NOTES:
Yay! More practicing! More gaming! ::dance dance::
DEDICATION:
To Kimmie, rpg buddy extraordinaire! THANKS for reading and reviewing!
DISCLAIMER:
Does my writing skill seem comparable to Rowling's?
*~*~*~*
Subsequent practices, although they did get more polished, with players from different teams getting accustomed to each other's playing style and better able to work together in different maneuvers, did not become any more… comfortable.
That is to say, the Oliver Wood and Cass Flint quasi-rivalry was still there, and with it, the indefinite 'something' that Warrington and Zabini, when discussing it amongst themselves, called 'sexual tension'.
The glares, the snapbacks, the almost-eagerness of both to take offense at something the other was doing… it almost seemed as though the two of them were making a conscious effort to hate each other; After all, something like hate was easy and straightforward… more so than… the weirdness, at any rate.
"Flint!" Oliver roared, "You almost stooged again! WATCH IT!"
Cass paused in midair and glared icily at him, "I did NOT!"
"Warrington was within the scoring area! And you were still coming at me!"
"You wish," Cass sneered at him, "As if I'd want to 'come at' you… I was waiting for Warrington to shoot, so that I could then get the Quaffle on the rebound!"
"And they're at it again…" Skyler Zabini rolled her smoke-violet eyes and muttered to Carl Warrington as the two flew forward to once again break up the developing argument.
"Say, Wood…" Skyler spoke, neatly turning Oliver's attention away from sniping at Cass and towards herself instead, "When are we going to have a reserve team announced?"
"Tomorrow," Oliver answered brusquely before turning his scowl back towards Cass, "Flint…"
"Wood, be quiet for a moment, PLEASE!" Skyler raised her voice somewhat, an unmistakable note of Slytherin imperiousness creeping into her tone, "Let's focus on strategies and not waste time bickering, both of you! I don't know about the others, but I for one can only draw so much amusement from watching you two fight…"
"Speak for yourself," Warrington snickered, but sobered up partially when Skyler glared at him, "But Zabini here does have a point. You two are wasting time with your constant arguing."
That seemed to do it. As the two most fanatical Quidditch players on the team practically bent themselves over backwards to prove to each other and everyone else that they would never be wasting time, Skyler Zabini and Carl Warrington exchanged a wry glance.
"That did it…" Skyler remarked in passing as she flew in pursuit of a bludger. Warrington gave a smirk.
"Works every time…"
* * *
The reserve team, as Oliver had affirmed, arrived the next day. Chasers Justin Finch-Fletchley of the Appleby Arrows, Emma Dobbs of the Wimbourne Wasps and Morag MacDougal of the Wigtown Wanderers. Beaters Dennis Creevey and Anthony Goldstein, both of the Chudley Cannons. Keeper Kala Montague, and Seeker Cho Chang. A fairly good team, and with the addition of more people to consider, there was less time spent in active argument by Oliver Wood and Cass Flint.
The first game on the schedule, for the English All-Star team, would be played against Bulgaria. The Bulgarian team was quite good overall… having recently defeated Portugal, it was captained by star Seeker and former Triwizard Champion Viktor Krum. That season, they were using a new Keeper in Anton Korsakoff, and the young man was fairly skilled. Oliver was pretty sure that his Chasers would be more than a match for Korsakoff… but they would nevertheless have to play hard and play well. Krum and Harry… both were brilliant Seekers… and although Harry's playing had improved steadily ever since the beginning of his career his first year, Oliver would take no chances.
His mind was full of thoughts of his team, he shrugged on the blue robes of the English team. Would he be able to block the shots from Bulgarian Chasers Ivanov, Fedotova, and Savin? Would Harry catch the snitch before Krum? Would Cornfoot, Warrington and… Cass… be able bypass Korsakoff, with Zabini and Whitby aiding them? And… would Cass… he frowned slightly. Whatever risks she took out there on the field were her choice. And… yes, Vilensky and Belov were brutal Beaters… but she would be all right. So would the rest of the team, of course.
The crowds were wild as they went out onto the pitch. Oliver gave his team one last glance, his eyes shifting from one face to the next, before he landed in the center of the pitch to shake hands with Viktor Krum.
Krum had not seemed to change much since the year Ireland and Bulgaria competed for the World Cup. Still the dark, quiet, somewhat sullen-looking fellow with the slouching posture but eyes sharp and beady-black under his craggy brows. He politely shook hands with Oliver Wood, and then took to the air without a word.
The crowds' cheers and applause grew much louder when the referee, a small, grinning Chinese man named Cheng-Dao Wang, merrily released the Snitch, then the bludgers, and finally the Quaffle.
The red ball had barely flown into the air before a blue blur shot forward and grabbed it, not stopping for a moment and streaking onward towards the Bulgarian goalposts. Cass Flint's eyes were narrowed, her nostrils flared, her pert chin jutting out. Nothing or no one would get between her and the first goal of the game…
One of the Bulgarian Beaters was female; a tall, brawny woman with a hard, tanned face crowned by severely pulled back pale brown hair. Olga Vilensky raised a powerful arm, and pelted a bludger with a resounding crack at the English Chaser with the set face.
Cass instinctually ducked, flattening her body over the handle of her broomstick, when the bludger shot towards her head, and the black ball zoomed past. Skyler Zabini quirked an eyebrow in silent challenge towards the female Bulgarian Beater, and deliberately hit the bludger towards Keeper Korsakoff.
Anton Korsakoff was suddenly faced with a bludger from seemingly nowhere, and as he swerved to avoid getting his nose bashed in, Cass scored, neatly passed the Quaffle to a waiting Steven Cornfoot, and the latter put another shot through the left goal hoop before Korsakoff could stop him.
"Ten Zero England, Flint! Twenty Zero, Cornfoot!"
Oliver, at the other end of the field, allowed himself a small grin; then steeled himself as Boris Ivanov, Quaffle in possession, raced towards him. But just as Ivanov was about to shoot, Kevin Whitby's bludger, hitting the tail of his broomstick, caused him to wobble, giving a nearby Warrington the necessary second to punch the Quaffle out of Ivanov's arms and fly off with it.
Warrington scored, making the score 30:0, but the Bulgarian Chaser Nina Fedotova grabbed the Quaffle on the rebound, and this time, managed to bypass Oliver.
"Thirty Ten England, Fedotova!"
Cass caught the Quaffle once again, and the English Chasers went into a flawless Hawkshead Attacking Formation, with Skyler Zabini flanking then, brandishing her Beater's club and effectually keeping the Bulgarian Chasers at bay. A Bulgarian Beater, this time a red-faced man named Sergei Belov, hit a bludger at Cass, intent on knocking her off her path forward, but Skyler coolly intercepted the bludger and hit it in an almost-careless motion towards the side, where Vladimir Savin had been trailing the English Chasers, in an effort to capture the Quaffle once Belov made Cass drop it.
Cass scored once again, then shot after Savin, who had caught it on the rebound. Twice she tried to punch the Quaffle out of Savin's grasp, but the man was about a head taller than she was, and he evidently had a grip of steel.
Warrington appeared on Savin's other side, and gestured to Cass with a shake of his head to move out of the way. Frowning, Cass did so, and just as she flew past Savin, Warrington succeeded in punching the Quaffle out of Savin's arms.
Passing it to Cass, he gave her a wry grin; "Don't try to compete muscle for muscle with blokes right now, Cass…"
Cass gave a brief nod even as she tore off in the opposite direction with the Quaffle.
The game went on. In the time span of another two hours, Bulgaria managed to score two more shots, but England was ahead quite a bit. Steven Cornfoot, Quaffle in arm, somersaulted in the air and avoided taking a bludger to the head from Vilensky, and scored once again.
"One Hundred Thirty England, Cornfoot!" The Quidditch Commentator's booming voice echoed through the stadium, and the English supporters loudly voiced their support and excitement.
Oliver allowed himself a small smile.
The smile turned to a look of alarm when Vilensky and Belov flew together, unmistakably about to perform the Doppelbeater Defense. Together, the two Bulgarian Beaters, eyes gleaming, hit a bludger towards him… and Ivanov was coming towards him with the Quaffle…
And at that moment, in the strange, exhilarating way that things occur during Quidditch games, several astonishing things happened.
Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver Wood saw Harry Potter diving.
He was too far away… and too busy worrying about the bludger coming at him, the Chaser coming at him, to know if Harry was feinting or not.
And then, a streak of blue shot close before him, cutting off the path of Boris Ivanov… and then, another blur of blue, slightly taller, though not by much… and there was a crunch… and when the two had passed, there was no Quaffle being throw his way, nor bludger headed his way.
He blinked, and then saw Skyler Zabini come to a stop, panting, about a foot away from him. She glanced at him and explained through the din of the crowd as she tried to catch her breath.
"Cass… intercept… Quaffle… I… intercept… bludger…"
Before Oliver could say a word in reply, though, the stadium exploded in cheers as Harry Potter came to an abrupt stop in the center of the pitch. The Golden Snitch was clutched in his hand.
"And the final score of the game is 260:30, Victory to England! As English Seeker Harry Potter catches the Snitch, Chaser Cassandra Flint scores one final shot after a daring, difficult interceptive maneuver that put her right in the line of fire from a Bludger! But no harm done, as Beater Skyler Zabini caught the Bludger before it could impact and do any damage! Excellent job, and Congratulations to the English team!"
Dazed but ridiculously happy, Oliver floated down to the ground to join the rest of the team. He grinned as numerous hands clapped on Harry's shoulder, and the grin only grew when he saw Warrington, a smirk on his face, lift a laughing, windblown Skyler Zabini into the air and twirl her wildly for a moment before setting her down. The grin grew a little strained when Warrington stepped up to Cass and made as if to do the same thing.
But Cass merely rolled her eyes, albeit in a surprisingly good-natured way, and ducked under his outstretched arms, "No, I don't think so…"
Warrington laughed and gave her a manly thump on the shoulder instead before stepping back.
Oliver turned to Cass, and swallowed somewhat awkwardly before addressing her.
"That was the most bloody reckless thing I've ever seen, Flint! What were you thinking?!"
She glared at him, "Don't you dare start on this, Wood!"
They scowled at each other for a moment, before Oliver broke into a grin, "That was an excellent game! You did a corking job! A little… er… mad, but still, good work!"
She merely gave him a smirk that was almost a smile before walking off towards the showers.
He shrugged somewhat as he watched her go. That, and no biting rejoinder. Coming from Cass Flint, that was practically a thank you.
Perhaps he was beginning to understand her somewhat.
*~*~*~*
w00t! More to come soon!