NOTES:
And finally, someone cracks! But no, this isn't over yet. Not by a long stretch. Because I'm sadistic like that. But if you have read other works by me before, you know this very well.
DEDICATION:
To ickle Freddikins. Because.
DISCLAIMER:
I will smite thee.
*~*~*~*
Carl Warrington was a man with a mission.
It was an occasion that happened not infrequently, but not too often, much to Warrington's thankfulness, that he had to do this.
Carl Warrington was no fool. As far as the weaknesses and idiosyncrasies of other people, he was very canny and observant.
Generally, this rather Slytherin skill of sizing up people in disturbingly accurate assessments was used in poking basically harmless fun at others. After all, someone had to keep people in check and on their toes. And moreover, it was fun.
But this time, Warrington was not doing this for laughs. And his face was full of determination, not devilment.
"Wood," Warrington called out, striding into the locker room after practice.
"What do you want?"
"A lack of hostility, for one thing," Warrington said calmly, "You and Cass…"
"I don't start the arguments," Wood said haughtily, "She needs to learn how to control her bloody temper!"
"Well, you could always ignore her… not snap back at her when she picks a fight with you," Warrington said reasonably. "Don't you think that that would aggravate her far more, and more effectively, than fighting back? Obviously she's trying to get a reaction from you; who said you had to give her what she wants?"
"I DON'T GIVE HER 'WHAT SHE WANTS'!! WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!" Oliver exploded.
"Hey, I don't think they heard you in Argentina just yet… want to say that a bit louder?"
"Warrington, is there a point to this? I'm not in the mood for your fascinating little Slytherin games today," Oliver ground out between clenched teeth.
"Perhaps in the mood for some other, equally fascinating sorts of games with a different Slytherin?" Warrington asked genially.
Oliver's face burned red, though whether from anger, embarrassment, or perhaps a combination of both… was rather unclear. Warrington, moving in for the kill, continued relentlessly.
"You know, Cass gets pissed off by protective men, and understandably so," the Slytherin Chaser said thoughtfully, then paused, "But I'm sure she's also wondering just why you are so protective towards her. I mean, sure, Marcus is… but he's her brother. And moreover, from the way you two get so easily irritated at each other, one would think that you detested her and wouldn't ever do something like risk getting the Magical Games and Sports people on your arse for a hot-tempered little snit like her… or are these things related somehow? Perhaps she's… getting to you… in more ways than one, hmm?" Oliver sprang up, an indignant denial upon his lips, but Warrington was not done. "Ah well, can't say that I blame you, of course… that American bloke obviously thought she was quite passable… nothing like a girl who can play Quidditch, hmm?"
And with that parting shot, Carl Warrington strode out of the locker room, leaving Oliver Wood in a highly annoyed, highly uneasy mood.
* * *
"So, how did that go?"
Warrington walked over to where Skyler Zabini stood, leaning against the wall of the broom shed. She had been waiting for him to finish conversing with Oliver. He shrugged lightly.
"Well, I did what I could."
"And…?"
"He's in somewhat of a towering rage right now."
"Excellent," Skyler grinned, "That's a good sign."
"Of course it is," Warrington smirked, "I... pointed out to him certain conclusions that can be logically deduced from his actions... and I'm afraid that he doesn't like those conclusions..."
"Well, that's certainly understandable," Skyler said thoughtfully, "After all, he's the one who kept on saying that she was a crazy antisocial bint... he's making himself out to be a liar now."
"Oh, no... not quite," Warrington sniggered, "He likely still thinks that she's a crazy antisocial bint. He just finds himself disconcertingly attracted to crazy antisocial bints. Poor Wood... he probably thought that he'd end up with some nice little Gryffindor or Hufflepuff..."
"But how boring would that be?" Skyler laughed, "No fireworks in the relationship. At least, with all their arguments, think of all the make-up shagging..."
Warrington gave Skyler an amused look, "Shagging on your mind, eh?"
"And who makes all the comments about broomsticks?" Skyler retorted, grinning.
"Touché," he acknowledged with a smirk, "But we were talking about Wood and Cass... unless you wish to pursue this current topic of conversation?"
"I bet that they'll be shagging each other before the final game," Skyler grinned.
"You're on... and if you lose..."
"I'll do whatever you want. For a day. Well... anything that won't land me in Azkaban for more than a day," Skyler said immediately, "Same terms apply with you."
"Excellent," Warrington grinned, and took her outstretched hand. He shook it, then brought it up to his lips, laying a kiss on the knuckles, "We'll consider the wager sealed, then."
* * *
Oliver Wood was sitting in his flat, on the couch. He had Stunts and Stratagems: Professional Quidditch in the Modern Day by Prentice Bartlett open to page 26.
The book was brand-new, and hailed as a highly informative tome by Quidditch enthusiasts and experts everywhere. And he had had it on page 26 for the past twenty minutes.
He was still on the first paragraph, and for once, didn't feel like he could concentrate.
Bloody hell, this was bad.
Setting the book down, Oliver rubbed his temples and frowned slightly. Something had to have been throwing his concentration off. Now... what was it?
It had to have been something that had aggravated or bothered him. And to such a horrific extent that even Quidditch could not console him. Now... what could have caused this sort of distraction...
Well, that day, on the pitch, during practice, Cass...
Cass.
Bloody hell.
Warrington's words to him after the game came back to him, echoing mockingly in his ear.
"...why you are so protective towards her..."
"... Perhaps she's… getting to you… in more ways than one, hmm?"
"Ah well, can't say that I blame you, of course… that American bloke obviously thought she was quite passable… nothing like a girl who can play Quidditch, hmm?"
But...! Warrington was wrong! The smarmy bugger was obviously out of his ruddy mind... seemed to think that he, Oliver Wood, was... in love with Cass Flint... or something similarly ridiculous! That was preposterous!
After all, Cass was a wholly unreasonable, utterly ornery, embittered shrew, with a tongue sharper than a hatchet, and she was prone to bouts of overly touchy sniping, and she was completely rash most of the time, and she was constantly in an ill humor at him, and on top of all of that, she was the sister of Marcus bloody Flint! A Slytherin!
And she was a damn good Chaser, despite her rather reckless tendencies. Which were expected, as she had never played on a team in school... never had the chance to learn caution. She was even beautiful when she was flying, totally in her element in the air, free and natural and uninhibited. And even though she was wild, she wasn't maliciously so... it was merely an untamed spirit, and not a mean, lowly one. And she was feisty... she wasn't the type to let anyone take advantage of her. An independent woman, strong mentally, physically and emotionally. Except for the brief, momentary glimpses that she so fiercely tried to hide; when she would be sad. And alone... and with a great capacity for love.
Love.
WHAT?!
An unbidden image sprang to his mind... A drunk, glassy-eyed Cass, clad in over-large Gryffindor Quidditch robes, her face sad and forlorn, clinging to him. "You don't like me?"
And he, comforting her, his hand on her head, fingers in the messy strands of dark hair. Appeasing her. For some reason or another. "Of course I like you."
A kiss that landed at the corner of his mouth.
And then, another unbidden image.
That arrogant American Beater, harassing her. Not leaving her alone... and even now, he felt fury... washing over him like a wave of red...
Bloody hell.
And Oliver Wood came to the glorious conclusion that he absolutely despised Carl Warrington. Who knew too fucking much.
* * *
Practice the next day was torture. They had finals coming up, and had relocated to Spain in the morning. They had the Quidditch pitch all to themselves, but he couldn't concentrate... she was glaring at him with those dark eyes for missing simple saves. And that just made things worse.
Gryffindors never could keep things bottled up inside.
After Harry had finally caught the blasted Snitch two hours later, Oliver Wood was like an ant crawling on a hot pot. Never had he been so glad that practice was over... this was ridiculous.
All right... so he had to talk to Cass.
Oh, sure... he was courting rejection and possibly emasculation. But something had to be done. Just so that if she did reject him, he could bitterly hate her in peace rather than this bloody lack of concentration.
Cass had no idea what had gotten into W—Oliver that day. He was looking at her an awful lot, and frowning to himself. Privately, she seethed... all right. So she wasn't beautiful. She wasn't ladylike. She wasn't nice by any means... but did he have to stare at her like that?! And he was preoccupied... and not concentrating on the practice! And why did she even care if something was possibly wrong with him? She didn't! Really!
"A word."
He was looking at her, an almost-uncomfortable look on his face, as she emerged from the locker room. She glanced at Skyler, half-wishing that the Beater would stay and... then he wouldn't want a private word...
But Skyler was nowhere to be seen. Bint.
"Fine," she said curtly.
"I..." he scratched his head, seeming not to know exactly how to start, then scowled, and the words came out in a jumbled rush, "Oh sod this... Cass, you're the most perverse, belligerent wench I've ever had to deal with. I have no bloody idea how this happened... but I can't stop thinking about you! I... this is ridiculous. I find myself oddly attra... damn this. I believe I bloody love you!"
Cass stared at him, uncomprehending, for a second. He... what?!
He was still frowning, and fidgeting slightly. This was...
He... loved her?
Why?
How?
He barely knew her...
Oh, who was she kidding? He knew her too well... that humiliating incident after the disastrous date with Edmund Baddock...
To her utmost dismay, Cass found her cheeks heat up. She, Cass Flint, blushing? Oh... Smeg! Damn him! She wasn't the type of girl who blushed! Over anything!
And he was awaiting an answer of some sort...
In a mild panic, she Disapparated with a pop and reappeared a moment later by the row of tents that they would be staying in until the World Cup was completed.
"Carl!" she called, almost desperately.
Carl Warrington's head poked out of one of the tents, "What's the matter?"
"I... need to talk..."
Warrington gave her a strange, long look, then nodded silently and beckoned her into the tent.
*~*~*~*
And Oliver finally confesses! There will be more fun stuff in the next chapter... and no, I won't make this easy for Cass and Oliver. Because I'm mean and evil. Bwahahaha!