As the senior promotional advertiser for the Chudley Cannons, I didn't have that much to live up to. As it was, I was probably the first person who had ever volunteered to be such a thing for the team. Nobody really wanted anything to do with the Cannons, but ever since the game on that long ago Wednesday eve, I had been inspired to somehow help them. However, if the Magpies or Wasps had needed me, I would have gone to them too. I found that as long as I was near Quidditch, I was happy. And senior promotional advertiser put me as close as I could get without being on the team.
I attended every single Cannons game (paid for by the head Cannons office), every Quidditch and wizarding sports function or awards show, and I sat with the privileged at the World Cups. Getting to go to schools and bookstores to talk about Quidditch was only an added bonus.
In my opinion, "senior promotional advertiser" was a poor name for someone who did a great deal more. My job description not only listed me as someone who would "uphold the honour of the Chudley Cannons at all times" but a "proud supporter and promoter" and a "confidence booster in place of an absent coach or Captain." Thus, I needed to know a lot about Quidditch. I also had to write the occasional Cannon-loving article for the Quidditch League Magazine. I became pretty good friends with the team within my first few weeks on the job, as my superiors encouraged me to hang about with them and get to know them. That way, I would apparently better understand which products they should be endorsing.
There was Lindsay Shell, Chaser. Possibly the most mean-spirited woman I have ever met, unless she was dealing with the Cannons. We were great friends. Lindsay and I used to insult other Quidditch teams to no end, especially if she was drunk. I didn't drink.
Johnny Gorblug, Chaser. A very nice fellow – a twin, in fact. Apparently Cannon HQ considered taking both he and his twin as Beaters, but Johnny, who had played Beater all his life, turned out to have an amazing ability as Chaser. We got along famously until I accidentally trod on his cat.
Damson James, Chaser. Now, I'm not sure whether "Damson" is his real name or a nickname. HQ never told me. But I called him Damson, along with the rest of the team and the wizarding world, for that matter. Damson was the epitome of what a Chaser should be. He was tall, thin, and handsome. Dark and handsome. One of the fastest British fliers I have ever seen. I was sure that if I could drag him away from his fruit preserve endorsements, he would be a hit with the ladies.
Jenna St. George, Keeper. I find it quite strange that Jenna ever got the position of Keeper. She was fairly petite, and very pretty too, not at all what one would expect for such a rough sport. But her small size enabled her to zoom around the hoops and catch the Quaffle nearly every time. She reminded me of an oversized orange pixie.
Then there were the Beaters, Mark Wallace and Wallace Grimes. Not unexpectedly, they were known as Wallace and Wallace. The two were inseparable. Mark had been Wallace's best friend since the very first year of Hogwarts. Wallace had been the best man at Mark's wedding. They wanted to form a band, something I found utterly absurd for two Quidditch players. However, after a series of odd and discouraging events, I found that their idea had quite a few possibilities.
The last and final member of the team was Georgia Walsh, the Seeker. Her skills were about average, but nobody else would dare come near the Cannons. Seekers were in high demand those few years. Georgia had an overpowering personality. I must admit that we were never really that close, but we were always friendly.
Perhaps someone may be wondering how I got along without magic? I got along just fine. No one knew, because I professed myself to be a Muggle lover. Now that You-Know-Who was dead and gone, it was fine to do so. Many wizards did. The Cannons accepted my odd quirks and treated me like any other witch.
Unfortunately, my safety was soon to be shattered. It all started when Percy Weasley, Head of the Department of Imports and Exports, brought in his new plan for cauldron bottoms.
To me, cauldrons were not a necessity of life. Sadly, Percy Weasley aimed to make it that way. With a team of expert witches and wizards, Weasley assembled a new magical material that would prevent ninety-nine percent of cauldron-related accidents and any fatalities inside the cauldron. There was no catch – the material was being mass-produced down in Scotland – and according to the wizarding wireless, the people loved it. Once Weasley announced that the material also adjusted itself to one's magical abilities, I started to suspect that I might be in trouble.
Trouble decided to settle in more comfortably when my boss, Mr. Gogadille, manager of the Cannons, told me that to boost sagging ticket sales the Cannons had signed a contract to endorse the Weasley cauldrons for the next three years.
As the senior member of the advertising team, I would naturally be expected to try out the cauldron at the next Cannons press junket. I was horrified.
I briefly considered resigning but knew that I could not rely on my only other skill – piano playing – to make a living. I still adored the instrument, but I didn't have the motivation or extreme talent needed to make it in the big picture. Even the Weird Sisters hadn't managed to last more than a few years. Besides, I loved my job too much.
Finally, I resigned myself to one of three masterplans:
a. Bomb the cauldron-making plant.
b. Announce myself a Squib (not likely)
c. Learn magic.
Quite naturally, I was inclined towards the third item on my list. However, after a lengthy discussion with my brother, I decided that it was time, once and for all, to get the better of my inability to do magic.