Disclaimer: on ch.1 I will not repeat it on any other chapters, this is not mine, and make reference to chapter 1 for the disclaimer
A.N. Chapter Two, part one, I hope you'll like it
The first day of the rest of our lives
"With the first pick of the two thousand and two Quidditch league draft, the Westminster Werewolves select..."
This is it, my moment. At least I hope it will be mine. With him as the other possible number one, it's very unlikely that I will be picked, but I can hold out to hope. Besides, even if I don't go number one, the Catapults are a nice fit for me. I like Caerphilly, I actually rooted for them growing up, and I've got friends nearby there. It would be nice either way, but I'm not sure I could handle being on a team with Jackson Wallace, that moron has his head shoved so far up his arse, its a wonder he can see where the quaffle is so he can grab it. I would hate to have to deal with him.
I could holdout, demanding he be traded. It could work, although he's older, he's still a dominating Keeper, and teams could use him. Besides, with me they won't need a keeper that often. My agent says to get ready to stand up, he's already fitting my Werewolves robes. I'm getting anxious here, is it just me or is this taking way too damn long?
I'm making my way to stand up, and I see him doing the same. I mock glare at him, we're friendly enough, although I never will admit it. It's not that he's a bad guy, far from it, but he ruined one of my great performances in college, and we're all still a little bitter about it.
The crowd's starting to get into it, and they're pretty even split over who should go number one. Truth is though, that I notice a lot of Catapults fans chanting for him, which I guess means that they want me.
Here he goes, it's crunch time. I already feel the anxiety, the exhilaration, the rush. He's going to call my name, I know it. I'm going to be a Werewolf. Funny how I'd never have said that with pride before. Sure, there are nice Werewolves, just look at professor Lupin from my Hogwarts days, he was awesome and a werewolf. I had, and still have, tons of respect for that man.
"... Harry Potter!"
The crowd is screaming. I think it's louder right now as a sit down, dejected and disappointed, than it ever has been at school. The Catapults team rep is running up to the podium with their pick, it'll be me, that much is set already. Mr. Kensington barely has the chance to shake Potter's hand before he's given the Catapults pick.
"The first pick for the Caerphilly Catapults is Christopher Darkenson!"
I stand as my name is called, smiling, hugging my parents, and my little sister, who's crying with happiness. I walk up to the podium and wave to the fans, who are all cheering me on. I'm going to walk up there, shake Mr. Kensington's hand, smile for the photographs, And walk to the backstage for the photographs and interviews.
It's all a rush, I stand next to Potter, him in his Werewolves uniform, me in my Catapults one. The flash bulbs go off in front of us, next to us, behind us. It's getting disorienting. Reporter after reporter come up to us, most with the same questions "how do you feel about being drafted?" and "What do you think of your new team?" One brash young reporter, probably a student in college, turns to me, looks me in the eye and asks,
"So Christopher, why do you think Harry Potter was selected before you?"
Oh, I can't believe he just asked that. I think he's trying to stir up some enmity before the season. So I'll give him some. For shits and giggles, for fun, for the hell of it.
"Oh, Harry Potter is still a name. He defeated the darkest wizard of our time, he was famous from the age of one, he'll attract people to Werewolf games. Honestly I think I would have been just as good a pick as him, but popularity rules and all." I nudge Potter as I say it, let him know to play along. I hear him laugh next to me. I already know what he'll say, something about him being a seeker how he's the more important pick, and how a losing team would fit me and my style, seeing as his college team beat mine for the national title this season. Here it comes.
"Oh that's rich. You're a chaser, I'm a seeker, of course I'm a better fit for the Werewolves than you are. Don't get me wrong, we couldn't have beaten you for the title this year if it weren't for our chasers, but still, a good seeker is an important tool on any hopeful team. Besides, Caerphilly is a good fit for your style of play." He grinned at me, egging me on.
"Oh yeah Mr. Bigshot? What's my style of play then?" I grin seeing where this is going.
He looks casual, his voice dismissive as he says it. "The losing style of course. I mean, that's what you did last season, right? And the year before that too, if I recall."
I wince. That was a low blow. Last year was a deserved loss, but two years ago, we were cheated out of the title. I'll stick to that till the day I die.
As I look around, I see my agent on his portable mirror. Those two way mirrors have been enhanced to become the new mode of communication, they're really handy. My guess is he's trying to ink out a deal already, probably at up to five hundred twenty thousand Galleons or higher. It's not the money I want. I get off on flying, the thrill of rushing through the air, coming so close to danger and pulling out safely. It's exhilarating. That's what I live for. My name is Christopher Darkenson, I am a quidditch player.
A.N. Hope you enjoyed it. Give me some reviews for thought.