I stretched slowly, feeling deliciously sore and swollen. George had one arm wrapped firmly around my waist, holding me tightly against his chest. This was a very common occurrence, and I rather liked the fact that he wanted to keep me so close to him. With a warm smile, I leaned down and kissed George very deeply. His hands slid up and rested on my back. I smiled against his lips and looked down to see his eyes wide open, and a devilish grin creasing his features.
"What time is it?" he asked, stretching briefly. He stood and walked over to the trunk he had brought with him. I shrugged and lifted my arms over my head, groaning as the muscles in my back stretched.
"Are those my fault?" George asked, staring at some bruises on my hips.
"Hmm?" I glanced down, as he walked back over, and sat in front of me. "Oh, yeah, that's you," I replied, leaning forward to kiss him again. He stopped me, by catching my face in his hand.
"Do I always do that to you?" he asked quietly, looking me in the eye.
"Not always," I replied, feeling slightly confused.
"But normally," he finished, still looking at me.
"Yes, I suppose that's accurate," I snapped, jerking my head back so that his hand fell to the bed beside him.
"Why haven't I ever seen them before?" he asked.
"Because I usually just heal them with a few quick spells!" I snapped, scrambling out of the bed, and stomping over to where my wand was lying on the top of a dresser.
"Annabelle, don't be angry with me," he said quietly. "I just didn't realize that I was hurting you."
"You're not hurting me, George," I told him, as I waved my wand a few times and the bruises were gone. I began walking over toward him. "Believe me, if I felt any pain you would know it," I added. He grinned suddenly, remembering how I screamed about anything even remotely painful, from stubbed toes to bumped knuckles.
"All right," he murmured, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me down to sit on his lap.
He kissed me warmly, and I smiled as I slid my hands into his hair. Neither of us noticed the knocking on the door.
"Jesus, dad, you could open the damn door," Gianna grumbled, as she shoved the door open and stopped short, her mouth hanging open. George and I sat frozen in place, neither of us had any idea what we were supposed to do in a situation like this.
"Gianna," Adele called from down the hallway. "Are they coming?"
"Uhh, yeah," Gianna called back, slowly backing out the door and yanking it shut loudly, before scampering down the hall in the direction from which Adele's voice had drifted. I turned my shocked gaze to George's face, and he looked at me, just as shocked.
"Didn't you say you locked the door?" I asked quietly, looking up at him with angry eyes.
"Yes," I replied slowly, his eyes narrowing.
"Nice job!" I snapped, standing up and grabbing my clothes roughly from all over the floor of the room.
I jerked running clothes and shoes out of my trunk, while George pulled on a pair of jeans.
"What charm did you use, anyhow?" I asked, glancing up at him. He looked at me and frowned.
"Actually, it's a combination of three or four other locking charms that Fred and I combined. Mum couldn't even break it…" he trailed off and like a streak was out and racing down the stairs.
"FRED, YOU BETTER RUN!" I heard Ginny shriek.
I snickered and got dressed quickly, pulling my hair up and tying my shoes. I fully intended to go out for at least four or five miles that morning. I entered the kitchen to find George straddling his brother's chest and punching him squarely in the nose. I sighed and walked over to the cupboard for a coffee mug, and poured some of the strong, dark tea into the mug. I noticed the rest of my family sitting in the kitchen, all looking exceptionally at ease, except for father.
"Bon matin, Annabelle," my father, Pierre Calavierres, said, looking at me. "Ou es ton vetements?" he asked coolly. I laughed warmly.
"I'm going out running, Papa," I replied.
George stood up, breathing a little more heavily than normal, and glared down at his brother who was now sporting two black eyes, a broken nose, and several missing teeth in addition to bruises scattered about on the rest of his body. Molly was busy fussing over him, while Angelina sat in her chair chuckling over her husband's predicament. George had several bruises already becoming visible on his back and a particularly nasty one on his jaw.
I sighed as he walked over to where I stood, and handed him the cup of tea that I had poured for him. I hated tea. He glanced at the cup and set it on the counter, before pulling me roughly into his arms and kissing my soundly. I stared at him when he released me and watched his every movement as he pulled out a chair at the table and sat with his coffee. Ginny quickly engaged George in some silly discussion and he participated animatedly while breakfasting.
My sister walked over and leaned against the counter beside me, sipping a cup of coffee. I smiled and glanced up at her beautiful features.
"So, Annabelle, is it always this…violent in the morning here?" She asked calmly, taking another sip of her coffee. I laughed.
"Yes, pretty much," I answered, looking over the crowd in the kitchen. "How is Aaron enjoying NYCG?" I asked, glancing at her eleven-year-old son.
"Hmm, he's not enjoying the other students much. I'm trying to find an appropriate institution closer to home," she replied.
"Well, I'm going out for a run," I announced, pushing away from the counter. "Anyone care to join me?" I asked sweetly.
George snorted into his breakfast and Ginny snickered. Harry, however, looked up from where he was sitting sipping coffee.
"I haven't eaten yet, I'll go," harry volunteered, standing up quickly, and racing upstairs to change.
"Does he usually run?" George asked Ginny in a whisper.
"Yeah, why?" she whispered back.
"Annabelle ran in some thing called the Boston Marathon last summer," he replied. Ginny's eyes widened and she looked at me.
"You ran for twenty-six miles without stopping?" she asked incredulously.
"It's not all that difficult," I answered as Harry bounded back in. "Think you can keep up, Potter?" I asked, quirking a brow.
"I'm going to try," he replied as he finished tying his sneaker.
"What kind of sneaks are you wearing?" I asked, looking at them reverently.
"Huh?" Everyone British in the room stared at me like I was crazy.
"His trainers," Adele clarified.
I blushed and shrugged. Harry laughed and walked over to the door. I walked over, quirked a brow, and took off like a shot.
"Shit!" I heard him shout and take off to catch me.
I laughed and set a fairly difficult pace, and Harry kept up pretty well. Occasionally he would fall back for a few moments and then sprint back up to me before leveling his pace back out. It was very nice to run out here since there was so little out here.
One hour, forty-five minutes, and fifteen miles later, I walked in winded and feeling exhausted. Harry dragged himself in, and clutched the doorframe.
"I think I'm dying," he said, collapsing into a chair. "Quick, go get Ginny, I want her to be with me as I die."
I laughed and Molly rushed over with a glass of water.
"Drink it slowly, Harry," I said, as he grabbed the glass. He didn't bother to listen to me and knocked it back immediately. I smirked as he puked. Molly turned to look at me, obviously trying not to laugh. "I told you."
He sneered and got another glass before trudging upstairs. With a snort of laughter, I got down a glass and took a sip of the cool water, before resuming my seat at the table.
"So, Annabelle, what were you planning on doing today?" Ginny asked as she walked into the kitchen and sat beside me. Molly set a plate with eggs, toast, and bacon in front of me.
"Hmm, I didn't really have any plans," I answered, as I took a bite of toast.
"Fred, Bill, and I were thinking it might be kinda fun to play some Quidditch," she suggested with twinkling eyes. I grinned broadly.
"Ok, but these are the teams I want," I told her. "I want Fred and George as beaters; Bill, You, Angelina as chasers; Harry as seeker; and Ron as keeper to play against Adele and Gianna as Beaters; Paul, Claude, and Raoul as chasers; Brigitte as Keeper; and myself as seeker." She thought for a moment before grinning broadly and running to discuss this with all of the parties mentioned.
My family was far more reckless about flying than most of the Weasleys, and it would be easy for us to beat them simple because of that fact. Actually, our amazing, yet reckless, flying was what got us signed to teams.
"Those poor unfortunate souls," I murmured, with an evil grin as I took a bite of eggs. Molly looked at me and smiled.
"I realize that you have three professional players on your team, four if you include Claude, but you'll be evenly matched," Molly told me in a calm tone.
"They all agreed!" Ginny shouted as she ran into the kitchen where I was still working n my breakfast.
"Sweet!" I shouted, jumping to my feet and forgetting about finishing my breakfast entirely. "Get the brooms!" I cried as I ran up to the room I was sleeping in and grabbed my broom running back outside.
I found that Harry, Bill, Fred, George, Paul, Claude, and Brigitte were already outside. I grinned broadly and ran down to where some of my teammates were already standing. In mere moments Adele, Gianna, and Raoul also ran out and down to meet us. All of both teams were now assembled, and I glanced over at Ginny's team, feeling a little nervous.
"Do you all remember the plays we came up with last summer?" I inquired looking around. When everyone nodded, I grinned an evil grin. "All right, let's go then."
We all took to the air, and the quaffle was released. Angelina immediately took possession and hurtled toward the goal, only to have her shot blocked by Brigitte. Despite the fact that she hadn't played for almost ten years, Brigitte was still probably one of the top ten keepers in the world. She threw the ball neatly to Claude who took off down the pitch only to find that he was going to be blocked by Bill and Ginny. Claude grinned cockily at them, and simply dropped the quaffle. Angelina dove for it, only to have it suddenly fly up into Raoul's waiting arms, courtesy of Adele's bat. Adele smirked at Angelina, and swung mightily into one of the bludgers, sending it directly at her father. It became obvious that he couldn't redirect it efficiently enough and George had to simply roll over in mid air to avoid being knocked senseless. I scanned the pitch, looking for the snitch. I knew Harry wasn't going to bother with trying any Wronskie Feints after the last two times he had lost to me because of them. Ginny had possession of the quaffle, and Gianna took careful aim. Her bludger shot down and hit the quaffle, missing Ginny, sending it perfectly into Paul's waiting hands. We were up 30-10, and I watched as Paul raced toward the goal, only to throw it toward the left goal. Suddenly as if appearing out of nowhere, Adele was there and used her bat to redirect the ball through the right hoop.
A suddenly flutter of gold caught my eye and I watched as the snitch began to fly toward me, only forty feet below.
"PAUL!" I shouted, as I dove off the handle of my broom. He came racing down toward me, as Harry raced toward the snitch. I reached out and with one hand grabbed the snitch, and grabbed Paul's extended arm with the other. I swung myself onto the broom behind him and shoved my fist aloft to cheers from my observing family members.
"You beat the hell out of that quaffle!" George cried in awe to Adele and Gianna. "I thought Beaters weren't allowed to hit the quaffle intentionally," Fred added, glaring at them.
"I thought it was a bludger," both girls replied in unison without batting an eyelash.
My laughter rang out through the air and I walked over to where my girls stood. I wrapped an arm around each of them and smiled at Fred and George.
"Actually, the rules only state that no players can handle the quaffle except the keeper and the chasers, therefor, if the quaffle is thrown directly at a beater it would be entirely appropriate for him or her to hit the ball with his or her bat," I said sweetly.
"That is ridiculously sneaky," Harry shouted, stomping over. "Not only do you beat me twice by pulling your disgustingly reckless moves, but you get your whole family to play using tactics that are just barely encompassed by the rules!" He shouted, waving his fist in my face.
I looked at him coldly. "I've seen you do some pretty risky things, Potter," I snarled, clenching my fists. "And you miss the snitch because you're too busy pulling those damn feints! Any seeker who bothered to pay attention would know that when you really see the snitch you go into an 80 degree dive and when you're faking it you only go 76! You're just upset because I kicked your ass running today too!" I shouted back.
"Uncalled for!" He yelled brandishing his broom wildly. "There is no need to insult my flying ability!" He shouted. "Just admit that you and your family CHEATED!"
In a blind fury, I leapt upon him, my fist connecting squarely with his jaw. He stumbled and tripped, and I was on him like an animal, clawing and punching anything that I could get in contact with. Suddenly, two strong arms wrapped around my waist and jerked me up off of Harry. I was panting and struggling against my restraints.
"Annabelle, chill out!" Paul shouted as he ran up to me. "We all know that those plays are dangerously close to cheating."
"They are not!" I bellowed. "Nothing ever says that a bludger has to be aimed at a PERSON and not the quaffle! None of the rules say that you can't hit the quaffle with the beaters bats! It is not anywhere NEAR cheating!" My struggles were weakening substantially.
Exhaustion was beginning to set in more than just emotionally at this point. I had been too tired from running and not eating a full meal to play Quidditch. And then I had used up any and all extra energy playing the game, and now I was running on pure adrenaline and starving, which was extremely bad considering that I suffered from hypoglycemia. Harry glared at me, and tapped his face with his wand, easily fixing any damage that I had done. My mother was walking over toward me, and I took to pouting as I continued to be physically restrained.
"George, why don't you take Annabelle inside and make sure that she eats something," my mother suggested sweetly, dropping a kiss on my forehead. "Beautiful catch, ma cherie."
"Merci, Maman," I replied sullenly as George lifted me more conveniently into his arms. I crossed my arms stubbornly and refused to look at George, which really didn't matter because it wasn't as if he were actively trying to make eye contact with me.
He dumped me in a chair at the table while he rummaged through the cupboard for something that I could snack on until somebody who could actually cook came in. He set a box of crackers in front of me and a glass of orange juice. I just stared at it and then sullenly looked out the window, finally realizing that I still had the snitch gripped tightly in my hand. I let it go and watched it flutter around for a few moments.
"Annabelle," George said sternly, from where he was leaning against the counter.
"What?" I asked waspishly, pulling my legs up to my stomach. I had a horrible feeling that I was going to be violently ill at any moment.
"Eat," he gestured to the box on the table.
"No, I'm not hungry," I replied childishly. My vision was getting a little fuzzy, but I wasn't actually hungry, my stomach just hurt a little.
"Sweetheart, I know you only ate about a third of your breakfast this morning because you were excited about playing," he said softly, his eyes searching my face. "I didn't prank the box or cup, you know," he added with a smile.
Grumbling, I grabbed the glass of orange juice with a violently trembling hand and took a long swallow. I grabbed and ate a few crackers, before passing out on the table.