Title: Fireworks

Author: Emmylou

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters and concepts, are the creation of JK Rowling.

Rating: PG

Summary: Angelina and Fred's relationship is tested when they travel to Egypt on business for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

A/N: Angelina's broom in this chapter is a 57 Levy (57 Chevy – geddit? Levy as in levitation). Sadly I did not come up with this myself but got it off a broom naming thread at Fiction Alley. Thank you to Ellemorpheus who came up with it. Thanks to my lovely reviewers too!

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In the end she'd stuffed the letter into her bag and pretended it hadn't arrived yet. Only she knew how serious the results could be. Fred thought a year's ban from flying was bad enough – but a lifetime one? He'd been through that himself in less peaceful times – but there were extenuating circumstances. He'd been banned on a whim by a demented, kitten loving toad. Her ban would be after a week of serious meetings by the Quidditch Council.

That was the bit the Prophet didn't know about. Her year ban had made the front of the sports page, but no one had made it public that it was a year's ban pending review.

Her manager had made it perfectly clear he wouldn't let her fly again on the Tornado's team – so even if it was just for a year she'd only manage to get onto a team like the Somerset Snorkacks at the end.

She climbed onto the bed, feeling dizzy from the heat and worry. She lay with a cushion propped under her knee, staring at the ceiling.

Joining a Quidditch team was not easy. Sometimes you got lucky and if you'd had a big win on the school team they might be interested. But she had hardly had the success of Oliver Wood in her captaincy, had she?

Oliver had put in some good words and she'd finally got a tryout for the Tornado reserves. She wasn't on posters, no little girls looked at her and thought, one day I'll be like her. She trained for five hours a day for a measly sixteen Galleons a week. She'd have got better working in the Leaky Cauldron as a maid.

And at the end of it all, she was only third reserve – there were two other more experienced chasers waiting in line should an injury occur.

Her brother owned a Cauldron company and had offered her a permanent place whenever she wanted. He'd promised her forty Galleons a week too, just for sitting in a dry, warm office, arranging deliveries and orders – and when your on pitch being soaked and splashed, and knocked off your broom for three measly Galleons a day, it was a tempting offer.

One year, she'd decided, one year and I quit Quidditch and find my niche in the cauldron market.

But, to her surprise, things had started to smooth out. Fred had saved up enough money to buy his own posh flat (or "pad" as he insisted on calling it) and he'd invited her to move in by tossing her a set of keys and calling "Get your stuff then!" as he'd bounced off to pick a sofa.

The money pressures lessened when they shared an account (for while her name meant nothing to the community, Fred's was on everyone's lips) and when one of the reserve chasers left to have a baby her chances improved further. Finally she had stopped treading water and was swimming upstream.

Then her chance had come. There was a match against the Wasps that lasted two days. All the chasers were called on to replace their exhausted team-mates midnight, and for the first time since school Angelina had walked onto the pitch among cheers and chants of the crowd. She'd been on top of the world. Fred and George were leaping up and down in their seats, the loudest cheerers of all.

All it would take was for a Tornado's win and she'd get at least a mention in the paper – if she played especially well she might even get mentioned in the player of the week column.

She'd leapt on her broom, adrenalin buzzing through her, and begun the best game of her life. She made moves that would have made Oliver Wood propose to her at school. She scored, again, again, the crowd seemed to be picking up the chant from Fred and George; "An-gel! An-gel! An-gel!"

A wasp had snatched back the Quaffle, she'd swooped towards him, he'd barrelled forwards into her, and as they'd crashed he'd rammed his knee hard into hers with a crunch.

She'd fallen off her broom, woken up in the medical tent, and heard Fred and George's angry shouts as they demanded to be let in to see her. But instead of sympathetic healers, she'd looked at faces of officials, her manager stood to her right, white lipped with fury.

"Recognise these?" he spat.

He tossed a number of small metallic spikes at her. She picked one up. It was as thin as a pin and four inches long.

"No," she said.

"Denial!" roared another man in Wasp uniform. "This calls for an immediate meeting of the council! The Tornado's will pay for this cheating witch!" He smacked the tent flap aside letting in the angry buzzing chant of the Wasp fans in.

The other men stalked out too, leaving herself and her manager alone.

"You foolish girl!" he shouted. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard. "You idiot! The team had to forfeit the match – we'll fall out of the league for this!"

"You're hurting me!" she wailed.

He dropped her and she slumped back onto the bed, breathing heavily.

He was young for a manager and he had a temper that infected everything around him. She found herself actually frightened of the telling off she was about to receive, although she had no idea what she had supposedly done.

"Cheating!" he yelled. "You've destroyed the Tornado's good name! A stupid little reserve has done what even our seeker admitting he wears women's underwear could not do!"

"I've not done anything!" Angelina found herself shouting back. "I crashed and hurt my knee! I don't know what these are!" she flung them back at his chest.

"I'll tell you what you did! You stuck them into your knee pads! An extra weapon should you have to play rough! They were found sticking into your knee pad. You obviously rammed them too hard because they went into your knee instead of their poor chaser's. He fell of his broom and broke his wrist – they've fixed him up but now they're claiming you flew into him on purpose, tried to ram these spike into him, and when you only succeeded in hurting yourself, you pushed him off his broom and fell yourself to avoid suspicion. You must have been hoping to remove the needles before you got caught!"

"I did NOT!" shrieked Angelina. "I have never cheated! They must have been in his knee pads!"

"If that was the case, why would he fall off his own broom? Hmm?"

"I didn't do anything!" Angelina shouted again. Her knee ached, she was soaked to the skin, and her bones ached from the fall. She burst into tears. "I really didn't!"

"You're injuries are evidence! I'm not letting them be healed. You can have a bandage to bandage them up the Muggle way, but I'm not letting a Healer near you until the wound's been photographed and examined." The manager puffed his chest out and spoke as if addressing a media circus. "The Tornados abhor cheating and will work tirelessly to see that the crime is investigated."

"Now see here!" said a young looking Healer. "If that wound's not healed now it could take weeks to be comfortable again. They need to be mended instantly if you don't want weeks of pain ahead of you! We can't treat her like some Muggle for crying out loud!"

"Bandage it up," grunted the manager. "No magic. And let those idiot twins in, they're making a scene."

Angelina had been notified of the ban the next day, and was told to await news of whether the ban would be permanent. Two months later her knee still ached very much and she was despondent and out of work. Now she was living on top of a fireworks factory in Egypt with a boyfriend who seemed to have forgotten she existed.

She looked into her back, pretending not to see the letter, and pulled out her broom. It had taken some crafty spell work to hide it in her bag without it being noticed, but she would not have left it at home for a thousand Galleons. If she had been banned it would be snapped in half s soon as she returned to England. At least she'd have a few weeks of flying here left – she was only banned in England after all.

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Pili had come in to tell her that lunch was being served and that Fred and Donkor would not be in attendance because they were pouring over plans for fireworks. They were apparently in a conference call with George via the fireplace.

Angelina realised she had been lying in her bed for three hours, clutching her broom to her chest.

"Is that a 57 Levy?"

Angelina looked up to where Pili was looking hungrily at her broom. "Yeah. Fred got it for me when I made the team. You must know a lot about Quidditch – they don't sell this make here."

Pili nodded. "I read every annual that comes out for every team, and I read all about broomsticks from all over the world. They don't report much English Quidditch here so I only know about the players from the annuals. Your picture was in this year's Tornado Annual as a reserve chaser."

"Well, it won't be in next years," said Angelina. She sat up. "Do you have a broom?"

Pili smiled sadly. "No. My father promises to get me the best broom as soon as we become rich once more. Until then I go without."

"Did you play at school?"

"Yes," her eyes lit up. "My…my, friend was rich – her father bought her a good broom but she hated to fly. She let me use it for every match. She would have given it me, but she did not want her father to be angry. I would dearly love a broom of my own. One that is mine alone."

"Well," said Angelina with a sad smile. "If I return to England with this broom it'll be snapped. You can have it when I go. I'd rather it was used by someone."

Pili smiled thankfully but shook her head. "I am grateful, but I would rather get one by my own hand. I want to earn it."

She nodded politely and once again offered lunch, before turning to leave. Angelina slumped back onto the bed.

Eventually not knowing was worse. Stomach churning, she slipped her hand into her bag and snatched the letter.

Make it quick, she thought. Don't make a production. Make it as normal as opening a Gringotts statement.

She ripped open the letter.

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In regards to the investigation into the injuries received by Angelina Johnson and Christian Brownbolt, a conclusion has been resolved by the Quidditch Council.

A full investigation has occurred and all evidence points to Angelina Johnson being the guilty party in this matter. It has been judged she attached long needle like implements to her knee pad in order to attack other players. In the course of the game she accidentally injured herself and retaliated by knocking Christian Brownbolt off his broom.

The council have concluded that a full lifetime ban should be enforced banning Ms. Johnson from both recreational and professional flight.

Yrs,

Squiggle

Robin Sparrow

Quidditch Council Judiciary

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Woo, two in one day, I'm doing well. Love to hear what you think!