A/N Here's the fifth chapter, ready and waiting. For anyone who cares to kow, I got a new laptop recently and hence will not have to type all chapters into my old, clunky, cantankerous computer which was taken to restarting half way through typing. Ergo, chapters should be, circumstances prevailing, up quicker and more often.
Chapter 5-Passions Running High
Imogen sat at one of the desks in the Gryffindor common room persuing her Charms textbook, neatly taking down the notes on Incendio charms that she should have taken in class the day before. Across the room from her, Harry and Ron were engaged in a heated game of wizards chess, Hermione spectating and commenting on the days lessons. Every now and then Imogen could feel their gaze shift over to hert and she resettled herself in her chair, uncomfortable under their examination. Just as she was feigning a look of fierce concerntration, while really trying to check them out over the edge of her book, Ron called out to her.
"Hey, Imogen! How are you at chess?"
She made a show of shutting her book and capping her inkbottle before walking over to them.
"I'm okay," she said guardedly.
Ron sighed. "Only ok? You better play Harry then." He had been hoping for some serious competition. Imogen settled herself infront of the board.
"Black or white?" Harry asked.
"Black."
As white Harry made the first move. The game began. Finding spectating boring in comparision to playing, Ron started to badger Hermione to help him with his Transfiguration essay. Eventually she caved in leaving Harry and Imogen alone.
"You know before, when I said I was ok at chess?" Imogen said as she commanded her pawn to E5. "I was lying."
"What?" Harry asked. "Are you Beauxbatons defending champion or something and were just being modest?"
Imogen grinned. "On the contrary. I suck. I was just lying to make myself seem more capable." Harry's knight moved forward and obliterated her pawn. "See?"
Harry laughed. "I don't mind. I haven't won in ages, thanks to Ron. Do you do that often?"
"What?" Imogen asked perplexed. "Lose? All the time. I think even Rikki's beat me a few times."
Harry laughed again. Imogen was beginning to like the sound. "I meant lie to make yourself seem more capable."
"Oh, not really. I don't often feel the need to."
"So you were just doing to be impressive."
Imogen quirked an eyebrow. "Don't get ahead of yourself." She knocked out his bishop." I never said anything about trying to impress anyone."
"I have a tendency to do that." He studied the board intently. "Or maybe it was just bravado to show you I was capable. Checkmate."
"What?" She said astonished. "How'd you do that?"
Harry shrugged.
"Right, you win this time. But next time it's best out of three and we'll make a wager."
"Deal, get ready to fork over the doe, Usher." He replied jovially, returning his pieces to their respectful positions.
"In your dreams."
Just then Rikki burst through the portrait hole and dashed up the stairs to the girls dormitories, gesturing for Imogen to follow.
"Will you take a raincheck?" Imogen excused herself.
"Yeah, sure," Harry said, trying to hide the mild sense of disapointment he felt. "Another time."
And Imogen followed her friend, Harry staring moodily at her ready, lined up chess pieces.
Days passed with relative monotony, the 7th years soon immersed in their final year of schooling, one that promised to be more academically challenging then their previous. But even the busy 7th years found time for Quidditch.
The group of hopeful players huddled together on the pitch, talking quietly among themselves, before Ron called them to attention.
"Alright, you bunch of miscreants, your captain wishes to speak with you."
The players turned their attention to Harry, who looked slightly chagrinned after his vice-captains call. Ron was taking his job very seriously.
"Thank you Ron. Well, you're obviously all here to try out for a place on the team. We only have vacancies for one Chaser and a Beater. So if you break up, prospective Beaters to my left, Chasers to my right, we'll get started. Ron and I will be flying about assessing you performance. Postitions will be posted on the noticeboard early next week. Training is Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. For those who don't make it there is always next year."
The group divided and were about to begin when a lone figure streaked across the pitch towards them, broomstick in hand. Imogen came to a halt before them, panting for breath.
"Sorry...late...lost again...Peeves...tripped down...them bloody stairs...sorry...late."
"That's okay." Harry said. "We're just getting started."
"The Chasers are over there." Ron added. Breath returned, Imogen appraised him sceptically.
" What makes you think I'm a Chaser?"
Ron shrugged. "You're a girl."
Imogen did not respond directly to that comment. " Where are the Beaters?"
"Over there. But you're not trying out are you? You'll get beaten to a pulp." Imogen was already beginning to mount her broom.
"This isn't some pussy French game!" Ron called behind her. He looked at Harry, irritated. He shook his head. Harry just shrugged and followed after her.
Tired, battered and filthy, the players arrived on the ground and hour and a half later, after a harsh and vigorous training. Imogen felt the way everyone did after tryouts of any kind-frustrated with her performance. She didn't paticularly want to talk to Ron afterwards, sure that he would gloat in the face of her ineptitude. She stayed under the hot water of the shower, idly contemplating drowning herself instead of returning to Gryffindor tower. But she realised she couldn't die and leave Rikki to her wicked ways. Dressing comfortably and walking through the notorious Hogwarts corridors of many doors and passageways she came to the portrait of the Fat Lady.
"Wolfsbane," she mumbled dejectedly.
As she climbed through the portrait hole, she spotted Ron and Harry with Hermione and Rikki, by the fireplace and heard part of their conversation.
"... shes actually okay, works well enough with Creevey and has deadly aim..."
"Don't sound so suprised Ron, I could have told you that."
"Bet you wish you never made such a fuss now, huh?"
Relief flooding her veins, Imogen made her way towards them.
"What was that you were saying about pussy French games?"
The tip of Ron's ears began to glow pink.
" Well, you weren't that bad, you don't hit hard enough though, force needs work."
"But not half bad for a girl." Imogen summarised.
"Ok," Ron conceded. "For a girl."
The day of the first Quidditch match dawned bright and clear. Even Imogen was up early, pacing the Gryffindor room absently, trying to ignore Rikki's vacuous prattle about how hot Oliver would look in his umpiring robes. Just as Imogen started to threaten Rikki about taking her Beaters club to the blonde, Ron and Harry appeared from the boy's staircase, Ron's complexion leaning towards a moere green tinge in colour whereas Harry looked so lost in thought that he tripped down the last two steps. Rikki and Hermione in tow, the Gryffindor quidditch team made its way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry and Ron flat out refused to eat anything, despite Hermione's threats and dire warnings. Imogen fixed herself a cup of strong cup of coffee, which she promptly sprayed all over Nevile after the first mouthful.
"Sorry, Neville," she apologised weakly. " I made it with pumpkin juice instead of milk. So sorry."
Neville just nodded wetly.
"Concentrate, Imogen, would you!" Hermione scolded like a fussy mother, whipping her wand out and drying Neville with a flick and a muttered incantation.
Breakfast preceeded without anymore coffee catastrophes and soon the Quidditch team assembled outside the changerooms. Hermione bade them good luck. Imogen pulled on her red robes and yanked irritably at her wristguards.
"Stupid wretched things." She muttered as she tried to fasten them. In the end she gave up and let Ginny help her. Robed and ready, the team prepared for the typical pre-match pep talk.
"Now, we've got some fresh blood this year, Imogen, Jacob," Harry began. "Keep an eye out for some of their trickier moves, they can be dirty snakes when cornered. The rest of you, you know the score. Gryffindor hasn't won the cup since 5th year, what with the Triwizard tournament, and Umbridge, and the draw last year." Harry's voice grew bitter. "I never want to have to share the Cup with Malfoy again. Clear?" Heads nodded.
They walked out on to the pitch, Seamus' magically booming voice echoing through the stands.
"Out come the Gryffindors, Captain Potter, Vice Weasley, Weasley, Creevey, Patil and new recruits, Woodward and Usher. They're going to be a difficult team to beat."
The Gryffindor stands errupted in a wave of scarlet rossettes and cheers.
"And the Slytherins..." Seamus said in a monotone. "Lead by Malfoy..." Commentary was punctuated with some irritated mumblings that sounded suspiciously like 'poncy git' as Malfoy blew kisses to the swooning females in the Slytherin stands.
"Captains, shake hands." Oliver ordered.
Malfoy and Harry stepped forward. Imogen thought it looked more like a heated game of thumb wars then a handshake.
"On my whistle...three...two...one."
Imogens broom shot forward and she relished the feeling of soaring through the air. She hovered and readied her grip on her club before tearing off towards a Bludger.
"And Gryffindor has the Quaffle, Weasley to Patil, Weasley again-dodge that Ginny! Sickert of Slytherin defending goalposts-AND SHE SCORES!"
Ginny made a victorious gesture in the air.
"Slytherin in posession again-Rankin to Deaver-Block that goal Ron! Nice save from the Weasley King!"
Harry flew about, focused solely on a search for the Snitch. He didn't notice the Bludger coming from his left. SLAM! Imogen slugged the Bludger at Malfoy with all her might.'
"Thanks Imogen." Harry yelled. She just grinned as Malfoy pirouetted wildly to dodge the oncoming Bludger. How she loved bloodsports.
"Creevey hit that Bludger! Jacob Woodward of Gryffindor with the Quaffle-nice swerve-he's intent on goal-SPECTACULAR SHOT THERE! THIRTY-ZERO!"
Imogen hit a Bludger away from Parvarti to Colin who whacked it at the Slytherin Keeper. Neither of them noticed the second Bludger, hit by a vicious Slytherin Beater, straight at Ron. Time stopped and and silence descended on the pitch as Ron tried to dodge it. But too late. The Bludger collided with his stomach, effectively winding him and sending his broom careening forward. There was an anguished scream from the Gryffindors as Hermione watched in horror as Ron continued to fall. Imogen started to speed towards him, as did everyone else on the Gryffindor team, but it was too late, he would hit the ground before anyone reached him. Suddenly, with an almighty wrench, Ron turned his broom upwards and blocked Deaver from the goal he was about to score while everyone was watching Ron's dramatic descent.
The stands errupted in a rousing rendetition of 'Weasley is our King' as the Slytherins booed loudly. Furious with the Slytherins and with herself for not having blocked Ron's Bludger, Imogen knocked a Bludger hard into the Slytherin stands, effectively quelling any further remarks from the Slytherins. The team played with renewed effort, enthused by Ron's miraculous recoverey. Imogen played so hard she thought her arms were going to drop off when she heard Seamus yell.
"Potter's spotted the Snitch-Malfoys on his tail-YES, YES-And Harry's got the Snitch! Gryffindor win 180-30!"
The Gryffindor team hit the ground estatic, Creevey kissing everyone rather enthusedly on the cheek, including Ron, before Harry coud restrain him. Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs alike poured on to the field, but in the forefront a bushy haired brunette rushed forward and threw herself at Ron.
"You bastard!" She sobbed into his robes. " I thought you were going to die!"
"Oh, come on Mione, I'm alright, really-" Ron protested before Hermione kissed him soundly on the lips. Harry was cheering with rest of them as he watched his two best friends snog heavily in the middle of the pitch. Imogen whistled.
"Good game." Harry said to her, grinning wildly.
"You too."
Harry made like he was going to hug her but thought better of it, then decided to do it anyway. She laughed at his exuberance as he spun her around.
"How longs that been coming?" She asked him, gesturing to Ron and Hermione, still kissing while Jacob pretended to pry them apart with the end of his broom.
"Since first year."
The euphoric Gryffindors exeunted the pitch.
A/N Ok there was chapter 5, Hermione and Ron are indeed an item, not matter how much you deny it or try to ignore it, I'm afraid it is inevitable. Next a party in the Gryffindor common room, an interesting encounter with Firewhisky and the Quidditch superhero. Read and review!
Embittered (and Nameless)