Chapter 7
Your couch is quite nice, Alicia. Always has been. So I can safely say that I was very comfortable with spending that first night on it. Even if I did have to wake up at four thirty in the morning for quidditch practice, it still beat sleeping against a house any day and being awoken to a frightening chopping noise.
Instead, I was awoken by your 'trusty alarm clock' which, as you know, you lent to me for my early-morning risings. I'm not sure which I hated more; that infernal buzzing racket or getting up early in the morning. It is very close, Alicia. But I'm sure that you know that.
After stumbling blindly out of the bathroom and grabbing my duffle, I snatched up a muffin and hurried out of your flat, lest the sound of my yawning wake you up. I was only thinking about you, you know.
But I wasn't, however, thinking about you or I, or anyone else for that matter, when I decided that it was a must for me to apparate to a field near the stadium. Closing my eyes, and clutching both the duffle on my shoulder and my muffin in my hand, I concentrated on the grass by the side of the field. You know. The three D's: Determine, Dare, Die. Or something to that effect.
And lo and behold! Two nearly perfect apparitions in forty-eight hours! I cannot explain to you how important that apparation was, Alicia. I needed it. It was a bit of a self-esteem make or break for me.
I didn't bother to pause as I flew toward the locker rooms. Practice started at six, it was five-thirty and I still hadn't changed. Or eaten my muffin. The large wooden door was just swinging shut behind me when I realized something that would later, as you know, become a very very big mistake.
I had forgotten to grab my broom on my way out.
The locker room was very loud around me, thirteen other players either stumbled blindly around or had that twitchy 'wired-on-coffee' look that used to adorn George's face every morning before he built up such an immunity to the caffeine. I don't even think more then two of them looked up when I went into a mad shouting and cursing fit with myself. Honestly Alicia. I couldn't even look competent the first day on the pitch! It was terrible.
As I threw my duffle into my locker (Labled 'Bell, Katie'), I noticed that one of the players that had looked up at my entrance was still watching me with an interested eye. Two lockers away from mine, a petite girl tied her long and dull brown hair into a knot at the back of her head before holding her hand out to me. I looked warily at it. I mean, wasn't this what Ana had warned me about? Wait, what had she warned me about? It slipped my mind already.
Must have been the broom polish fumes. You know how those are, Alicia. I know that they used to get to you a lot during our Hogwarts years. And I'd rather you didn't deny it.
Haphazardly passing my muffin from one hand to the other, I shook her hand and looked down at her. She looked like she could barely pass as thirteen. In fact, she looked as if Emmy could be her mother.
"Hullo", I said, in what I hoped was a voice that could be interpreted as, 'What are you doing here? Junior leaguers don't practice full-pitch.' But no such luck. The girl just smiled and grasped my hand in a surprisingly tight grip.
" 'lo. Katie I presume? I'm Patricia, alt seeker. Don't call me Patricia, though. Too fancy for my taste. Pat or Patty will do just fine." For such a small person, she certainly had a lot to say. Letting go of my hand, she leaned closer and added in an aside, "I read about you in the paper a couple of months ago. If you go mad during practice, I'll explain it to Jonathan."
She nodded reassuringly and patted my shoulder a little bit. I gave her a weak grin in return, and my eyes blurred a bit. You know why, Alicia? I couldn't even get a bit of a new start among perfect strangers. "Greatly appreciated", I forced in a strangled voice.
Pat nodded, and waved cheerfully to someone on my other side. Before I could even turn to get a good look at the waivee, someone grabbed my hand a pumped it up and down not in an unkind way. I think that you can safely understand why I do not like being grabbed by people that I don't know, Alicia.
I yelped, and spun around to face a witch who was a little bit taller than me. Wide smile, hair cut short, stocky and muscular build, she looked a few years older than my sister. "Mornin'! I'm Mel. Excuse Pat, she doesn't usually like to talk to strangers." Her voice was deep, but pleasantly so. I almost felt welcome as it echoed around inside of my locker.
Wincing at the way that my arm was bent, I disengaged myself from the witch who called herself Mel. "Katie…Well, I--" I never got a chance to finish exactly what I was going to say, because a shadow loomed over me. Needless to say I don't much like shadows either. Pat's smile faded and Mel rolled her eyes.
It didn't matter whether I was interrupted or my voice dropped off, because I had come face to face with the most handsome man in existence. Ever. Of course I had seen pictures, Alicia. You have, too. But if you ever saw him in person (Have you?), than you would know that none of them hardly do him justice.
Jonathan Lowe was tall, grey eyed, and a scruffy blonde. And he was looking at me! Right at me! Well, at an outer extremity of myself, at any rate. Jonathan the most handsome man in existence was eying the muffin in my hand. My most privileged muffin!
I think that I stopped breathing when he said, in a voice smooth as honey, "Can I have that? Because I forgot to eat this morning." No matter that the sensible part of my brain was asking 'What kind of man forgets to eat in the morning?' No matter at all. Because it took every ounce of willpower that I had ever summoned to keep from shouting, 'Yes! Take this muffin! Take my virginity! Take my firstborn child!' No matter that my virginity was no longer up for grabs and that I didn't plan on having children even in the near future.
Instead, I shrugged, and answered coolly, "What? This muffin?". Of course this muffin! I shrugged again and did you proud Alicia:
"Yeah, I guess so." I shrugged again, before tipping it into his hand. Jonathan winked, told me that I would make a fine quidditch player and that he was proud to have me on his team, before walking away. I'm still impressed. He could tell that all from just a muffin.
Imagine what sort of divination could have been accessible, had I given him a danish!
Pat giggled in a juvenile way, and Mel looked less thrilled. Much less. I just watched Jonathan's back as he strode through the locker room. Alicia, that man is worth his weight in Galleons.
A small fellow walked purposefully in my line of sight. "Katherine, I presume?" Was what the simpering young man said to me. Pale, skinny, and plain, he almost offended me after eye-candy Jonathan. I looked blankly at him for a moment. I mean, who wouldn't? My mother is the only person who calls me Katherine. No one else in the bloody world has that right. She wouldn't even have it if it wasn't she who birthed me. Not only that…but I mean, who talks like that, Alicia?
He held out a hand, and I looked at it a moment. I know that you are reading this thinking that he meant for me to shake it, but his intention was for me to kiss it! It was palm down, propped daintily in the air. Alicia, I was not going to kiss his hand! I rolled my eyes back up to his face and chanced a stab at his identity.
"Eddie Robbins?", I asked with a disrespectful scowl. Ana's rules were out the window now. I heard Pat giggle in her squeaky voice, but turn it into a cough after Robbins cut a glare her way. "Edward J. Robbins the third to you", he snapped, snatching his hand out of midair, where he had been holding it.
Turning on his heel, Eddie pirouetted around Mel's bag. Leaning in close to a girl whose hair was obnoxiously strawberry-blonde and dead straight, he whispered something in her ear. The girl laughed, looked back at me, and giggled a bit more.
Honestly. She giggled. How sophomoric! She looked about the same age as Ana, too! I think we stopped giggling behind people's backs fourth year. Except for those few times after. I loathed her immediately. The back of her robe said FLETCHER, I noted, in case I took up beating and needed target practice.
Still only half focused, I hardly remember taking my robes out of my locker and yanking them over my head. What I do remember, though, was the loud smack that my head made against the locker as I struggled with the heavy cloth. I yelped, and a strong hand tugged on the material, pulling it down over my head.
As I straightened myself out, I turned myself around, trying to identify the person who had more or less helped me. A man leaned against Pat's locker, chuckling in a frightful way. As our eyes locked, I noticed that he had a wild air about him. His eyes rolled over me in a mad way that could alarm anyone. I reared back and tripped on the hem of my robes. I was a disaster that day, Alicia. I really was. But can you blame me?
The embarrassing part was that the only way that I cheated near-death (Or receiving a severe beating by the lockers opposite of me. Have what you may.), was that I was caught from behind. Maybe it was too many people touching me at once, maybe it was that I had gone without my muffin, maybe it was just that I had woken up too early in the morning, but at any rate, I leapt from the grasp of the person behind me and backed up until I could feel the cool metal of my locker behind me.
The man who was leaning against Pat's locker, who was plain-as-day nutters, shot a nasty sneer my way. "Bell, eh? Related to Ana, yeah?". He studied me a bit, and I felt myself leaning away, softly bumping into Mel. His slang was harsh, and I cringed. "You don't look it. Not near'ly as pretty."
As if to prove his point, he swung open his own locker door (posted; Thompson, Brian). There, attached to the inside, was my sister's most recent individual team photo. Standing gracefully dressed in Harpies sweater and boots, she blinked demurely, and barely swayed as she flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder. Poor bloody excuse for a feminist.
I was at a loss for words, but needn't have said anything, as my savior spoke up in a cool voice. "I have an idea where I can shove your broom for you, Thompson. Better not tempt me; Lowe won't be too happy if he's got to help you pry it out first half of practice." I looked up. A man, taller than most, loomed above the small group. His hair was shades lighter than even mine (Very, very pale, Alicia. Take my word for it.), and his eyes were a soft green. He was gathering things out of a locker that I assumed was his (marked: Bonnet, Laurent).
Thompson barely moved for a moment, the two men just held each other's stare until Thompson finally broke it. He grumbled something under his breath, and grabbed his broom just as Jonathan (Gift to the World) threatened us onto the field with colorful language. I didn't mind, in case you're wondering, Alicia. Anything sounded good coming out of his mouth.
Mel patted my shoulder, grabbed her equipment and trundled out onto the field. I realized that being patted on the shoulder must be a big thing around that pitch. She was closely followed by Pat. I didn't return with anything, just stood and stared blankly at the duffle in my hand. I was deciding whether to put on the guards my sister had given me. These people didn't seem too dangerous so far. As I decided against the bulky guards, I felt something being shoved into my hands.
Laurent was pushing a broomstick at me and slamming the door to his locker shut at the same time. "Notice you don't have one." He nodded, and smiled. "I have an extra. You can borrow it." I thanked him thoroughly. I mean, did anyone that you just met ever lend you something as expensive as a broom? I think not! Had better take advantage, you know. I trailed after Laurent onto the field.
It was dark still, and a bit dewy. But it smelled like freshly cut grass and paint and broom polish. I would have stopped to admire it more, but I didn't want to risk the rest of them thinking me a dork, and because Jonathan was barking orders. I tell you, when that man tells you to so something, you do it.
"All right. First practice, and most of you are returning. Mel, Brian, Devon, Janni. I know how you work. But I haven't seen the rest of you fly except at tryouts. Scrimmage today. First stringers versus Alts." I, myself, was disgusted at his butchering of the word Alternates. It was almost as if he was too lazy to attach the other two syllables. You know… What's the use? Just drop them.
"Full pitch. League rules. No wands, no fouls." He continued, looking around our fourteen player huddle. "I'll toss up, snitch gets a twenty-second head start." Around me, heads were bobbing in agreement. "All right." Jonathan clapped his hands together. "Alts on my right side, first stringers on my left." Just like that, Alicia. So unceremoniously.
I shuffled to join the alternate chasers on the mid-pitch line, taking care not to drag Laurent's broom in the mud. In all of our scuffling about, I had barely noticed that Jonathan had let go of the snitch. Pat had, though, and was watching it with a practiced eye.
I was stuck in-between Laurent and Carlos, a shorter man with a cheerful face, and our two beaters were behind us. It was fairly unnerving, the fact that I had to trust these two with my well-being. You know, I hardly knew them. It was always different with the twins covering my behind.
Even farther behind the beaters, Pat and our keeper Zachary Green looked as if they were conversing under their breath. Pat was drawing lines in the air with her fingers, and Zachary was shaking his head fervently. Their conversation was drawn to a quick close as Jonathan blew his whistle sharply, and we kicked off of the ground. He gave the bludger box a sound thump with his foot and it sprang open.
Barely pausing to duck a bludger that whizzed back around to try smack him (So fearless, Alicia.), Jonathan gave the quaffle a hearty throw in the midst of us chasers before kicking off the ground himself.
Nathalie, a pretty girl who could be Angelina's sister, was first to scoop up the quaffle. Keeping it not even for a few moments, she threw it vigorously toward Eddie. Eddie reminded me of Dave in the way that he was more thana bit twitchy. As soon as he saw the quaffle coming his way, he threw his arms about his head and let the red ball fall past him. How many chasers do that, Alicia? I still can't believe his meek temperament.
In a quick sweep, Carlos picked it up and lobbed it toward Laurent. That was probably the time that I heard the first ear-splitting smack of bludger meeting bat. As you know, in scrimmages, it is perfectly legal to try and knock people off of their brooms. But it is not legal, however, to try and kill them. While Hank and Alex, our alternate beaters, as well as Mel were using the time for marksmanship practice and hitting the bludgers harmlessly into space, Brian Thompson was trying the take the heads off of my alternate team members.
I know, Alicia! How stupid can you get? EVERYONE involved in the quidditch process knows that during scrimmages you don't want to hurt your own teammates! Alternates are often used for whatever reason. The thing that confused me the most was that Jonathan, sweet sweet Jonathan, wasn't even doing anything about it! He was just circling above the pitch in a drowsy way.
He didn't even react when Laurent half-heartedly passed the quaffle toward me in an attempt to duck a murderous bludger that would have broken his jaw. Honestly!
That was when Brain targeted me the first time. As I sped toward the goals, a bludger hit me hard between the shoulder blades. I winced and the quaffle dropped out of my hands. Nathanial Hughes, a lanky young man preferring to be called Nate, shouted an apology towards me as he chased after the bludger and lightly knocked it away from the flurry of activity.
In the meantime, however, Nathalie had caught the quaffle once again and had tossed it towards 'Fletcher'. The daft girl fumbled around with it for a bit before it slipped from her grasp. I saw a look of annoyance on poor Nathalie's face, she seemed like the only first string chaser who was capable of controlling a quaffle.
Again, Carlos saved it, and tossed it towards Laurent, who was positioned closer to the goals than I was. I watched as he tossed it in easily, but couldn't even whoop in celebration, as a bludger had smashed into the side of my face.
It was bad, Alicia. Worse than when I was in my second year and got beamed in the back of the head. That was my first bad quidditch injury, too. Everyone said that it got better after the first good thumping, but this proved that it absolutely wasn't true.
My mouth dropped open and I gasped in pain. I hadn't even had the quaffle! Even though it technically wasn't illegal, it was pretty damn close. In the distance, I heard the piercing shriek whistle and an order to touch ground. Someone put their arm around me, and had towed me downward. I later found out it was Carlos.
As we got closer and closer to the grass, I heard shouting. I was enough in my right mind to watch as Hank, a very boxy, and muscular man, bellowed at Thompson and shook his bat in his direction. Nate and Mel had their arms crossed and hands on their hips respectively, and looked terribly unhappy. Brian didn't even have the decency to 4look chagrined, just kept replying in an even voice that he thought that I was receiving the quaffle.
Jonathan didn't even add anything to the fight, as he had his arm around Janni Fletcher's shoulders and was listening to the girl recount her story about how the quaffle had smashed her fingers into her broom handle. I was so mad that I could spit, Alicia. Poor girl, I felt like whimpering. The snitch was fluttering in Jonathan's hand. Ah, so he hadn't called the scrimmage for Thompson's bludger-happy ways.
I was angry even before Eddie sauntered over and started telling his version about how Nathalie had nearly bashed his skull in when she passed the ball to him.
Maybe it was Eddie's whiny voice that set me off. Before I knew it, I had pushed up the sleeves of my robes and was on my way over to Thompson. I paused long enough to ram Laurent's broom into his own grasp, but didn't stop there. I narrowed my eyes, and walked past the group of stunning Nathalie, Devon, a bald and optimistic man, Zachary, looking about my age with a head of brown curls, and minute Pat.
I reached Thompson just as Hank had begun to back off, square face red and unhappy. Thompson's wold eyes locked onto mine and he smiled.
Maybe his taunting leer was what had made me do it. Jump him, that is, Alicia. Without warning (I hadn't even seen it coming) I shoved him. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised at myself, though. Fighting is second nature for me. If wands were legal on the pitch, I would have had it out and had him begging for mercy. Or at least blasted him with that curse we learned in the DA. But as it was, I had no lines of defense against the nutter other than myself.
Which was why, seconds later, Thompson attempted to strangle me. With his hand around my throat, I tried not to gasp for air. I can tell you, though, Alicia. It was hard not to panic. My hand balled into a fist and I heard Pat shouting at someone to break it up.
But no need, Alicia. We, the famed Gryffindor chasers, have been able to hold our own on the pitch against trolls like Flint, Warrington, and Montague for ages. I knew how to handle the situation, even if pure dumb luck wasn't on my side for once. How did I know it wasn't on my side? Probably the fact that I was slowly turning an interesting shade of purple.
Drawing back my arm, I got an impressive hit right to Brian's nose. He let go of me and stumbled back. Jonathan was at his side in a moment. I had my hands on my knees, and my head hung forward. My hair flipped in my face, but I didn't move to brush it away. You know the position. The one I take when I'm trying not to hyperventilate or kill someone. It was the latter that I'm mentioning here.
Mel clapped me on the back. "Serves him right", she told Jonathan, whose face was turning red. Exactly like when your brother wants to yell something really loudly, but is forcing himself to hold it in. Just like that, Alicia.
"Off the pitch, Bell", Jonathan sputtered, as I straightened up. Guess I shocked him, attacking a man who had at least a half foot on me. "Lockers. Shower. Cool Down." He seemed to only speak in nouns, though it didn't make him any less alluring. "Come back tomorrow."
Normally the things that give a girl a feeling of accomplishment are incredibly simple. You know, a new set of dress robes, flowers, cuddling with the boyfriend of the week/month/year, a good joke. I'm the same as any other woman, don't get me wrong. But at that moment, I don't think that anything could have squelched the warm fuzzies inside as I watched Thompson squirm, howling under his breath and holding his face like he was growing a horn.
Jonathan had a hand on Brian's shoulder, and for the first time, I realized that the two of them must be friends. Poor, poor Jonathan. I guess because he was as good looking and sweet as he was, he needed an arsehole friend to balance it out. I suppose I could understand that.
It's kind of like you and me. Except with you being the fashion freak, me being the girl who doesn't care, and us doing away with the arsehole part altogether.
And so, with a wink toward Brian, and a raspy (For I had just had my larynx crushed, you must understand), "Try anything funny with the bludgers again, and I'll show you where to shove your broomstick.".
I threw my shoulders back, and, in the best Ana imitation I could manage, walked gracefully off the pitch. But I heard them alright. I heard Pat's shout of laughter, Thompson's angry muttering, and a wolf-whistle that I'm sure came from Laurent.
And that, Alicia, is how I first became dead-bent on becoming a first stringer. It is also how I was thrown off the pitch for the first time in my life.
But, most importantly of all, it was how I turned up in Diagon Alley at precisely nine twenty-five in the morning, dressed in jeans and a tank top, bag slung casually over my shoulder with my hair still dripping wet from my shower.
Maybe it was because I didn't have access to your house, or perhaps it was because it was lonely. Heck, possibly I even found myself missing the buzzing activity of the twins. But at any rate, I ended up at the front door of WWW, angry bruises and all.