Mach 31st, '06- Hey guys. Wondering where Necevi went?
Well I hope so. 'Cause that would make me feel special.
See, I would've loved to be updating, but no. I had to catch a severe case of the flu (and I don't mean the stay-at-home-with-chicken-noodle-soup flu), and had to spend the last little while in the hospital.
Blech.
So, now that I'm out, I'm ready to update again. Everything below this note, and up to the blessed cup of coffee was written before I was sick. Enjoy.
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'Ey there!- Don't mind me as I quickly reply to my reviews. 'Cause I love them so.
Anamaga (who is now Buffy the Mary Sue killer, but who I will continue calling Anamaga)- I'm running out of nice things to say to you! Let's just say… Oh! I'm glad my sandwich thing was liked, because it's a huge joke here at home. And I love you more than ever for it (though that's pretty darn hard because I loved you to begin with). Ha- I sound like a stalker.
And I'm still waiting for a The Parody of All Major Stories, Big or Small update.
Xtotallyatpeacex- I love that you reviewed each chapter. And eww for grammar issues. See, I'm a quick writer (which is another way to say type-fast-with-mistakes), and a bad looker-over (which is another way to say lazy-fixing-mistakes), so I'll try to get better with that. Same with the numbers thing. And I love that you, like Anamaga, get my sick little jokes.
Woo. And Misery Loves Company rocks. Seriously, if I wasn't so lazy, it'd be one of my top stories, and I would have reviewed it a million times over. But I am so lazy.
Kiricat- Yay for new reviewers! Love the comments, and hope you enjoy the following chapter. And I'm uber-glad you like my writing.
Anyway, let's get on with the story, shall we? Please be advised that there is a considerably larger amount of swearing in this chapter than the others.
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Oh god. I'm so freaking tired. Damn that Oliver Wood. Damn him to hell!
So yesterday, after having a less-than-good day and skipping dinner for our practice, we got out to meet our be-damned captain, and we're shocked.
Because, and this is freaky, he's smiling.
"You guys do realize that his smile means we're running ten more laps today, don't you?" Fred's smiling, but we all know inside he's hoping Oliver has a large blind spot that makes him miss things hung across ceilings and enjoys being turned into a canary.
Of course, so are we. Extra laps are evil. Pure evil.
Which would explain why Oliver likes them so much. But I'm getting away from my story, so, really, I'll try and focus here (of course, that has just been made much easier by dear Angelina, who has dropped a cup of coffee in front of me. Merlin bless her).
So, we walk up to him and wait for our 'I-am-your-captain-and-I-decide-things-about-practices-and-you-listen-and-follow-without-complaint' speech/screamfest, but it never comes.
Just kidding.
"What the hell was that? I work my ass off for this team, coming up with new plays, and you show disrespect in return? I am your captain and I decide things about practices…"
That's where I tuned him out. Honestly, you'd think with all the times he'd have to yell at us, he'd come up with something new. Still, at this point the whole team is okay with the yell because it usually means we don't get anything else.
Unfortuneately, I decided to tune back into his speech when he started talking about what we'd be doing that practice.
"Today we're going to be testing your stamina. One hundred laps. On foot. Move."
What the effing hell? Did I hear that right?
"Er- Oliver? Did you just-"
"Yes Spinnet, I said one hundred laps. I don't know which part of it is so hard to understand that you haven't started running yet." Oliver glared, and I ran. What else do you do?
Forty eight and a half laps later, I'm the first one to collapse. I skipped dinner for practice, and had a freaking sandwich for lunch- what was he expecting?
And do I get any sympathy? No-o-o. Our bastard captain screams for me to get up, but I can't. I physically can't. My brain is saying get up, but my body isn't responding.
"SPINNET! When I say get up, you get up! If you can't do this, you still get up, and you get off my quidditch pitch!"
Oh, that sonofabitch. At that point, I didn't care that my bones are nearly literally creaking. I heave myself up (slowly), and keep running. Nobody tells me I can't do something.
I'm starting to get a rhythm to the whole running thing.
"Ow!" Run two steps. "Ow!" Run three steps. "Ow!" Run two steps.
Katie's on the ground, but she's on the other side of the pitch and I can't help her out yet. Besides, I barely have enough energy to keep going myself.
Doesn't matter anyway, because then Oliver yelled for us to get over to him (though he used quite a few more colourful words- for someone who wasn't running, he was touchy).
Stumbling over to him, I see George a few steps behind me, and I stop to let him catch up. As soon as he's beside me, I lean against him.
And it really tells you how tired he was that he didn't make a comment about me 'secretly being in love with him', which he usually does half the time I touch, hit, or scream at him.
So we make our way over to our damned captain, to be joined by Angelina, who is supporting (or being supported by) Katie. Fred catches up, and soon we're traveling as a pack. A great big lean-on-me pack. (A/N- Don't ask about the 'lean-on-me' pack. If you were in my grade eleven algebra class, you'll know)
"That was pathetic. You should have all been able to do it easily."
Damn Oliver Wood. Thinks he's so great.
"You.Try.It." Even though I only have the breath for a few words, I can glare at him near as well as ever.
He glared back, and, him not being tired, was much more successful.
"I don't have to Spinnet. I'm the captain. Now everyone, mount your brooms. We're going to have a practice game."
"No."
"What'd you say Weasley?"
"It.Wasn't.Just.Him."
"Then what'd you say Johnson?"
"Not.Just.Them."
"Quiet Bell."
"Still.Not.All.Of.Them."
'Weasley, unless you want to repeat what so many of you seem to have said, shut it."
"We.Said.No."
"Watch it Spinnet."
"NO!"
It took all our energy, but we screamed the last word at him, and walked into the building (still very slowly), up to the common room, and into our dorms, Wood –that bastard- screaming at us all the way.
And, as I write this, I still have cramps in my legs, I still have pains shooting up my back, and I still don't feel like I can take another step.
Angelina, who seems to be only having trouble with her feet, has put another cup of coffee in front of me. She deserves a place in Heaven, next to God.
"Still hurting?"
Lee Jordan's just come up to the table, to where the quidditch team (minus Oliver, who didn't seem to care that he had been turned into a giant bird once because of being a hypocrite, and was now snogging that damn Hufflepuff beater), and is smiling at us.
I'd throw my coffee at him if I could lift my arm that high.
Katie, who somehow can, has just thrown her water at him.
Bless her.
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Thank Merlin the rest of the day went by quickly. Teachers seemed to take pity on us, and we left classes with a significantly smaller pile of homework.
Speaking of homework, I really should be doing that right now, instead of writing in this. There's this one formula for arithmancy that just doesn't make sense. So I'm going to go do that.
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Well. That was beyond weird.
Earlier this evening I had, as I wrote here, gone to work on my arithmancy homework, and was sitting in the library biting my nails (which is a filthy habit that I can't seem to break), when a deep, Scottish voice suddenly says.
"You have to replace the x variable with 15, and continue from there."
Was that Oliver's voice? It couldn't be, right?
Wrong-o. Wood took a seat next to me and pointed to the question that was bugging me.
"And you forgot to carry the one."
I gaped at him, and he rolled him eyes.
"Just because I'm a bastard –yes, I know you've called me that quite a few times, Spinnet- on the quidditch pitch doesn't mean I am everywhere else."
So, with that, Oliver proceeded to help me with the rest of the questions, and fixed the first one, which had somehow ended up being one hundred and twenty three off of the correct final product.
And, with all the joking, laughing, and correcting-of-questions we did, I completely forgot to bug him about Sheila Kay, and him being a traitor. However, I did manage to punch him a few times about practice last night –because I could now lift my hand up high enough to do that-, and I did manage to mention how much I hurt.
But that didn't matter when he smiled, said "Practice after dinner tomorrow." And left the library.
Is it wrong my heart fluttered a bit?
Wait. No-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o. I did not just write that. I am completely unchanged in my views about Oliver.
And I did not just stare at his ass as he left.
(A/N- George who? Heh, don't worry, I know what I'm doing with this. Or, I think I do. Review, review, review P)