Chapter Sixteen: The Wails of Leonardo DiMontague

"And it's Bell for the Harpies with the Quaffle!" Henry Jullins bellowed into his magical mike, as half the crowd booed, and the other cheered wildly, "she's passing it to Weasley, and-hang on, are they both sparkling?"

"Glittering," Ginny yelled smugly over her shoulder, ducking a Bludger, knocking elbows with Yoris, the star chaser from the Arrows that was rumored to have a crush on her, "watch it, Yoris!"

Katie put on a burst of speed to intercept Yoris, knocking his less dominant left side with her own elbow. Ginny reverse passed her the Quaffle and Katie dove down, level with the stands, as Jullins screamed at Yoris to elbow her back. Yoris, who was a known dirty player that had gone easy on Ginny due to his lust, obeyed at once, hitting Katie so hard her head rang, and she crashed into the stands as the crowd screamed in approval or rage, depending on who they were cheering for.

Yoris zoomed off with the Quaffle.

"Foul!" the fans who had flocked to Katie to help her up screamed in unison. Well. At least she'd crashed into the Harpy stands.

"Foul," Jullins said reluctantly, "foul for Bell." The referee blew her whistle and pointed at Katie.

"Good luck, Bell," a teenage girl said, slapping her on the back.

"Get him," her friend agreed. She was wearing a replica of Jones's jersey, the third most popular jersey in the league for twenty plus years, and by far the most popular jersey for any woman player.

Katie's head rang some more, but she climbed atop her broom anyway. No matter. She'd get checked out after the match. The Harpies fans shouted encouragement on her and gave her high fives as she made to jump back into the game. Thank god she hadn't crashed into the player's box. It was bad enough Montague was here again, but even worse, he was here with her parents.

"Bell seems to be covered in glitter," Jullins said, "strange choice, but it does make it difficult to look at her and Weasley."
Katie grinned.

"That was the point," Juliet snorted, whacking a Bludger away from Katie as she made to take her penalty shot.

"Then again, Bell has been prone to some strange choices lately," Jullins said, his nasally voice pounding into her already throbbing skull.

"Shut up!" Ginny bellowed back in his direction, but with the baying of the crowd, no one heard her but Katie.

She tried desperately to block out Jullins, but her heart had started pounding uncontrollably. Katie started her flight to the keeper, Miffingsworth, but she couldn't block her ears.

"Bell has been making controversial choices in her personal life," Jullins said, as Katie's heart beat faster. Ignore him. Just ignore him, "fainting on Marcus Flint. Or so she said it was a faint. Some women would pay good money to touch those famous abs."

Katie flew faster, tossing the Quaffle from one hand to the other, a stab of pain in her head. She drew closer to Miffingsworth, who was circling the hoops with a determined glint in his eye. She raised her arm, then lowered it, watching Miffingsworth watch her. She flew faster. She made to throw at the middle hoop.

"And in other controversial choices, Bell is now rumored to be dating Graham Montague, who is here with us today in the player's box beside her parents," Jullins said, and the Quaffle slipped completely from Katie's hand.

The crowd screamed, half in agony, half in ecstasy. Miffingsworth laughed.

"And she's clearly getting rattled by me," Jullins boomed, "which proves—no!"

There was a loud crash. Ginny's broom knocked Jullins over. Katie saw her mouthing "oops" and shrugging as the referee assigned a penalty to The Arrows. Well. Some things never changed.


"Bell," Jones snapped, "Stop trying to drown by shower. It's just not possible."

As much as she wanted to smile at the memory of Oliver Wood trying to kill himself via shower in her fourth year, all Katie could muster was a pained grimace.

"Get dressed and get in my office in under five minutes, Bell," Jones said, as Katie stood forlornly under the coolest shower she could tolerate, "and take a warm shower for god's sake. Stop being a martyr."

"I'm not—"

"And you, Hellman," Jones barked, "not one word to the press."

"But Captain," Hellman said, as she shimmied into a tight Harpy yellow dress, "I scored three goals. Can't I-"

"You scored three goals because Weasley was banned for the rest of the match for repeated attacks on Jullins," Jones snapped, "don't get up your own arse."

"Sorry," Ginny said, "my broom was just out of control, Captain. Maybe we should get that looked at."

Jones's entire face twitched with suppressed rage.

"All three of you are lucky we won," Jones said, shaking her finger in each of the Chaser's faces in turn, "very lucky."

"It was my broom," Ginny insisted, "it was clearly jinxed."

"I'll bet it was," Jones said sarcastically, "and if it gets jinxed again, make sure you fly it into someone more important than Henry Jullins."

"You're mad at me?" Hellman said, outraged, "what did I do?"

Katie alone was silent. She knew what she had done. She'd almost cost them the game, and the League cup.

"You know what you did," Jones said ominously, "and not one bloody word about Bell to Skeeter. I don't care what she threatens you with. I'll rip out your tongue."

Katie turned off the water, still freezing cold, and slumped to her locker. She knew this day would come. She'd toyed with it long enough. But she had never thought it would happen like this.

"Bell," Hellman said as she vaguely wiped herself off with a towel, "you know I had nothing to do with that, right? What Jullins said?"

"Why would I think you had something to do with Jullins?" Katie said. "You were too busy cozying up with your pal Rita."

"She threatened me," Hellman said, "I swear."

"With what?" Katie snapped, "more press coverage about how much better you are than me?"

"Oh come on," Hellman said, "you get some of the best press coverage of anyone in the league."

"Come off it," Katie scoffed.

"No, you come off it," Hellman said, shutting her locker without even putting on makeup. She must be rattled. "Katie Bell, beloved war heroine, is somewhere in every article written about you. Not to mention vomit inducing descriptions of your close relationships with the hero of the Wizarding World and his other admirable friends."

"My mediocre stats," Katie retorted, "how I'm not as beautiful as you and Ginny."

She grabbed a towel so she wouldn't keep arguing with Hellman naked. The last thing she wanted was a naked cat fight. If Rita found out about it, not only would her quill explode, but her head might as well. Though that had its merits, come to think of it…

"Your hot rich boyfriend," Hellman snapped back, "your legions of male admirers, including Flint, who's one of the best looking-"

"Flint?" Katie gagged, "Are you bloody joking? You can have him. Who wants Flint? are you mad?"

"Lots of people want him," Hellman said angrily, "He's rich, isn't he? one of the best Chasers in the league. He's funny-"

"Funny as a case of dragon pox," Katie snarled, "you fuck him then. I'm assuming he'll be awful, last one minute and cheer for himself when he finishes, but-"

"Will both of you shut up," Shelly Smathers snapped, "I'm sick of listening to it. The rest of us want to focus on winning the cup.'

"Fine," Katie snapped, "I'll be generous and assume Rita Skeeter is blackmailing her about something awful she doesn't want to tell anyone about and that's why she's telling my business to her. But Hellman needs to explain first why she's writing to my parents and telling them she's concerned about me partying and drinking and tattling about my boyfriend. Who, by the way, she claimed was my fiance."

"Did you really, Sheila?" Shelly groaned, "what a snitch."

"I am concerned about her," Hellman retorted, "she's been acting like a different person for months now. I can't be the only one who's noticed."

Katie waited for someone else to stand up for her. The silence spiraled.

"It's not her fault," Ginny said at last, "blame Montague."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Katie said, her voice strained.

"You're not defending him, are you Katie?" Ginny said, "you can't be!"

"No, I meant what do you mean, it's not my fault?" Katie said, "what does that mean? What's not my fault?"

Her teammates couldn't meet her eyes, aside from Hellman.

"See?" Hellman said, "everyone sees it. Not just me. Sorry I'm the only one with the nerve to tell you the truth."

"You didn't tell me anything, you sneaky bitch," Katie said, "you ran and told my parents behind my back that I'm a total mess! I'm not going to let you pretend you've had my best interests at heart, Hellman!"

Jones's office door banged open. "Did we just win a match or not, team?" she shouted.

"Yes, Captain," everyone shouted back.

"And do we not have two more matches between us and the Quidditch League Cup?" Jones barked.

"Yes, Captain," they all chorused.

"Then shouldn't we be focusing on the Catapults?" Jones smacked a fist into her palm.

"Yes, Captain," they all said again.

"And not talking about bloody boys?" Jones said, glaring at Hellman and Katie.

"Yes, Captain," Katie and Hellman said as everyone stared at them.

"Then I don't want to hear a single more word about any of this," Jones said ominously, "and I especially don't want to hear how you want to fuck Flint, Hellman. Get your bloody eyesight checked."

Everyone laughed, even Hellman, though she was clearly forcing it.

"We've got two weeks," Jones said, "and we're going to practice like never before. Everyday. Every night. Every second you'll be thinking Quidditch."

"Yes, Captain," they all said.

"You will do nothing else," John said, glaring at Katie and Hellman again, "nothing. And no one. Only riding your brooms."

"Captain," Wendy Yips, the first string Keeper groaned, "some of us are dating normal blokes. Healthy relationships and all that."

"I said what I said, Yips!" Jones said, punching the nearby poster of Flint that was covered in darts. He winked at her. "And Hellman, I want to see you burning this! Right now!"

"I'm not the one who hung it up," Hellman protested, then when Jones glared at her, "yes, okay, Captain, okay! Incendio!" And Flint and his strategically hidden little Flint went up in flames.

"Nothing else," Jones said ominously, "aside from our celebration tonight, and I'm thinking of canceling that." Cries of protest came.

"Captain," Ginny said, "Friday, we have a DA reunion and-"

"I said nothing else!" Jones shouted, "be glad I'm not punishing you more for ramming Jullins with your broom, and that's only because I got extreme pleasure from watching it!"

They all tried to keep their terrified expressions intact, but couldn't quite manage it. The locker room rang with laughter. Even Jones cracked a brief smile.

"Glad to be of service," Ginny said.

"I want a photo of you smashing Jullins in my office by tomorrow," Jones said, "blown up poster sized. Or I might reconsider that punishment, Weasley."
Ginny saluted.

"And you can go to that DA reunion," Jones scowled, "as long as you agree to talk about the Harpies in the inevitable press about your heroics. Maybe get us some sponsors."

"We'll pass out Harpies shirts," Ginny agreed.

"The rest of you can have the same day off," Jones said grudgingly, "just to be fair, mind. But you all better do something amazing and get press for it in payment."

"We're not all Weasley and Bell," Juliet grumbled.

"And thank god," Jones said, "or I'd have bigger problems. Bell! Five minutes is up. My office. Now."

"I'm in a towel," Katie protested.

"Ten seconds," Jones warned, and Katie frantically threw on a Harpies shirt and a pair of jeans and followed her Captain. Ginny gave her a sympathetic look. Her hair dripped slowly down her back. The door shut behind them.

"Sit," Jones barked. Katie sat. She stared at Katie over her hands. It was a bit like being back in McGonagall's office.

"So," Jones said meaningfully, then paused. Katie waited. Jones was terrifying, but she had seven years of experience with McGonagall.

"What's your plan?" Jones finally said, "and dry your hair, for Merlin's' sake Bell. That's my Italian leather chair."

"Siccum capillum," Katie muttered, waving her wand, and her hair spelled dry. "Well," she said, taking a deep breath, "I was going to bring a variety of our merchandise to the reunion, the shirts that have been popular lately, ones with the glittery claw and the jumpers in neon colors. I was going to make sure I'm eating, er, well, and practicing my dive drills and-"

"No," Jones said, "although, fine, if you're saying in code that you'll stop drinking the next two weeks I'm in approval."

Katie bristled. Why was everyone implying she had a drinking problem?

"I meant, what is your plan for your rich boy?" Jones said. Her eyes peered into Katie's soul.

"Oh," Katie said, and then, stupidly, "I thought you didn't care for boy talk or gossip, Captain?"

"Bell, don't make me fire you," Jones said ominously, "you know very well I was saving you from yourself in there."

"Yes Captain," Katie said, "but I didn't have a plan. I mean... I did. It was Percy Weasley's plan, really, and then it kind of went pear shaped."

"Percy Weasley?" Jones said, thinking, "isn't he the one that did that mocking chicken dance to Skeeter?"

"Yes," Katie said.

"Well I can see why you'd want to take advice from him," Jones said. Her voice was so flat Katie couldn't tell if she was being mocked or praised.

"Yes, well," Katie said uncomfortably, "the thing is, I...that is...the plan…"

"I don't know and I don't care," Jones said, contradicting herself, not that Katie could tell her that and live, "I'm telling you your plan with that boy. Here it is. Write it down." Katie searched dutifully for a scrap of parchment. "In your mind, Bell, dear God it's clear why you're not in Ravenclaw."

Katie nodded. It was true.

"Here's what you do," Jones said, "own it. Own the bloody hell out of it, Bell. Snog him outside the locker room. Give some ridiculous quote to the press about the prejudices Gryffindors and Slytherins face in dating each other. Have your parents say something nice about him."

Er," Katie said.

"Make them lie if you have to," Jones said, correctly guessing the source of her hesitation, "then I want you to mention your DA reunion. Make sure cameras are there. Make sure your friends are wearing Harpies gear. Make sure they give lots of quotes about supporting us."

"Should I mention we need more sponsors?" Katie said tentatively.

"No," Jones said, "Bell, for once, think. We can't say we are the poorest team in the league. What kind of strategy is that?"

"An honest one," Katie said.

"Gryffindors," Jones sighed.

"You sound like Montague," Katie said, sullen.

"How dare you," Jones said, "I've never been as whipped as that boy is."

"No really," Katie said ignoring that last comment, "we can say we are the only all female team in the league, and the poorest. Lean on that angle. See how they like that pill. I think some people would find that a bit hard to swallow."

"Exactly," Jones said, "that's why we can't do it. People don't like being reminded that they're sexist. They don't like listening to a whiner. Stiff upper lip and all that nonsense. Just get us sponsors, Bell. Do it subtly. Do it well, and I'll forgive you this mess with you rich boy. Spin it to get more coverage for us."

"I will," Katie vowed, not betraying her abject terror. She was horrible at that sort of thing. Subtle manipulation wasn't her strong suit. Hadn't the last few months proved it?

"Good," Jones said, "I'm counting on you to get the press and some rich readers as wrapped around your finger as you've got that boy."

"Or else what?" Katie said, a pit of dread in her stomach. Montague wasn't wrapped around her finger. He never had been. He never would be. Everyone had it all wrong.

"Or else get used to the press slobbering all over Sheila Hellman, the league's sexiest broom bunny," Jones said bluntly.


"Good match, Katie," Montague said, his face unreadable, from his spot outside the locker room, her parents next to him, thankfully free of Pucey and Warrington for once. Unexpectedly, on the other side of her parents were Frankie and Christopher Montague, Quiggly, and a woman Katie took to be Isadore, Frankie's American girlfriend.

"Really entertaining," the woman said. Her accent all but confirming her identity as Isadore. They were all wearing Harpies shirts, "I thought Quodpot was better, like any person with taste but the way your teammate rammed the commentator…"

"Quodpot?" Bill Bell said with interest, "what's that all about?"

"Congrats, honey," Isla said, "maybe not your best match, but still a win!"

Katie ignored them all. She bee-lined for Montague. A flashbulb went off. She heard a reporter screaming at her about Montague. She grabbed Montague by the face, his eyes wide in surprise. She pulled him to her, smashing her mouth on his, for the worst kiss they'd ever had. Their teeth clacked. Montague bit her lip by accident. They pulled apart. The cameras flashed more.

"I see you're taking our secret being outed well," Montague said in an undertone. At some point her arms had gotten wound around his neck.

"Extremely," Katie lied through her teeth, smiling like an imbecile.

"Let's give them a better show than that," Montague said, smiling as well. His eyes were dark. She didn't quite like what she saw there.

"Katie!" she heard a reporter howl, "Katie, are you in love?"

Montague bent forward, touching his lips to hers. Their kiss went on for a while. Unlike the last, it was slow, and soft, and romantic. Katie shuddered. her father made a weird sound, and Katie pulled away. Frankie was sniggering. Isadore grinned at Katie. Her father had removed his glasses and was cleaning them. Isla was pulling out the Egyptian flask.

"Yes," Katie called over his shoulder, "yes, we're in love." She didn't look away from Montague while she said it. He smiled again. It didn't reach his eyes.

"Graham!" a reporter shouted, "Graham, are you proud of your girlfriend?" Montague unwound from her.

"Extremely," he said, voice ringing out, "who wouldn't be? She's a hero."

Katie heard the mocking edge in his voice, but she doubted anyone else could...aside from maybe his brothers.

"And our parents are thrilled too," Frankie said unexpectedly, "beyond words."

"At all of our family choices," Christopher said, putting his arm around Quiggly. Quiggly planted his own kiss on Christopher. More flashbulbs popped.

"Look what you've done now, Bell," Montague said, grinning still for the reporters. She hoped that no one zoomed in and saw the vaguely homicidal look in his eyes.

"You're the one who brought them," Katie retorted, also falsely grinning.

"Well I'm proud of her," Bill said loudly, "she's the kind of daughter every man wants to have."

Unexpectedly, Katie felt on the verge of tears.

"You're the father?" A woman called over. Katie's heart almost stopped when she saw it was Rita Skeeter. She sprang forward, acid green quill in hand.

Bill opened his mouth.

"it's Rita Skeeter," Katie hissed.

"Don't say anything," Montague said at once, "don't-"

"Oh, you're that emotional vampire," Isla said witheringly, "that reporter that everyone hates because all you do is lie. Well let me tell you something, Rita. If you tell one more lie about my daughter in the papers, there will be hell to pay for you."

"How delightful," Rita said, as the camera clacked and everyone frantically scribbled, "a loving mother and father. You don't often see that from Muggle families, you know. Tell me, are you free tomorrow? I'd love to chat with you about your devotion to your heroic daughter."

Isla swelled with rage.

"If you don't fuck off and leave right now," Montague said, still falsely grinning, so quietly only Katie and Rita could hear him, "I'm trapping you in a jar like Hermione Granger did."

"So protective," Rita said, not missing a beat, "it really must be love! Graham, can we count on you for an exclusive interview about your-"

"Count on me to send you to Azkaban if you don't shut your stupid mouth," Montague hissed.

Rita laughed airily for the audience, but her own eyes were murderous.

"Young love!" she boomed for the assorted reporters and photographers. Another flashbulb popped. "We do so love to see this sort of thing in the Wizarding World, don't we? Tell me more, Graham, Frank, Chris, about how your parents are delighted at your attempts at diversifying the Montague family-"

"I told you to continue to keep your mouth shut,'' Montague hissed, "or so help me Salazar, I will do it. Enjoy your cell in Azkaban."

Rita went white, then red, and it struck Katie all at once why Rita Skeeter had never written the identity of Montague in the paper, for all she teased at it. It hadn't been Hellman begging, after all. Montague had been stopping Rita. Suddenly, she remembered how Flint had never revealed who Katie was sleeping with, how Montague's family hadn't let it slip either. Who else had he been blackmailing about their relationship? And why was she not upset about it?

"We've got to go," Katie said loudly, "team celebrations, you know. The Harpies are the closest we've been for the cup in years."

"The odds are against you," Titus Spears, the sports reporter for The Prophet boomed, "what can you tell us about the Harpies chances?"

"I'd say never bet against a bunch of bad arse women," Katie said. She grabbed her father. "Montague," she hissed in his ear, "grab mum. We're going to the Rocking Ostrich Nest to celebrate."

And while Rita tried to ask her another question she Apparated away with her father. It was going to be a long night. She could only hope the Rocking Ostrich Nest had especially potent cocktails.


"Another?" Montague said, handing Katie a pina colada in a little decorative coconut. "Shouldn't I be buying you this on a tropical beach somewhere?"

"Dunno, you tell me," Katie said, her head swimming, "you've never taken me to a tropical beach."

"I can rectify that,'' Montague said, "after you win the cup. You've got all those bee-keen-ees after all. That's what they are for, aren't they?"

"Yes," Katie said, "for lounging in beautiful sand and accepting pina coladas from my boyfriend."

She had spoken without thinking, but Montague, who had been beyond moody all night, smiled at her usage of boyfriend, putting his arms around her waist.

He leaned forward like he was going to kiss her.

"Not in front of my parents," Katie hissed.

At the table next to them, Frankie Montague was having a lengthy discussion with her father, this time about medieval art, her father looking beyond delighted by Frankie's obvious interest. Odder was the fact that Frankie looked equally delighted. Isla was dancing with Quiggly and Isadore, all three of them holding their own cocktails as they shook their hips with various degrees of vigor. Christopher was chatting animatedly with Harry and Ginny, who had even smiled at him.

"You snogged me in front of them earlier, Bell," Montague said, "it was your idea."

But he removed himself nonetheless.

"That was for the press and you know it," Katie said, looking around longingly for another plate of chips.

Maybe this time she'd ask for it with bacon, cheese, and ranch dressing, like Isadore had recommended. She was always down for more ways to drown her sorrows in carbs and fat. Jones was attempting to drink Charlie Weasley under the table without success. Hermione was debating something boring no doubt with Percy while Ron danced with Shelley and her girlfriend, all of them elbowing each other by accident repeatedly. Alicia was snogging a cute Muggle boy. Ange and George were dancing with great zest to the band, as the crowd cheered them on.

"Oh, was it?" Montague said, smiling her least favorite nasty smile of his. "Silly me. I forgot how you kiss me for show and that's it."

"That's not the only reason," Katie said, sucking down her pina colada too fast.

It would've been better in a way if Montague's brothers didn't fit in with her friends and parents. But they fit in too well. Isadore was delightful and friendly, full of gushing compliments to Katie, and had insisted they get lunch together sometime. Isla Bell was so in love with Quiggly she was about to adopt him. Her father had been bending Frankie's ear all night, and as Montague had informed her, apparently all match, egged on by Frankie's numerous eager questions on Muggles. Christopher had won over even Ginny, who had begrudgingly proclaimed him all right, for a Slytherin. There was just the problem of Montague still being a horrible arse.

"Yes I forgot," Montague retorted, "your other reason is how much you enjoy cock teasing me. My mistake, not to mention it earlier."

Katie's head whipped around as fast as it could, as intoxicated as she was.

"Do you have to scream that out?" she said, "I also snog you for fun, you plonker. What are you mad at me about now? I thought you were happy, just two seconds ago, when I said you were my boyfriend."

Montague, for some reason, grew red. "Yes, that's all it takes with me," he said sarcastically, "just lead stupid little Graham on with some mealy-mouthed words about him being your boyfriend, and then he'll buy you-"

"Are you talking about yourself in the third person?" Katie said, "could you be more pretentious?"

"Yes, I could," Montague said, "you really don't know many pure-bloods, do you Bell?"

"Very few that I like," Katie said, "what are you mad at me about? Let's play a game. If I guess right, you stop acting like a jerk-off for five minutes. It will be difficult for you I know, but-"

"And if I win," Montague said, "you'll come with me to the Bletchley's charity ball."

"Can't," Katie said at once, "Jones's orders. You know what a dictator she is." She drank a little more pina colada, watching Jones and Charlie pound another shot of vodka together. "She said tonight's celebration and the DA reunion, and that's it until our next match."

"What?" Montague said, "are you joking? You're not going to let me see you for two weeks? I know I'm not invited to the precious DA reunion, but..."

"Well, were you in the DA?" Katie said reasonably. If she'd slurred her words a bit, who would judge her? Certainly not Montague. It was his fault in multiple ways that she was drunk.

"No," Montague scowled.

"Then you can't come," Katie said, "no one can come that wasn't. Not even people who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts on the right side."

Her eyes drifted to where her father was laughing with Frankie Montague, looking happier then she'd seen him in a solid year, when they'd gone to the renaissance fair in costume together and Bill had been able to talk in Middle English all day and eat turkey legs.

Montague's eyes followed hers, and he shuddered in unison with her at the weirdness of his brother and her father getting along as well as Hagrid and a murderous baby animal.

"Let me ask you this, Bell," Montague said, "say I had wanted to join the DA in seventh year. Say I went up to your mates and asked to come to the next meeting. Would I have been let in?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Katie said, baffled, "oh look, chips!"

She stared longingly at Oliver, who was eating a pile of them with Hellman, who was batting her eyes at Katie's oblivious former Captain. They'd often all debated if Oliver liked girls at all. He was cute and famous and never seemed to notice his throng of admiring female fans. They'd always come to the conclusion that Oliver liked neither boys or girls, but Quidditch, and would reproduce by staring at the Quidditch cup so long that a Quaffle would pop out.

"Stop making eyes at Wood," Montague snapped, "I'm sick of it."

"Er, what?" Katie said, her head swimming a little, wondering if she could get some ranch and cheese for Oliver's chips, "I'm making eyes at his chips."

"This time," Montague said rudely, "what about all those other times?"

"Oh, now you're playing jealous boyfriend," Katie said, "when all I want is some fried potatoes. We talked about this! I hate this!"

"You hate a lot of things I do," Montague said.

"Yes," Katie said, "exactly!"

"Forget the chips," Montague said, "you didn't answer me. What if I'd approached you. In the library, perhaps. You weren't being as stealthy as you all thought you were, you know. We all knew something was up, that you were all meeting and doing something against Umbridge. We just didn't know where, or when. But what if I'd come up to you one day while you were in the stacks alone, and told you I hated Umbridge too, and wanted to join. What would you have done?"

"I would've told you I didn't know what you were talking about," Katie said, "duh."

"Duh?" Montague repeated, like he'd never heard the word before. Maybe he never had. It wasn't like pure-bloods watched a lot of Muggle telly.

"What else would I have said?" Katie said, watching as another plate of chips went by in a waiter's hand, "yes, please join, Slytherin boy in the Inquisitorial Squad who's made my life hell for years. I trust you. Here's the secret to where we meet. Please get me expelled."

"So nothing I could've said," Montague said, "would've changed your mind? I couldn't have done anything to make you trust me?"

"Like what?" Katie said, "what could you have possibly done?" Her head swam some more. She should probably drink some water. She drank another sip of the pina colada instead.

"I don't know," Montague said, "you tell me. What could I have done to make us close enough for you to trust me in school, Katie?"

Ron elbowed Shelley in the stomach and she fell, dragging her girlfriend Eugenia over, who grabbed Ron by the thigh and they all fell onto a platter of chicken wings. Ron's shirt got ripped. He apparently had developed an eight pack since school. Eugenia's skirt ripped up her leg. She had a garter made out of iron and spikes. And yet Montague's last question had still been more disturbing.

"Uh," Katie said. This wasn't fair. She was too drunk to even know what was happening!

"And don't give me some flip answer," Montague warned, "don't be snide. I want an honest answer."

Or else what? Katie wanted to say, but for some reason she didn't. Instead, her drunken brain let the idiotic part of her that secretly wanted Montague to be her actual boyfriend, the guy who really did care about her and not as a bet answered instead.

"You could've apologized," she said, "for being so mean to me. And my mates. You could've stopped being mean. Stopped your friends from doing it too. Showed some backbone. I like backbone."

Jones screamed for another bottle of tequila, then Charlie Weasley passed out onto the floor. Her father shrieked something about Julius Caesar at Frankie. Her mother was learning how to belly dance with Isadore and Quiggly, even though the music was a loud ska band. Ginny had actually laughed at something Christopher said. And Montague was staring at her like she was telling him the secret to eternal life.

"And?" he prompted.

Katie drank some more pina colada. It was a bad idea. She still had an overwhelming urge to snog him again, even remembering how their teeth had clacked earlier.

"You could've stopped being so arrogant and snobby," she added, "started smiling more. I like your smile."

"Do you?" Montague said, his voice low. He didn't take the opportunity to smile. Idiot.

"It's nice," Katie admitted grudgingly, like he'd tortured her into it, "you could've, I dunno. Been normal. A normal teenage boy!"

"What does that mean?" Montague said.

"Well, you could have offered to carry my books or something," Katie said, "made jokes with me. Bought me flowers on Valentine's day. Something normal."

"Bell," Montague said, "I asked how I could've gotten you to trust me into letting me join the DA. Not how I could've dated you."

For a second, his words didn't sink into her mind. Then with a horrifying rush, they did.

"I'm drunk," she blurted.

Montague was smiling now. In fact, he was grinning.

"Bell, have you been fantasizing about us dating in school?" he asked, "were you thinking about me naked and fucking you in class? Us getting married?" The last word was so shockingly said it was if he had slapped her.

"No," Katie said, horrified. It was true, she never had. "You looked like a giant slab of hairy beef in school," she added.

Montague's smile vanished as fast as Lucius Malfoy confronted with a pair of hair scissors.

"Well don't hold back now, Bell," he said, "say what you really feel."

"You must've realized it was bad," Katie said, her increasingly drunken brain betraying her more, "I mean I never noticed you dating any girls in school. Except that one girl. The one with the mole."

"Candace Caradoc," Montague said icily, "she had a birthmark. Not a mole. She was quite a bit more popular than you, if I recall. And well connected, of course. Not to mention she actually had breasts."

"Oh excuse me," Katie said, finding that instead of being angry like a normal girlfriend would've she was feeling relief that Montague was making it easy to loathe him like she should, "I forgot, I was so poor and hideous and Mudblood-ish to you. But my point remains. You knew you had to fix this," she gestured vaguely at Montague, who had crossed his arms and was glaring at her, "After all, you lost the bulk. And the hair."

"Whereas you were busy pining over Wood instead of me, I suppose," Montague said viciously, "give it up. He told us once to leave you alone because you were a little girl. That's how he thinks of you."

"Why would he even tell you and your mates to leave us alone?" Katie pounced at once, "what were you doing, to make him say that?"

"It wasn't me," Montague said, "my meaty hairy brain couldn't handle higher functioning, you know. It was Flint. Saying-"

"Saying?" Katie prompted.

"Stuff," Montague said, "the point is, Wood thinks of you as a child."

"And I think of him as a sexless Quidditch amoeba," Katie said, "what's your point?"

"Don't lie," Montague said, "I saw your room."

"What?" Katie yelped, "when did you...how did you...how dare you!"

"I had to use the loo," Montague said, "remember? Jurassic Park is long. Your father kept giving me drinks and talking about see gee eyeball."

"CGI," Katie corrected, "so you're blaming my father for you snooping in my room?"

"I'm a Slytherin," Montague shrugged without shame, "you clearly didn't want me to see it. I needed to know why. And I like your father. Don't make things up."

Katie was going to slap him. She could feel it. She looked over. Hellman was watching, a frown on her perfect face. Her hand twitched but didn't leave her side.

"I didn't want you in there because I knew you'd judge me," Katie said, "for being poor."

"And the Wood shrine," Montague said, "you know it was that."

"I knew you'd misunderstand," Katie said, "he was a good player and captain. I admired his dedication to the sport and our team. I've emulated him as a player. That's all."

"Sure," Montague said, "he's also pretty and not a hairy slab of pork, like me."

"Don't deflect from the fact that you snuck in my room, you completely controlling arsehole," Katie said, firing up again. Montague was lucky she was drunk. She was the happiest of happy drunks, and the alcohol was keeping her true rage in check.

"Don't deflect from the fact that you just told me I'm hideous and no one liked me in school, and you would have rather died than date me," Montague said.

"You just said I was unpopular with no tits in school," Katie snapped, "also, you added that last part," Katie said, "about me wanting to die rather than date you. Though to be fair, it was accurate for the time."

Montague looked a bit like the way Harry had described his uncle when he'd accidentally blown up his aunt that one time.

"I lost muscle," Montague said, voice clipped, "because of the vanishing cabinet incident. I thought you deduced that, but I suppose I gave you too much credit."

"Nice," Katie said, "insult my intelligence, now."

"You insult me in every other way," Montague said.

"Pot, cauldron," Katie scoffed, "and I said I like your smile."

"I was in the hospital," Montague said, "I'd lost my mobility, and my sense for a while. I couldn't fly anymore. That's why I lost the muscle. As for the hair...well I guess you've got me there. I decided I wanted to fuck some girls and they seemed to like me more if I made some tweaks. So I modified a few small things. The hair. My ears were a little big. My nose was slightly lopsided."

"And that worked for you?" Katie said, repelled.

"It worked for you," Montague retorted, and Katie swigged some more pina colada. It wasn't like she could protest that. "Then again, I always knew you liked those skinnier pretty boys. Wood. Diggory-"

"Everyone liked Diggory," Katie scoffed, "even the boys. Don't be ridiculous. Being jealous of a boy who was murdered. And while I'm at it, don't lie about the flying. I know you can still do it. I know it."

"For fun, I can," Montague said, "casually. Not competitively."

"Funny how that story changes every time I hear it," Katie sneered.

"I'm not lying, '' Montague said, really angry now.

"Fine," Katie said, "I'll be generous and say it was a misunderstanding."

"Good," Montague said, "because it was."

They were both tense still. Katie swallowed the last of her drink, considering whether she wanted to burn down their fake relationship to the ground or play nice. She decided on the latter. It was not good trying to win a battle of wits while she was drunk off her arse.

"So what would I have had to do?" Katie said finally.

"What?" Montague asked

"To make you want to date me in school," Katie said, "I told you what you could've done. It's only fair. What was it I needed to do to make you want me as your girlfriend?"

Montague's eyes were cold.

"Nothing," he said, "there was nothing you ever could've done."


She was still laying in bed at eleven. On her nightstand was a crumpled and then straightened copy of today's' Prophet, the front page howling about Katie's relationship with Montague.

"The front page," Katie muttered, "absolutely ridiculous."

Well okay, it had been the front page of the sports section, and underneath the larger article about the Harpies win and their upcoming semifinal match-up with the Catapults, but it was still far too visible for Katie's liking.

Harpies Star Chases Dates Heir to Massive Montague Fortunethe paper screeched, right above a picture of her kissing Montague. It hadn't been the teeth clacking kiss, either, but the romantic one. Even knowing her sham relationship as she did, Katie was almost convinced herself that it was real, based on that photographic kiss.

The article was jam packed with information about Montague and his family, choice quotes about how much they were in love, but lacking in color commentary and made up lies. Katie had stared at the author's name four times, just to be sure, but Rita Skeeter's name still blazed from the top. Montague had promised her, near the end of the night when he'd kissed her goodbye, his eyes still holding something alarming in their depths, that he'd taken care of Rita and she didn't have to worry. But now she knew it was true.

The front page of Witch Weekly had an even larger photo of the kiss on the cover, and inside a hastily composed article chock full of nauseating quotes about the romantic nature of their star crossed romance, complete with a picture of Quiggly and Christopher snogging. On the next page of Witch Weekly, there was a venomous article about Harry and Ginny having a massive fight about a mysterious unknown girl, followed by a truly nasty article about Angelina and George and Angelina's relationship with Molly that contained just enough truth to be damaging to all involved. Montague had saved Katie, but her mates had gotten it in spades. Rita must have had to vent her spleen somewhere. On the floor were piles of letters and scrolls, all half burned and liberally sprinkled with banshee counteracting power.

Katie was nauseous, not just from the Howlers, or the black and white proof she was dating Montague, or the horrible articles from her friends. Mostly, because she couldn't stop thinking of the conversation from the night before. What did he mean, nothing she could have done would have made Montague want to date her back then? She knew he had wanted her. But dating was too far, apparently. So what had changed, since then, that he was willing to be herboyfriend? And why did she care? An owl swooped through her window that she recognized as Montague's.

"Oh, it's you," Katie said. She'd gotten very used to the sight of Ptolemy. He was constantly delivering her flowers and other trinkets in the past few months. this time, all he held was a scroll in his claws. It was tied with a green velvet ribbon. Of course. With trepidation, Katie looked at the wax seal. it was studded with what looked like tiny green gems and swirled with silver. It was in the shape of a diving hawk.

"Huh?'' Katie said, looking closer at the owl. It wasn't Ptolemy, but an almost identical version of Montague's owl. The only difference was the pointier beak. With trepidation, Katie unrolled the scroll.

Mr. and Mrs. Elviron Bletchley do so extend an invitation to Miss Katherine Bell for the annual fundraiser for the glorification of the glorious souls that have so departed this sphere for the heavenly stars

"What the bloody fuck?" Katie said out loud, wondering how very hungover she was. The owl hooted at her, and she read on.

"Her presence is requested at the Bletchley summer manor house, Unicorn Wind," Katie cackled, picturing a unicorn farting on the Bletchley mansion of pretension, and she could swear the owl winked at her, "on April 18th, at seven in the evening. Dress robes required. We look forward to your luminescent being – is this a joke?" The owl hooted like it understood her completely.

"Well, no, obviously," she scoffed at the owl, "why am I even getting-" the horrible conversation she had been replaying in her mind over and over about how Montague found her a titless unpopular bore and nothing could change that was finally wiped away for something else. "Fucking hell, was this because of Montague?" she yelped at the owl. She could've sworn it nodded. Owls didn't even have bendable necks. She was losing it.

"I have to think about it," she said carefully to the owl, who hooted, and hopped into her lap, dipping his beak into her open bottle of cider.

"Should you drink and fly?" Katie asked, taking another swig of cider. Maybe Hellman was right, and she did have a problem.

The owl hooted again, dipping its beak in the cider.

"Then again, if you work for the Bletchley's…'' Katie murmured in sympathy, tipping a little more cider the owl's way.

"Why would I get sent this?" Katie lamented to the owl, who ruffled its feathers and re-positioned in her lap, clearly desperate for a witch or wizard who wasn't a huge arse to it. She reread the ridiculous invitation, casting her mind back to her knowledge of Miles Bletchley. He was in Montague's grade with Warrington and Pucey, a cheating arsehole just like the rest of them, but had at least to her knowledge never propositioned her, Ange, or Alicia with sexual taunts. It was a small improvement over Montague's other friends.

She read the invitation again. It was three days before her next match. She couldn't go anyway. Relief washed over her, followed by dread. Montague would probably insist. He'd made some crack about dragging her to another pure-blood function, after all. They'd have a horrible fight about it, and then Katie would have to play the Catapults with some insults ringing in her ears about how Montague had never wanted her at school no matter what Katie did. Oh wait, that was her life now. She swigged more cider, and the owl ruffled its feathers. Katie dipped the bottle, and the owl dipped its beak with a hoot of gratitude.

"I'd go if everyone there was as nice as you," Katie grumbled, realizing she was talking out loud to an owl like she was Luna Lovegood's less stable older cousin, and drank more cider. The owl hooted with a pleased look in its round eyes.

"At least we're going mad together," Katie said, thinking that she'd just blame Jones for not attending. After all, her captain had made her feelings clear on extra activities in the next few weeks and would be infuriated with her Chaser for going.

Like so many thoughts Katie had had the last few months, she was utterly wrong.


"Bell," Jones barked as she flew around her in a loop, "heard you were invited to the Bletchley's charity ball."

"How did you—yeah I was," Katie said, "don't worry, I already sent back that I wasn't coming."

"What?" Jones said, "well, write back and say you are."

Katie almost fell off her broom.

"Er, Captain, are you feeling okay?" she asked carefully, "you are aware that it's right before our next match?"

"Multiple days," Jones said, waving a hand, both of them ducking a Bludger in unison.

The small section of the stands that family and friends were in cheered. Jones had closed practice to anyone else to hide any tactical maneuvers they might use against the Catapults, even if the open practice tickets did bring in what Katie now knew was much needed revenue to the team.

"You'll have plenty of time to get over your hangover," Jones said acidly, "although to be honest Bell, if you're constantly drinking, do you even get them anymore?"

"Hey,'' Katie said, then stopped.

Jones raised an eyebrow.

"Well?" she said.

"Well what?" Katie asked, as they flew over the spectator stands and everyone cheered for Jones, even her own brother. Jones waved.

"Well, where's the rest of your terrible excuse for your constant drinking?" Jones said.

"I don't have one," Katie said, "I'm drinking a lot. So sue me. I got thirty Howlers this morning alone about me dating Montague."

She left out the part where George's powder silenced them. That would only make Jones have even less of a shred of sympathy for her.

"Buck up," Jones said, "at least you weren't fucking Flint for real. Imagine the shame of that?"

Katie shuddered. "I'd rather not," she said, "the teeth! Can you bloody imagine?" Jones shuddered as well.

"Hellman apparently thinks about it," Jones said, "flipping lunatic."

"Have you figured out why she's trying to steal my life?" Katie said, "or whatever the hell it is she's doing."

"I don't need to figure it out," Jones said, looking at Katie like she was mad, "everyone already knows, Bell."

"Well I don't," Katie said, "so not everyone knows, Captain."

"Bell," Jones said patiently, as they looped the goals and sprinted to the other side of the field in unison, "these younger girls, they want to be you. Or maybe Weasley, or maybe Johnson, or if they're not into Quidditch, Granger. Hellman is what, two years younger than you? Three? So she saw you at school, popular and friends with the right people, winning the Quidditch cup how many times?"

"Three," Katie said proudly.

"Three times," Jones said, "and then you go on and become a war hero. I know you haven't read your press coverage until lately with your pretty boy, but it's glowing. And you're beautiful."

"Hellman is way prettier," Katie said, her face weirdly hot. She had never thought her Captain thought of her much at all, aside from being a nuisance.

"Who told you that?" Jones demanded, "there are lots who would prefer you. Your man, for one. My brother, for another. Why do you think he's here right now?"

Katie's head whipped to the stands. Gerry Jones, the youngest sibling of her captain waved enthusiastically again, and this time Katie realized it was at her.

"Your brother wants to shag me?" Katie said explosively.

"Yes," Jones said, "he's never been happier to have me as a sister than the day he found out I chose you for the team."

"Um," Katie said, wondering if she was still drunk. Well, she was. But how drunk?

"Don't shag him, he's a terrible lay," Jones said, "he cries after. Or so his last bird told me. Not that I wanted to know." They both shuddered in unison.

"Noted," Katie said weakly. They dodged a Bludger again.

"The point being," Jones said, "Hellman is jealous. She wants to be you. And since she can't be you, she's destroying your life for fun. A bit sad, really."

"A bit?" Katie said, "A bit?"

"Also, Skeeter's got that blackmail on her," Jones said casually, "about her mum having an affair with Adrioc Pucey."

"What?" Katie screamed, and a Bludger hit her dead in the stomach.


Katie was lying on the couch watching Romeo + Julietwith Alicia with a sort of detached horror.

"His name is Montague," Alicia kept repeating, "literally Montague. And their families hate each other! And so do their friends!" Then she'd take a swig of wine and cackle.

"You picked this on purpose, didn't you," Katie said, hugging her stuffed cat Miss Sunshine to her sore stomach.

Even if she'd been allowed to see Montague after practice, she was half dead physically and emotionally, and would've lied to get out of it. The remains of the obscene amount of fish and chips she'd devoured after their ten hour practice was still on the table. Alicia was in her underwear, Katie in her Weasley jumper and sweatpants again, her hair in a messy lump on her head.

"No," Alicia said, "I picked it cause the bloke on the cover was cute."

Katie sighed, picking up her wine glass. Knowing Alicia, it was only the truth.

"Oh no, why are they faking their own deaths?" Alicia squealed, "Katie, don't do that for Montague, no matter what he-"

There was a knock on the door.

"No," Katie whimpered, closing her eyes.

The fireplace was already crammed full of all the hate mail she'd had to burn today alone. Montague had promised he'd understood she needed to focus on the cup, and wouldn't come by until the match. But then again, he was a liar.

"I'll get rid of him," Alicia said with enthusiasm, bounding to her feet, still in her bra and panty set. Katie realized just when Alicia reached the door that she was wearing one of the ridiculous sets Montague had sent for her, and Alicia's significantly larger breasts were exploding out of the fuzzy bra that had been meant for Katie.

"Don't," Katie said, so meekly Leonardo DiCaprio's wails over the alleged death of Juliet drowned her out. She tilted her wine glass vertical and chugged.

"Katie," Alicia said, her voice subdued, "it's for you."

"I know," Katie sighed, still holding Miss Sunshine, "tell him to go away."

"Er," Alicia said, "well..."

"Alicia," Katie said, lunging to her feet and pulling her sore ab muscles, still holding a giant stuffed pink Persian cat, "just-" her voice died.

Helena Montague was standing in their apartment in robes that were cut fashionably enough that a Muggle might mistake her for a woman cosplaying as an actress from the nineteen fifties. There was a strand of fine gold around her neck, one teardrop pearl hanging from it. Her hair and makeup was impeccable.

"Oh god," Katie blurted.

The telly screamed something about Montague and Capulets. Helena Montague looked away from Alicia's almost nudity and Katie's disarray and blinked at it.

"Did that...thing just say my son's name?" she said.

"It's a movie," Katie said, "never mind, you don't know what that is. Don't ask my dad to explain. He'll tell you Muggles kill each other with corn syrup and T-Rexes." She laughed nervously.

"She's drunk," Alicia said in a stage whisper, "so am I. We're young and having fun. Don't judge us. Want some wine?"

"No, thank you," Helena Montague said coldly, her eyes traveling right past Alicia's near nudity straight to Katie's giant Weasley jumper, holey sweatpants, hair like a mop, and giant stuffed pink cat.

"It's good wine," Katie blurted, her head swimming, "you sure?"

Helena Montague didn't deign to give her a response. Her eyes moved on to the string lights and wall of pictures, the pile of Quidditch boots, the dirty mugs,

Leonardo DiCaprio swearing to kill himself for his love.

"So this is what my son has chosen," Helena said, her voice brittle, "over his own mother."

Katie tried to speak. Failed. She should probably let go of Miss Sunshine or the wine glass, but instead she clutched both tighter.

"Most men choose other women over their own mother," Alicia said, "I mean, unless you want to go all...what's it called Katie? Edible?"

"Oedipal," Katie said automatically, and when Helena Montague's eyes returned to her and her stuffed cat and giant goblet of wine she laughed nervously, "not that this applies! We're not saying you want to bang your own son."

"I'm saying that," Alicia murmured, "I mean, if you're here to like, duel Katie over Montague's honor, which it kind of looks like you are."

"Not content to steal Graham from me," Helena said, like Alicia was a gnat flying about her making nonsense buzzing sounds, "it seems you've taken Frank and Christopher as well."

"Ew!" Alicia said, no doubt picturing Katie banging three brothers at once. Alicia's mind was often a demented place.

Helena brought out the Witch Weeklyarticle from her robes and placed it on the coffee table accusingly. The picture of Katie snogging Montague and Christopher and Quiggly snogging stared them all in the face.

"Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty," Leo said from behind them.

"What is that?" Helena Montague said, looking at it with no small amount of revulsion, "why does that boy have my son's name? Is this a hex you're doing, to get him to love you?"

"It's a movie," Katie said, tripping over her own words, "I told you. Um, like a story, but with pictures. It's Shakespeare. Bastardized. But, I mean. 'Lovefool' is fun. Who doesn't love that song?"

"It's really catchy," Alicia agreed.

"Are you drunk, Miss Bell?" Helena said coldly.

"Maybe," Katie said, "I mean, you didn't exactly warn me you were coming by. I would've put on my best snobby outfit that you would've hated anyway."

Alicia cackled.

"And now you critique my manners," Helena said, "when you have not even offered me tea or greeted me properly."

"I mean, you're the one who came and insulted us and accused Katie of hexing your son," Alicia said, swigging on her wine, "to our home, mind you."

"Why else would he love...that?" Helena said, looking from Katie to Alicia at last, spotting her fluff covered tits, and still someone finding her more appealing then Katie, judging by the lack of disgusted lip curl.

"One, he doesn't love me," Katie said, "I'm pretty sure he's doing this as a demented plan to brag to his mates and win a bet," she took a swig of wine, past caring if his mother told Montague this or not, "two, I'm awesome. That's why." She started defiantly at Helena, who looked over her state of drunken disarray again.

"Be advised, Miss Bell," she said at last, "to tread lightly. I won't have you ruin my son's understanding with Tatiana Prewett."

"Who?" Katie said stupidly.

"What?" Alicia said.

Behind them, Claire Danes stabbed herself dramatically.

Helena Montague smiled at them. It was the smile of a woman playing with her food before she ate it whole.

"His betrothed," she said, "or didn't you know?"


Author's Note: I haven't watched Romeo + Juliet in MANY years so please excuse my probably inaccurate rendering of it!