Whee :)*

*Chapter Five*

"What are you looking at?" Rachel snapped at the bartender as she stepped back into the Leaky Cauldron that evening. He just chuckled at her in reply, the only sound she'd ever heard him make.
It was getting pretty infuriating.
Rolling her eyes, Rachel stomped up the rickety staircase and unlocked the door to her hotel room. Groaning, she collapsed onto the bed and covered her head with a pillow. Only a few hours earlier, she'd been ecstatic-that article in the paper had pretty much confirmed that she was getting the Keeper position, and she hadn't even had to wait two days!
But then Oliver had been so quiet and discouraged, and after a while he'd just stomped off and deserted her, pouting. For a while, she hadn't been bugged by it-it was to be expected, after all. The boy had wanted to play professional Quidditch his entire life.
But then the mental image of him reading that article and his face just falling began to haunt her.
"GO AWAY!" she exclaimed at the picture of Oliver that refused to leave her mind. Filled with anger, she lifted the pillow from off of her head and threw it across the room, then began to straighten her hair.
A knock on the door interrupted her little grooming session, and she groaned and rose from the bed, then went over and swung it open. The bartender was standing there, holding an envelope in his hand.
"You have an owl," he said, handing it to her and giving her a toothless grin.
"Thanks," Rachel muttered, studying the envelope for a moment and then closing the door again. She slit it open with a neatly filed fingernail, then pulled the letter out and unfolded it. It read:

'Dear Ms. Knight,
We are pleased to inform you that you have gotten the Keeper position on the Puddlemere United Quidditch team. Please come to the Puddlemere United Quidditch field tomorrow at 9:30 to accept the position.
Thank you,
Puddlemere United'

Rachel felt her heart drop...it was definitely official now.
"Wait!" she exclaimed to herself. "What are you doing? This is a GOOD thing...you WANTED this position. Now stop feeling bad just because Oliver might be shedding a tear back at home. It's not your problem."

~*~

"Oliver, PLEASE come out of there!" Oliver could hear Callen begging from the other side of his bedroom door the next morning.
He just groaned and shifted in bed, pulling his blankets up farther over his head.
"Oli, PLEASE?" Callen begged. "It's time for breakfast..."
"I'm not hungry," he managed to mumble, his voice hoarse.
"But breakfast is the most important meal of the day!" Callen protested.
"Cal, no," Oliver said in a 'this-means-final' tone. He heard her sigh, then turn and walk away. Soon her footsteps faded off.
He needed that position.
Needed it.
And now Rachel had gotten it, and she didn't even want it that much! Oliver could tell she was better cut out to be some famous singing sensation or something along the lines of that...it was just in the way she walked.
She wasn't the Quidditch player type.
"Stop making excuses," Oliver muttered to himself. "It's not yours and it won't be yours, get it through your thick skull."
Groaning, he thought back on the previous day-was that really how long it had been since he'd met Rachel? A day? It seemed like a lifetime.
And then some.

~*~

"Ahhh, Ms. Knight," Bryan Schafer gave Rachel a warm smile and offered his hand. Rachel shook it, then straightened her miniskirt under her before sitting down across from the Puddlemere United captain.
"Hello," Rachel flashed him a charming smile. "You have no idea how thrilled I was when I found out that I got the position."
Or how crushed Oliver was, she added silently.
"Well, we're thrilled to have you on the team," Schafer replied, returning her smile. "You're a very talented woman."
Talk to the face, not the breasts, buddy, Rachel thought dryly, wishing that she'd buttoned up her blouse a bit further.
"Thanks," she murmured.
"Yes, well, I have to admit, there was quite a bit of difficulty in making our decision, but in the end we decided you would benefit the team better."
Yeah, Rachel thought sarcastically. With me there, there won't be any more articles in the Daily Prophet with comments from PMSing women's rights freaks.
"Out of curiosity, why'd you pick me over Mr. Wood?" Rachel asked with an innocent smile. "Personally, I was POSITIVE he was going to get it."
"Well..." Schafer looked a bit nervous, and Rachel smiled inwardly. Let 'im squirm. "You were...."
"Because I DID practically let one of the Quaffles go through the goal posts," Rachel continued, nonchalantly twirling a lock of hair around her index finger. "And Mr. Wood didn't even come close to making a mistake."
"Well....er...." Schafer stuttered. Rachel looked at him expectantly. "Um...you're just better."
"Oh?"
"Uh...yeah."
"Well, that clears everything up!" Rachel exclaimed perkily, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. "Thank you so much!"
Schafer looked immensely relieved.
"All right, then," he said. "There's a team practice tomorrow afternoon at one thirty to go over strategies. I'll see you there?"
Rachel nodded, trying to push the image of a crestfallen Oliver out of her mind. "Super."

~*~

ONE MONTH LATER
~*~

"Wood, buddy!"
Oliver forced himself to smile as he looked up to see one of his fellow reserves, James Ellingson, waving to him with his ever-present grin.
"Hi," Oliver greeted him.
"Where've you been, pal?" asked James as he clapped him on the back. "I haven't seen you in at least a month...Evan's been pretty pissed that you missed the last four practices."
"I haven't been feeling well," Oliver said truthfully.
Actually, he'd been feeling downright suicidal.
"Well, it's a good thing you're back," James grinned. "Heard some chick got picked over you for the Keeper position. How's that feel, to get beaten by a girl?"
"Oh, it's just great," Oliver said sarcastically. James sure knew how to be sympathetic.
James laughed loudly. "That's pretty damn sad, Wood...I don't think I'd get out of bed, if I were you."
"Thanks, James," Oliver replied dryly. "Your support means so much to me."
"Any time, buddy," James said with a grin. "Any time."
A few of the other reserves joined them as they walked across the field, all of them making taunts about how he'd lost the position to Rachel. By the time they reached the stands where Evan sat, Oliver had his hands clenched into such tight fists that he was sure his fingernails were drawing blood from his hands.
"Wood!" Evan barked. "Where you been?"
"Sick, sir," Oliver replied, hoping he sounded sincere.
"Well, don't get sick again," Evan ordered. "We can't afford to lose our Keeper for another month."
"Yes, sir," Oliver said.
"Now, guys, get out on that field!" Evan instructed. "Let's start out with a quick drill and see if Oliver's still as good as he was last time he came to practice!"
All of Oliver's teammates all rushed out to the field, broomstick in hand, he trailed slowly behind them. The last time he'd been here, he'd been so positive that he was going to get the Keeper position.
But of course, Rachel had just HAD to show up and ruin everything.
And be so damn infatuating while she was at it.
"Wood," Evan said softly, his usually sharp voice sympathetic, "I'm sorry you lost the position...you're a hell of a Keeper, and those prats made a stupid mistake when they didn't choose you."
"Rach...Ms. Knight was good, too," Oliver replied glumly. "They'll do just fine with her."
"I saw her play," Evan replied with a shake of his head. "Last week, when the team was practicing on the field...she's a talented woman, sure, but she just doesn't have the love for the game that you have. You can feel it."
Oliver shrugged. "True as that may be, it doesn't really matter now. I didn't get it."
Evan gave him a half smile. "You never know."
With that, sympathetic-Evan disappeared, giving way to I-am-your-leader-so-don't-mess-with-me Evan, who barked, "All right, guys, let's not take all day. I'd like to still have my real teeth when we're done! Wood, get up there!"
Oliver mounted his broom and flew up into the air, hovering around the goal posts. Being up there seemed so dissatisfying...sure, he'd be doing the same thing if he HAD gotten the position, but then he'd be a real Quidditch player, not just some lowly reserve!
A Quaffle hitting him right in the stomach brought Oliver out of his little self-pity fest.
"Dammit!" he swore, gasping for breath.
"Sorry, Wood!" Sam Thomson, one of the Chasers, called. "Didn't think you'd miss that one!"
"Concentrate on the game, Wood!" Evan barked from the ground.
"Sorry," Oliver forced the word out of his mouth as he tried not to keel over in pain from the hard hit of the Quaffle.
"This is PATHETIC, Wood," he mumbled to himself. "You can't even protect a freaking goal post anymore...what's the matter with you?"
But he knew what was the matter. Well, besides the obvious.
Rachel.
He couldn't get her out of his head...the signature smirk, the long shimmering hair, the tanned legs and flawless complexion.
Girlfriends had never been Oliver's thing. At Hogwarts, he'd never even stopped to consider having one-after all, it would interfere with Quidditch practices. And then after, he'd went straight into Puddlemere United. If it hadn't been for that game of Truth or Dare in his fifth year, Oliver was pretty sure that he would have never even kissed a girl.
Until Rachel.
Oh, she'd had to come and mess up everything.
He'd known her for less than forty-eight hours, and she'd succeeded in ruining his life.
And taking over his mind, as well.
"Wood, what IS this?!"
Oliver shook himself out of his thoughts to see Evan staring up at him, eyes flashing in anger.
"I'm sorry," Oliver said weakly. "I just..."
"Clean up your act, Wood," Evan ordered. "Or I might just have to put someone else up there."
Oliver knew Evan was probably just making empty threats, but his heart began to beat irregularly just the same. Lose the reserve position and his life was down the toilet.
Period.
Oliver succeeded in blocking the Quaffle the next few times it came his way, though sloppily, but then something happened that made him lose all concentration on practice entirely.
The Puddlemere United team had just walked out onto the field.
Rachel.
Oliver couldn't help but stare in awe at her for a moment...her hair shone brilliantly in the glistening sun, and she was dressed in a pair of cut-off shorts and a light pink tanktop. Her face wore an expression of annoyance as one of the members of the team, who Oliver recognized as Beater Tim O'Reilley, talked to her with what he apparently thought was a winning smile on his face.
Immediately, he felt anger begin to flow through him.
No, stop, he instructed himself. You're being stupid...Rachel and you have nothing.
As though in slow motion, she flipped her hair over her shoulder, causing it to shimmer so brightly that Oliver had to squint, and her eyes locked with his.
The captain of Puddlemere yelled something to Evan, who yelled back in reply, "All right, we'll be off in a minute." Then, to the team of reserves, he said, "Guys, we're gonna have to cut practice short today-Puddlemere needs the field. So let's just come down for now."
Rachel was still staring intently at Oliver as he came back down to the ground, then began to walk across the field. He looked down at the grass, begging his cheeks not to flush.
James let out a low wolf whistle.
"I can see why they let HER on the team," he muttered to the team members. "Schafer was probably hoping he'd get more than just a Keeper."
"Shut up."
The words flew out of Oliver's mouth before he even realized it, and within seconds everyone's eyes were on him.
"What?" James asked. "You know this chick, Wood?"
Oliver didn't reply. Instead, he just kept walking.
"Hey, baby," James said to Rachel as the two teams passed. "Busy Friday night?"
"Bite me," Rachel responded dryly.
"Oooh, girl with an attitude."
Oliver looked up to see James grinning flirtatiously.
"I don't mind a difficult woman."
"Shut up, James," Oliver said loudly.
"Aww, sticking up for the lady, Wood?" James asked with a teasing grin.
"You, actually," Oliver replied dryly. "You don't want to get her mad."
Rachel gave him a half smile and said, "How you doing, Oli?"
"Oli?" James asked cockily. "You two must be pretty close."
"I'm fine," Oliver replied, glaring at James. "You?"
"Same," Rachel said.
After a moment of awkward silence, Oliver said, "Well...see you."
"See you," Rachel echoed.
"Oooh, Wood!" James exclaimed after they'd left. "How did a loser like you get a woman like that?"
"Get a life, James," Oliver replied. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he spoke, Oliver apparated back home, leaving James and his oh-so-witty comments behind.

~*~

Men are jackasses, Rachel decided as she flew a few laps around the Quidditch field. They were all the same...well, actually, there were two types. Type A lost the ability of coherent speech and ogled at her. Type B made ridiculous comments in hopes to impress her.
"Why did I accept this position?" she asked herself with a groan as she landed onto the soft grass. She wasn't enjoying it half as much as she'd been sure she would...being surrounded by pigheaded men just ruined it.
"Hey, Rachel."
Groaning, she turned around to see Schafer approaching her, a grin on his face. She didn't like this man...he seemed to have trouble keeping his eyes in their sockets.
"Hi," she replied with forced cheerfulness.
"Enjoying being on the team?" he asked, standing uncomfortably close to her. Rachel backed up a few steps before replying.
"It's all right."
"Just all right?" Schafer asked, taking a few steps forward.
Rachel took a few more steps backwards.
"I'm not enjoying it as much as I thought I would," she confessed.
"Oh?" Schafer stepped forward again. "Why is that?"
Perhaps because you don't understand the concept of BREATHING ROOM, she thought angrily.
"It's just...I feel like Oliver Wood should have gotten it."
Two steps back.
"You're much better," Schafer assured her.
Two steps forward.
"Oh, no, I don't think so..."
Two steps back.
"I'm not sure..."
Two steps forward.
"You deserve this position, Rachel. Why else would we have picked you?"
Two steps back.
"Oh, I don't know," she replied nonchalantly. "Could it have anything to do with a certain article in the Daily Prophet?"
"Oh," Schafer laughed nervously.
Two steps forward.
"You saw that, I see," he finished.
"Yes, I did."
"Well..." he stuttered, "That...was a bit of why we chose you, but really-"
"Oh really?" Rachel asked. "Just a bit? What was the rest? The fact that I wear skimpy tops and look great in a miniskirt?"
"True as that may be, Miss Knight-"
Rachel took two steps so huge they practically classified as leaps backwards, then said, "You know, I don't think I deserved this position. And since I don't enjoy it in the least, there's no reason to stay with you."
"You're not quitting?"
"Actually, Mr. Schafer," Rachel said with an overly-sweet smile, "That's exactly what I'm doing. It's been swell, but all good things have to come to an end sometime."
"But..." Shafer stammered. "B..but..."
She gave him a little wave.
"Buh bye!"