Chapter 1

It was humid and raining outside. I remember that specifically because as the rain hit the hot street, fog arose and blanketed Diagon Alley. It gave it an eerie look, which was even more effective when our fellow witches and wizards walked slowly though the haze swinging lanterns. I also specifically remember this weather condition because we were running blindly through it, trying to reach the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. Well, to be fair, I was the only one running. And I was tugging on the arm of your cloak and on the front of Fred's trying to reach the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies while Angelina and George tagged along behind. No one seemed to complain, because after all, I had let myself be drug around most of Britain by you guys. You mostly apparated, though.

Apparating is not my strong point (and never has been) and I only do it when it's absolutely necessary, so as I dragged the two of you along, we stumbled through puddles, got nearly run over, and were drenched to the bone. Lovely day, considering. Just as the broomstick-shaped sign came into view, another obstacle presented itself. A crowd had formed in front of the window. The window where I needed to be. Not them. Who cared about them, anyway?

I let go of the handfuls of cloth that I was death-gripping and narrowed my gaze at the masses. From the throng of hopefuls, I heard screeches of agony for the most part. Not very uplifting. But every few moments there was a hushed cheer or a flash of a grin. Still watching the crowd, but with a softer stare, I breathed in the smell of victory. All for me. All for Katie Bell. I could just imagine myself in England's stately robes, breeze in my hair, cheers all for me. Oh yes, it suited me well.

"Aren't you going to--", Fred began, and was cut off by George, "check the list?". That was all they said. Ha. No jokes. Absolutely 100 jokeless. Take that, I thought with a wicked grin, my career wasn't a laughing matter.

"I suppose", I answered with a playful sigh, and I flicked my sopping ponytail over my shoulder. "I suppose I must". I was prolonging the moment of complete self-assuredness. The moment where you are so sure that you are the best thing that has ever happened to the world. Or, in this case, England.

"I suppose that you had better get your arse over there", you responded unhappily, as you smoothed out the arm of your wrinkled and dripping robe. "I want a butterbeer after this." After pulling on the garment in a hopeless attempt to straighten it, you amended with a grumpy, "Make that a large firewhisky."

Throwing a saucy grin over my shoulder, I traipsed up toward the crowd with Angelina behind me. A short and round wizard stumbled past me looking teary-eyed as I neared the edge of the crowd. I looked after him with an eyebrow raised. I knew him from tryouts, Earl for seeker. Once you have known someone over the past month, you don't tend to forget them quickly. The poor bumbling fellow had been much too heavy for a seeker and had been unable to pick up speed. As a result, on one of the last days of practice a bludger had nailed him in a most uncomfortable spot. I hope that he is able to have children one day, I honestly do.

Maybe Angelina took my slight pause for one of hesitance, because she grabbed my hand and shoved through the crowd herself. How I admire her, and always have, and her ability to take action even if something didn't really concern her. At home, most people call that nosy. But we three chasers? Nope. Survival to us. As I was propelled through the mob, I looked over the heads of the agitated people behind me to see what you and the twins were doing. From what it looked like, Fred and George were shooting fireworks from their wands and you were sitting in the mud. What were you doing, anyway, Alicia?

By the time that Angelina had reached the front, there were more than a few angry magic folk behind us. Armed with wands as well as fists. I had no idea that people hated being cut in front of so much. I could see the paper, and could just make out the words as I received a violent push from behind. I suspect that it was most likely Angelina, but I wouldn't have put it past anyone in the crowd.

As a result of the shove, I stumbled forward and stopped moving with my face just inches away from the glass with the list on the other side. I could read it. Taking a deep breath and grinning to myself, I dragged a finger down the glass in front of the parchment and read it aloud to myself:

ENGLAND NATIONAL QUIDDITCH TEAM ROSTER

Seeker: Jonathan Lowe

Alternate Seeker: Patricia Hall

Keeper: Devon Robinson

Alternate Keeper: Zachary Green

Beaters: Melanie Smith

Brian Thompson

Alternate Beaters: Nathanial Hughes

Hank Wallace

Chasers: Janni Fletcher

Nathalie Gledhill

Edward J. Robbins III

Alternate Chasers: Katie Bell

Laurent Bonnet

Carlos Casto

My eyes opened wide and my jaw dropped. I scanned the paper again. What? Alternate? I was easily one of the best players on the Gryffindor team. And Gryffindors did not take quidditch lightly. Not at all. I couldn't face everyone after this.

With a disappointed squeak, I leaned forward and let my body rest against the window. No. How could this be? Only alternate! My head bumped against the glass with a 'thunk' and I let my body lie still for a moment as I thought it over. It wasn't even worth playing if I was only an alternate, practice and no play.

"Hey!" Someone in the crowd howled impatiently. "We're here too, you know. Move it along, Sweetheart." I felt the rustling of robes behind me, but had neither the will nor the energy to move. "Hmm." I responded, fogging up the glass. Immediately after, I heard a screech from inside of the store.

A frumpy man with coke-bottle glasses burst from the doors of Quality Quidditch Supplies. "Ger'off my window!". He barked and shook his wand angrily at the side of my head, my face still incidentally pressed against the window in question. "You din't warsh 'em. I did. You'll right and ruin 'im". I heard peals of laughter behind me, but still didn't move. He stepped forward a bit and prodded me in the side with his wand, jumping back as if he expected me to lunge at "'im". "You 'eard me. Off. Now."

I leaned back and looked evenly at him, my shoulders slumped in defeat and mouth set in a line. I could teach him a lesson. Right here, right now. But before I could throw a smart-assed comment his way I felt Angelina's strong hands on my shoulders. "Come on, Katie." As she moved me through the crowd, I heard the fellow add something else. "The zany 'uns always play qui'dich, eh?". I just sighed, and let Angelina steer me away from the bloody list.

"What's the report, mon capitain?", George grinned and dropped his sparking wand. Fred jumped behind me, replacing Angelina's hands with his arm. "First string, you say? Captain?". He stopped short and gasped, waving a hand in front of his eyes. "World renowned already, Bell?".

I sighed as a response and shook off the twins ("Too good for us, eh?", Fred sniggered). Dragging my feet (as well as the hem of my robe, I'm sure) through the mud, I walked over to you. "Firewhisky it is."

Turning toward the Leaky Cauldron, you grumpily added, "Good show". Fred was the only one who was slow to follow. "So, are we celebrating? Are you world renowned?" He frowned and looked suspiciously down the street. No one thought that I saw Angelina turn around and grab his hand. Angelina most certainly did not think that I heard her mutter, "Shut it, Fred", before pulling him along in her authoritative way. But I did. Oh yes. I did.

It was only when we came within spitting distance of the Leaky Cauldron that I realized that rain was pouring down my face and arms in a steady stream. It was funny, I hadn't realized that it was raining at all. I guess having your hopes ripped away and run over by hippogriffs can do that. Your bangs were plastered against your face and were a darker black than usual. Underneath, you looked grouchy and angry.

I couldn't help it. I began to laugh. Five sopping wet people weren't funny at all. Not usually. But at that moment, I think that I must have been short-circuiting.George raised an eyebrow at me before he chivalrously opened the door to the pub for us. Angelina shoved me down into a booth and sat next to me. You pulled up a chair. Do you remember? You pulled it out from under that passed-out witch, and when she fell it almost made me laugh harder.

Fred threw himself into the booth across from us and George followed, holding two bottles in each hand and one perched precariously on his wrist. He bit his bottom lip as he concentrated on not spilling it. Now why couldn't I have a skill like that? George would never be out of a job, unlike me. He could always resort to bar-keeping. The idea of George as a barkeep was actually quite a depressing one, so I quieted down a bit as he slid the bottles across the table. Firewhisky for everyone but me and himself. Me, because I hated the handover that firewhisky inexorably brought, and George because he didn't like to drink much. This was unlike Fred who could chug a bottle of firewhisky faster than Warrington from the Slytherin team. Which was proven when he was in his 5th year and Warrington in his 7th.

You had preformed a drying spell as soon as we walked in the door, Fred and Angelina likewise (George didn't seem to mind being sopping wet, and I didn't know the drying spell and even if I did I wouldn't have preformed it right anyway), and brushed your dark hair out of your eyes. "A toast to Katie. May your quidditch years be filled with triumph and extremely good-looking men." You raised your lusted-after firewhisky and winked at me. "Extremely." Fred was quick to follow, and clinked the neck of his bottle with yours. "Cheers, Bell!" He smiled. Angelina looked at him incredulously. I imagine that she was figuring that he didn't know anything. I've seen that look before.

This was all-together too much. The laughing fit that I had just managed to stop had come back with a vengeance. "The funny thing is, that--", I gulped a breath and continued, "I only made alternate!". I giggled. "Alternate! Can you believe that? Me!".

I grinned wildly and sipped my butterbeer. Just like the rain, the news of being alternate crept up on me. As the drink warmed me, I came to my senses. Alternate! Me! That's right! I had almost forgotten what that meant. All practice, no play. The others looked at me with wide and solemn eyes. Oh, God.

I gasped in the middle of a sip, and choked. I put a hand to my throat as the inevitable coughing fit passed. I put my butterbeer down and felt my eyes tear up. "I—I--", I stuttered. Tears began to stream down my face. God, how embarrassing. If only I could have done that over, I wouldn't have acted like such a nut. "I'm only an alternate! I don't deserve to live!". And with that, I let my head fall onto my forearms.

I heard stunned silence for a moment before you patted my back. "It's all right, sweetie. We're here for you." There was a beat before Angelina put her arm around me and added reassuringly. "Yeah. The best players start out as alternates. Wood did, you know that. Look where he is now!"

"Where is he now?", A twin added aloud. Then there was a thud and a grunt. It was Fred then, Angelina had kicked him. "I mean, other than playing quidditch, that is. On first-string, probably." There was another thump and a sharp intake of breath. "Christ." He muttered something else under his breath, adding aloud: "George, I should have taken my cue from you. Silence is golden, yes siree. That's my new motto."

I sighed and sat up, wiping the tears from my face. "This is so stupid. I don't know whether to accept or not. I think I have to, but I'll never get to play. Plus, I only get paid a fraction of a fraction of what the first-string is paid. Then what's the point?". I took a civilized sip of my butterbeer. "I just don't know. What should I do, guys?".

"You know", you said thoughtfully. "That Jonathan Lowe, the captain, is extremely good looking and rich. Extremely." And then you winked and I knew what I had to do. Fred gagged, showing his disgust, and George rolled his eyes in good-humor. "Right. I'm taking it." I raised my butterbeer. "Cheers, right?"

"Ta, Bell!", Fred whooped. The bottles clinked and the deal was sealed. Practice started the day after tomorrow, according to my schedule. I was going to play this year no matter what it took.