NOTES:
Much snarkiness ensues. After all, warring factions will have to work together!
DEDICATION:
To my girl Charisse, who simply rules the universe. God DAMN, how do you do it?!
DISCLAIMER:
::death glares::
*~*~*~*
After much deliberation and hesitation, Oliver Wood decided to do something completely and utterly unprecedented.
Now, it was extremely trying for any self-respecting Gryffindor to approach a Slytherin for aid and information regarding another Slytherin, but especially with the specific parties involved, the task was well-nigh impossible.
But Oliver Wood was a Gryffindor, a brave and noble soul, willing to risk extensive exposure to smirking smarminess and extremely distasteful questions, for the sake of the greater good.
After all, no matter what, he would have to get along with Fl—Cass. She was part of his team now, and all of them were going to compete against the top Quidditch players from all different countries around the world. And for the sake of team unity and ease of communication, he would undertake a task of truly Herculean proportions.
He would go and voluntarily talk to Carl Warrington and... he would even tell Warrington what had happened. And Warrington, as he somehow seemed to be friends with Cass, would (hopefully) give him advice on how to deal with the situation. And of course... if all else fails, he could have Warrington act as a go-between, if he and Cass were not getting along.
"A word, Warrington," he said rather uncomfortably. The Chaser paused in his conversation with Skyler Zabini and looked at him.
"A word? About...?"
Skyler gave the two a curious look, but discreetly walked off the field, nodding a farewell to both men. Warrington turned back to Oliver.
"So, what horrifyingly unusual thing has happened that I am not quite aware of? You voluntarily coming to me for 'a word'... well?"
Oliver inwardly grimaced. Yup, there would be smarminess. But this was a necessary evil. And he would hopefully only have to go through it once.
"It's... about Cass Flint."
"Interesting," Warrington raised an eyebrow, and smirked. "You're not calling her 'that howling mad spiteful little Flint twit' or something along those lines."
"Would you prefer that I did?" Wood snapped. Warrington put up a hand in a defensive gesture.
"Up to you... just surprised, that's all. Well, I suppose I shouldn't be. Something obviously happened... she had your Quidditch robes. So, how was that, anyway? I'm quite surprised... something rather unusual must have happened for her to gain possession of them..." Warrington let the sentence trail off suggestively, and raised an eyebrow. "Must say that I'm impressed. She's not exactly the type of girl to let a bloke... ah... get close to her... so easily. You must be more oddly attractive to girls than previously thought... strange..."
"What the devil are you talking about, Warrington?!" Oliver bellowed, "You have such a one-track mind! You make it sound as if we shagged or something!!"
"You didn't?"
"Of course we didn't! Unlike you, not all of us are ruled by our libido!" Wood hissed. Warrington sniggered.
"All right... then, what happened?"
"She got drunk."
"Huh? When? Why? And how does that connect to her somehow gaining possession of your old Quidditch robes?"
"I'm not quite sure exactly why... I went to the Leaky Cauldron that evening after practice, and there she was, actually all dressed up in dress robes, sitting alone, drowning herself in Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. She was about to pass out, and I was going to call the Knight Bus to take her home, but she couldn't tell me where her home was. So I had to take her in for the night."
"Ohh..." Warrington said slowly, "And how did that go?"
Oliver felt his face heating up slightly under the other man's probing scrutiny, "Ah... she started crying about how everyone hated her, and how she was expected to be a lady and such and such... and because she was getting sick, I had her go change out of her dress robes into my old Quidditch robes..."
"I see..." Why the devil was it that Carl Warrington, blasted bugger, made the simplest words sound so full of twisted innuendo just by the inflection of his voice?! Oliver restrained an urge to punch him and continued with his story. Somehow, after he'd gotten started telling a recount of what had happened, the floodgates seemed to open, and he didn't leave a single thing out. And predictably, Warrington guffawed uncontrollably at the mention of a drunken Cass romping with his captain on the bed.
"What?! It's not funny! She was obviously completely foxed, and... and... she had no idea what she was doing... and... I fail to see what is so damned amusing about this!"
Warrington sniggered some more, then calmed down enough to say a phrase in some foreign language. "In vino veritas..."
Oliver blinked, "What?"
"In vino veritas... 'In wine there is truth'..." Warrington clarified, his mouth twitching uncontrollably, "Drunk people are honest... I think that Cass fancies you..."
"You do not!"
"Okay... I do not," Warrington conceded, "Not completely. But she must have thought something unnaturally highly of you that time... and you didn't let her snog you?"
"Of course not!" Oliver looked outraged, "She had no idea what she was doing!"
Warrington shook his head, still laughing, "No wonder she's so embarrassed... she probably thinks that you find her repulsive... and even if she doesn't actually fancy you..."
"I don't find her repulsive! Not at all!" Oliver blurted out. Then blinked and groaned as Warrington immediately jumped on that tack.
"Oh really..."
"What? She's not repulsive... but don't you go getting any ideas, Carl Warrington!"
"No ideas are being gotten at all," Warrington said in a patently innocent voice, and Oliver glared.
"This..."
"This should make practices interesting," Warrington said thoughtfully. "Well… at least you know now that Cass isn't exactly simply antisocial so much as… frustrated with society."
"Yes, yes… although she doesn't have to take it out on me…"
"Oh, it's nothing personal… you just happen to be male, that's all… and a Quidditch player to boot. Oh yes… and let's not forget, a Gryffindor. All things considered, she's been surprisingly nice to you."
Oliver made a discontented noise, "Still… it's going to be damned difficult to work with her on the team if she's going to be so rude…"
Warrington shook his head, "You've had an unhealthy exposure to too many persons un-Slytherin, my friend."
* * *
It was a very determined, forbearing Oliver Wood who showed up at the Quidditch pitch at dawn the next day. All right. He could do this. Harry and even Warrington, he probably wouldn't have problems with, because they were on his team and he knew what they would be like. Whitby and Cornfoot had both seemed rather genial sorts when he'd met them. Zabini… he had no idea, but… well, she couldn't be worse than Fl—Cass. As for the latter… well…. he would… he would… he would deal with it. Yes. Somehow.
To their credit, everyone arrived at eight o'clock sharp. Warrington, Zabini and Flint hung out in their little group of Slytherinish smirkingness, but otherwise, did not say anything to him.
"Er, all right… I believe that everyone knows who everyone else is, right?"
"Yes… yes…" Cass said impatiently, her voice killingly sarcastic, "Let's skip the 'this-is-my-name-and-this-is-a-type-of-dessert-that-begins-with-the-same-letter-as-my-name' nonsense and get to practice, shall we?"
"I wasn't going to do that," Oliver muttered darkly as Warrington sniggered and Zabini gave him a wry smile.
"Ah… so how are we going to do this?" Steven Cornfoot broke in, "Are we just going to practice as if we are one team… Chasers against the Keeper and such?"
"Yes… of course," Oliver said hurriedly.
"Be sure that none of the Chasers distract you, Wood," Carl Warrington said genially, a wide smirk on his face. When both Oliver and Cass gave him lethal "shut-up-or-I-shall-concuss-you-with-my-broomstick!" glares, his grin widened. "What? I didn't necessarily mean Cass… for all we know, Cornfoot could be the one distracting you!"
Steven Cornfoot rolled his eyes at Warrington, "Let's hope not."
"I agree," Warrington said immediately, "But it's very entertaining how defensive those two get."
"Okay, enough!" Oliver bellowed, "Everyone, broomsticks! A lap around the pitch, and then we start."
And so, the practice started.
It took a while to get used to playing with new players, and Oliver was sure that he was not the only one who needed time to adjust. The Chasers took a few tries to perfect and synchronize certain maneuvers, and the first time that Zabini and Whitby tried to do the Doppelbeater Defense, the bludger missed its target by several feet. The only person relatively unaffected was Harry, who simply skipped along his merry way, eyes peeled for the snitch.
Lucky Potter.
All of a sudden, there was a whoosh past his head, and Cass threw the Quaffle into the goal hoop. Then, as Warrington went to fetch the red ball on the rebound, she glared at him.
"Pay attention, Wood!"
He glared back at her, but kept his mind focused on the game after that.
It soon became almost a competition between Wood and Flint. Gryffindor Keeper and Slytherin Chaser. An echo of past schooldays… except this time, the Chaser in question wasn't a trollish young man with a hard, square jaw and no regard for the rules… but a feisty young woman with narrowed, fiery eyes, who followed her heart to the bitter end. There were resemblances between brother and sister, but Oliver Wood found that, to his disconcertment, he couldn't easily 'dismiss' Cass as simply the opposition.
Meaning… he couldn't simply chalk her up as an unruly, inconsiderate little twit. Odd… very odd…
Which complicated things a bit.
Quidditch. He had to keep his mind focused on Quidditch…
Forcing his mind to blank out of these troubled thoughts, he kept an eagle-eyed track of the Chasers, and silently blocked incoming shots.
He was almost grateful that Harry caught the snitch a few minutes later, ending the practice about half an hour after it had begun.
Silently, he flew down, dismounted, and walked towards the locker rooms. Showering quickly, he Disapparated and left without a word.
Gradually, the others left as well, mostly in more talkative moods than Oliver had been, with the exception of a somewhat morose Cass. Soon, the only ones left on the pitch were Carl Warrington and Skyler Zabini.
"Well… that was interesting," Skyler remarked, sitting down on one of the bleachers and performing a quick drying charm on her freshly washed hair. "Is it just me, or is the sexual tension between Cass and Wood thick enough to cut with a knife?"
"Oh, it's not just you," Warrington reassured her with a grin, "This should prove fun." Skyler gave him a rebuking look.
"Do you think of nothing but 'fun'? The two are not going to be at their best if they keep on spacing out thinking about each other."
"Well… they'll get used to it," Warrington said easily, "And think of it this way… if they can get accustomed to playing and doing what they should be doing even while making googly eyes at each other… well, the other teams won't stand a chance, hmm?"
"I suppose," Skyler laughed, "And you will persist in annoying them until they figure out what's going on between them?"
"Who said that I would stop once they do figure out?" Warrington laughed, "I need my entertainment…"
Skyler shook her head and rolled her eyes, "You are a sad, sorry individual indeed if you have no other sources of entertainment…"
He gave her a mock-pout, "That hits me right here," he put a hand on his heart.
Skyler laughed, "Glad to know that I have such a powerful effect… what an ego-booster you're turning out to be."
"Anything to please, ma'am," he said mockingly, standing up and giving her a low, courtly bow.
"Thank you… so glad to know that if I ever need someone to hand-feed me my meals and clip my toenails, you'll be there."
"Of course," Warrington laughed, "You just keep thinking that, Zabini."
"Yes, I will," Skyler smiled sunnily and stood up. "See you around," she called over her shoulder before Disapparating away.
Warrington smirked briefly and left the Quidditch pitch himself.
Yes… things would be very interesting indeed.
*~*~*~*
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