A/N: Wow, I've taken so long. Thanks for sticking with me though, guys... I know, I'm so frustrating! My computer time has been extremely limited... Limited to the point of non-existance, actually. I've been banned. Again. Sigh... However, I did manage to sneak enough time to eventually write this, even though I did get in trouble at one point and my banned time has now been lengthened... Oh well. That's the way the cookie crumbles, I suppose. So please forgive me for typos and stuff, I might have to post this with only a minimal amount of editing... I don't want to take too long!

January 20th

"Oliver," Alicia says sweetly, ignoring George's oh-so-jealous glare, "are you sure we should be having practice today? I mean, I know you're worried about the game, but we'll do fine!" Her voice becomes kind of high pitched, and I wince as the 'snow proof, dementor proof' goggles in my hand crack. Huh. If they can't withstand Alicia, how on earth are they supposed to withstand a dementor?

Oliver appears to have not even heard her; he just keeps striding on determinedly, occasionally tripping because of the thick fog. It's so bad that I can't even see my own hand in front of my face, and I keep stepping on Harry's heels. Which, you know, is pretty bad, because if an event arises that causes Harry to try and save the world again, he'll be all, "Wait, sorry Voldy, do you mind if we continue this off the sharp rocks? It's just that my Quidditch team member kept stepping on my heels, and now I can't wear shoes."

Yeah. I can so see that happening. Not.

Anyway. If looks could kill, Oliver would be a dead man right now. Fred's patting George on the back nervously and whispering, "Calm down, mate. It's not like you could take him on, or anything." That's kind of harsh, although it is true that Oliver is way taller and musclier- is that even a word? - than both the twins, and they wouldn't have a hope in hell of giving him even a bruise.

"Come on, Ol," Alicia pleads, sidling up to him. "I really need to do my charms essay! I've only done twenty three inches!" Shit. I've done two and a half. Oh well, I can always copy off the last half of Alicia's, because by then Flitwick won't even bother reading it, he'll just give her an 'O' and throw it away as fast as possible.

"O-kay!" George says cheerfully, pushing his way between Oliver and Alicia. "Let's go, team! Alicia, if you'll ever so kindly accompany me to the change rooms…" He grabs her arm and drags her off. I'm not sure where, exactly, because it's a bit hard to see, but we can hear them well enough. Almost too well, if you get my meaning.

"What do you think you were doing?"

"Trying to call off practice! Believe it or not, George, there are some things more important than your stupid male pride, like homework!"

"And flirting with our Captain in front of me was not the way to go about it! For God's sake, Leesh, he's Scittish! Do you want to catch something?"

"The correct term is 'Scottish' and I made sure I had my gloves on first!"

"Whatever. Just, next time hit him with a Bludger over the head or something, okay? This is Wood we're talking about. As if he's gonna respond to female affections."

"And you do…?"

"Positions, everyone!" Fred yells loudly, turning so pale that I can actually see him against the fog. I mean, who can blame him? It's not as if I was entirely pleased that time I accidentally walked in on Michael and his girlfriend, back when he was still at Hogwarts. That was a traumatising experience, let me tell you.

"Weasley!" Oliver bellows. "I'm the only one authorised to say that! Positions, everyone!" God, he is such a control freak. If he doesn't make it in professional Quidditch, I'm sure the Minister of Magic would love to take him on board.

"I have a feeling," Angelina mutters darkly, stepping up on her broom.

"Yeah, whatever," I scoff. I think she's put a bit too much emphasis on her divination homework, personally. I hate that class, but at least I won't a high enough O.W.L. to actually have to take it for N.E.W.T.'s so that's good.

"Johnson! Spinnet! Bell!" Huh, typical Oliver, calling my name last. I think we all know where I stand in the 'favourite Chaser' stakes. "Get up in the air now! I want at least fifty spins!"

Oh, God no. Oliver's version of a spin is where we have to jump off our broom mid air, catch the handle and haul ourselves back up again. Apparently, though, Mr Wood hasn't taken it into account that fog generally tends to make everything covered in it slippery. We'll be lucky if Gryffindor still has three Chasers after this.

Nobody else sees any problem with this, though. And as I am just poor, stupid, naïve little Katie, they must be right and I must be wrong. So I get on my broom anyway, and take it up thirty feet. Hey, I may be poor, stupid, naïve little Katie, but no way am I going the full sixty feet that he wants us to. I do listen to my instincts sometimes, you know!

"Bell! Higher! Why do I always have to tell you off? Do you see Johnson or Spinnet disobeying my instructions?" He demands. Whoa, 'disobeying' is a big word for Oliver. The only words I thought were in his vocabulary were 'Quidditch', 'win' and 'dictator'.

"But-"

"No buts! A hundred spins!"

"Yeah, Bell," Fred cackles from somewhere below me, "you wouldn't want to sound like a goat!" He and George guffaw at their own joke, and I can hear them attempt to give each other high fives. Of course, high fives generally don't involve smacking each other on the head but whatever. They're Weasleys; they can do what they want and nothing will be thought of it.

Idiots. I can't believe Fred actually knows what a goat is.

"Alright there, Harry?" I mean, no one else bothers giving the kid a second glance at Quidditch practice. Alicia and George are too busy flirting/snogging with each other, Fred and Ange are too busy alternately actually practicing and flirting/snogging with each other, and Oliver's just too intent on 'perfecting' throwing the Quaffle to himself and then catching it before it goes through the hoops. Hey, I never said the kid has a life.

I, on the other hand, whilst extremely busy worrying about how I'm getting frostbite and my eyes are glazing over, actually am nice enough to see that Harry just about rammed into that post. I have to be nice- it's not his fault he's as blind as a bat when his glasses fog over.

"Um… I think so," he replies, feeling around in front of him and grasping the pole. "I can't see, though…"

"As evident when you almost knocked the goal post out of the ground," I mutter sarcastically, but as usual, my irreverent sense of wit just goes over his head. "Here," I sigh exaggeratedly, as if it's a big bother to go over and grab the glasses out of his hands. Weird- he was closer than I realised… In fact, I was kind of hovering right next to the pole, and I couldn't even see it!

"Thanks Katie," Harry says gratefully, although it takes him a while to find them. "Hey, is it just me or does it feel like we've already done this before?"

The poor kid. You know how they reckon that Harry was the only one who survived the curse and stuff? I think it did do something to him, though- it's addled his brains, and now he's 'simple'. "Yes, Harry," I tell him slowly. "This is familiar because we are on a Quidditch team. That is where you either throw a big round thing called a Quaffle through the hoops, or you try and catch a small gold ball with wings. That's what you do. Of course, it's not that you're not good at it… It's just that-"

"Katie! Catch!" A voice bellows suddenly, interrupting my detailed monologue on the specifics of Quidditch. Before I even have time to think about it, a large brown spot comes rushing towards me, so fast that I can actually see it through the fog- which, really kind of defies the laws of… Well, whatever it is that allows you to see through fog.

It's not that I can't catch a Quaffle. I am, after all, on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and no matter how much I complain about Oliver and his dictator-ness, we're not that bad of a team. It's just that the Quaffle was thrown really hard, and I wasn't even ready for it. It took me by complete surprise, which might have something to do with why it rammed into my stomach.

And oh, that hurt, okay? It's like a cannonball hurtling into your flesh at like two hundred miles an hour! Really, I wouldn't have been surprised if it had gone all the way through my abdomen. Ew…

But after the whole 'grossed out' factor has passed, it doesn't take me very long to get mad. Really, if I didn't act blonde, I could so be a red-head. Then again, there's already two of them in our group; I don't think we need any more Fred and Georges.

Anyway. Like I was saying, it doesn't take me very long to get mad, especially when someone has just attempted to put a not-insignificantly sized ball through my stomach.

"Who the hell was that?" I demand, attempting to bounce the Quaffle up and down, like those professional hoop-ballers on Alicia's favourite movie. Well, on the television it looked really scary and intimidating. In the middle of a foggy night when my eyes are practically hanging out of my head due to tiredness, I'm guessing that I really can't do the intimidating thing all that well.

"You were talking!" Oliver yells back, not even bothering to apologise for trying to decapitate me.

"I was helping a fellow team-mate, something you wouldn't have a clue about!" I scream in the general direction of his voice. I mean, it figures that Oliver should be near the goal posts, on account of being Keeper and all that, but I thought Harry and I were near them. Maybe Oliver hasn't been eating his carrots lately and is actually out in the middle of the pitch.

"And you wouldn't have a clue about following the Captain's orders!" He shouts obstinately back at me.

"You bastard!" Without even stopping to think about it, really, I hurl the Quaffle towards his voice as fast and as hard as possible, in the process probably setting a new world record. Too bad it was while I was throwing it at someone's head, and not actually to get a goal.

"Be-" Crack! The Quaffle has evidently hit the desired target, judging by the loud cry of pain and the resounding thump that usually occurs when someone has fallen from their broom and hit the ground below.

George is the only one who bothers to see if he's okay. "Wood! Wood, you there, mate?" George says. "Tell me if you can feel this kick," he tells Oliver, and proceeds to kick him in the stomach. Which is pretty harsh, really. I wonder where the Quaffle hit him…

"Oh, shit. He's not responding!" George yells up at us, and everyone flies down immediately. I didn't really think there'd be anything wrong with him. I mean, he's Oliver Wood. Puddlemere has already recruited him! "Oh my God, I've killed our Captain!" I scream as soon as I touch down. "I've killed Puddlemere's investment!"

"Get a grip, Katie!" Angelina sneers at me, giving my shoulder a shake. "Why do you always make emergencies about yourself?"

Whoa, touchy. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. "Where'd the Quaffle get him?" I ask nobody in particular. Alicia fancies herself as a bit of a healer among us, so she's trying out all these spells she's read about in books, just to see what happens.

Nothing does. I mean, she's supposed to be some kind of child genius, yet she can't even perform a simple healing spell? "God, get out of the way," I snap, pushing her aside and brandishing my wand. Hey, you never know when it might be useful. "What's the incantation?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea, Katie…" She says doubtfully, looking at Oliver with a worried expression on her face. Ha. Just because you're a little charms genius doesn't mean we all are, Spinnet. "It's like ahlohamora, except different." Yeah, figured that out, sunshine. "Just flick your wand and say clearohamora."

Oh, yeah. Whatever. She so made that spell up herself, a bit like the time Fred and George 'taught' Ron how to turn Scabbers yellow. I think Alicia's been spending too much time around George… What, with her brains and his- um, personality, there could be disastrous results.

"Katie? Spell?" Alicia prompts, looking at me all weird. "One, two, three!"

"Clearo-"

"Wait!" Oliver's ragged voice is desperate as he raises an arm to stop me. "No! Not… Bell… Anything… her…"

Fred and George look at each other and shrug. "Just do it," Fred says calmly. "Dear old Ol's not thinking too well at the moment. After all, it tends to be painful when the school's top Chaser throws a Quaffle straight at your head. Believe me, I know."

"I didn't throw it," Angelina says crossly, giving him a dig in the ribs with her elbow for added effect.

"My bad. Second best Chaser in the school," Fred amends, grinning smugly at me.

Grr. What is up with Ange today? She should seriously go see Pomfry, because I think she's coming up with something.

"Go on, Katie."

"No…"

"Well," I say cheerfully, not feeling the least bit bad, "here goes." I raise my wand directly at Oliver and perform the spell rather perfectly, in my perfectly non-biased opinion. Unfortunately though, just at that moment, McGonagall and Pomfry rush out of the castle, and their cries of shock as they see me attempt to fix Oliver up aren't encouraging, to say the least.

"Miss Bell!" McGonagall yells indignantly. She's been running and is out of breath, otherwise I suspect she'd probably do the whole 'yelling-but-not-quite-yelling' thing on me. Believe me, that is way scarier than just plain old shouting. "How dare you perform a spell on another student? Have you not learnt anything during your stay at Hogwarts?"

Um, yeah. I've learnt that when you plan on breaking the rules, such as hexing your beloved captain in the middle of Quidditch practice, it's best not to do it right in front of your Head of House's window. Or really, in a public place at all. Although that said, not sure I'd like to put a spell on Oliver in a broom cupboard.

I get claustrophobic easily.

"What happened?" Pomfry asks briskly, assessing Oliver's pulse and his heartbeat or whatever. Huh. What, she thinks I would purposely stop his heart beating? I may be cruel, but I'm not that cruel. Besides, if I killed Oliver, he wouldn't be around any more for me to torment. So really, I'd just be losing out.

"Well," Angelina begins, sneaking a look at me. "It was all-"

"An accident!" I interrupt hastily. "It was an accident, I swear! It was really foggy and slippery up there, and I was throwing the Quaffle when I suddenly slipped! It was just as I was throwing the Quaffle, too, and so it didn't go in the direction I was aiming for. I told Oliver I was unbelievably sorry, and I feel so, so bad…" I adopt a pose of extreme sadness, turning away and pretending to cry, when really I'm just laughing. Pomfry puts a hand on my shoulder sympathetically, and gestures for me to continue. "So I offered to fix it up, right, and then Alicia told me the spell, and so I did it just when you were coming… I don't know if it worked, though."

"Well aren't you a good friend?" Pomfry smiles at me for the first time in all the years I've known her. Wait, I take that back. When I have especially serious injuries, she smiles at me because she thinks that I get what I deserve and she doesn't feel the least bit sorry for me. After more than two days, though, she's not smiling because she's stuck with me.

While she and McGonagall are busy trying to get Oliver onto a stretcher that McGonagall conjured up, I sneak up to Alicia. "What was that spell supposed to do, anyway? Nothing's happened."

Alicia, to her credit, blushes and looks down at the ground. "It's kind of… a New Age thing," she says, scuffing the grass and then patting it back down with her foot. Even when she's embarrassed she's still a perfectionist. "It's supposed to chase all the bad energy out of his body, like pain…"

"Supposed to?"

"Yeah… And it's like a harmless way of getting rid of the pain."

I gape at her. "So, in other words, it was only supposed to get rid of the pain, not actually fix him up?"

She nods thoughtfully. "I never thought about that. Well, yes, I guess."

"You guess? I could have killed him!" I exclaim, perhaps a bit too loudly for comfort. McGonagall glances over at me and raises her eyebrows, but I don't think she heard me.

Alicia shrugs. "Well… you didn't, so it's all okay," she smiles down at me. "You'll see. In a few minutes Oliver will get up, good as new-"

"Oh my God, who'll be Quidditch captain for the game on Sunday?" Angelina suddenly yells, looking as though she's about to have a heart attack. "We can't play without a captain!" We all start arguing about it. I don't think we need a captain to play, and neither does Fred, but everyone else does.

"Bell!" We all jump back in alarm. We were so focused on the 'debate' that we kind of forgot about Oliver. He's like that. His eyes are still closed, and he's not moving, but he definitely said my name.

"What, you think Katie should be the Captain?" Angelina laughs, in a 'ha-ha-that-is-definitely-not-funny' kind of way.

"Bell!" He says loudly. I'd imagine that in Oliver's subconscious, he thinks he's yelling. But really, he just sounds like a mouse on helium.

"We need to get him to the Hospital Wing, I think he's becoming delirious," McGonagall says worriedly, and she and Madame Pomfry immediately head for it, with Oliver floating on his stretcher next to them. Huh. They could have gone off with him like half an hour ago- I think they just like my company. Although I have to admit, it is very delightful-

"God, Bell, I can't believe how vicious you are," George comments easily, slumping against on the wall of a bleacher. But he quickly stands up straight again when he discovers that it's a Slytherin one. Typical boys- male pride, etc, etc.

"Even their bleacher walls are cold," he mutters to himself, glaring at it distastefully.

"It was kind of mean…" Alicia begins hesitantly, giving me a sidelong glance.

"Are you kidding me? It was bloody brilliant!" Fred exclaims, giving me a high five. "I'd give up George's Beater position for her any day!"

"Hey!"

"Thanks, I think," I say, ignoring George's indignant cry. "I'd rather Chaser… That way I don't feel guilty when I 'accidentally' slam the Quaffle into someone's face."

"You could so be a Slytherin," Angelina murmurs under her breath, flinching when I accidentally touch her with my shoulder. I wonder what I've done now- maybe I ate her entire chocolate stash. Although she wasn't this mad when I did that last year, so that can't be it. Anyway, I think I'd realise if I did that, because last time I had to run around the pitch three times before I could get back into my Quidditch uniform.

Stupid inherited metabolism. It's all my mother's fault, I tell you.

"I think," Alicia says slowly, always the voice of reason in arguments, "we should go see McGonagall and see what she thinks. If she says we don't need a Captain, then we won't have one. If she thinks we do, then-"

"Yeah, yeah," I interrupt. "We get it. Onwards, troops!" I point forward, but George turns my arm to the right mutely. I do know where the Hospital Wing is… sometimes I just forget, that's all.

Ange gives me a dirty look. "Only the Captain should be allowed to say that," she says spitefully.

"Oh yeah?" I'm sick of her behaviour and stop in my tracks with my hands on my hips. Hey, I know she's seven inches taller than me or whatever. It's not like I was planning a fight when I woke up this morning. "Then does that make you more qualified to say it?"

She shrugs. "I don't see why you should say anything," she says coolly, and keeps on walking, leaving my jaw dropping. What is up with her? I tell you, if she's still like this tomorrow, then I will not be blaming it on a bad pancake.

When we get to the Hospital Wing, Fred motions McGonagall over into the corner. As Alicia says, "We don't want his unconscious to be tainted with our ugly thoughts". Don't know what kind of ugly thoughts she's having, but hey, I don't want to know about it.

"Do you think we need a Captain?" I ask frankly. "Personally, I don't see why we do-"

"It's not all about you, Katie!" Angelina snaps. "Who's going to have a handshake with the other captain?"

"Who wants to touch Flint's hand, anyway?" I fire back.

"Wrong team, Bell-"

"Enough!" McGonagall commands in her 'yelling-but-not-quite-yelling' voice. "Now," she says quietly, "I have taken into account of the wishes of the current Captain and the majority of the team."

Oh, shit. We're going to be having a Captain, and it'll be Angelina. Can you just imagine the sorts of things she'll make me do?

"The temporary Captain will be Katie Bell, and all of you as a team will need to find a replacement Keeper."

Oh. My. God. Why do I keep getting picked for important things like this? After all, it's not as if my behaviour is exactly role-model material, or my grades are great. Remember, the last time I was top of a class was in first year! First that stupid Student-of-the-Term thing or whatever it was (the medal was sent to my mum so she could show it to her snobby friends, and I haven't seen it since) and now Captain.

"Why me?" I blurt out, thinking even as I say it that it really isn't the smartest thing to say.

If McGonagall's surprised by my question, she doesn't show it. "Because," she says simply, "Wood wanted you to be."

"What?" My voice is not alone- it's joined by Angelina, and I have an inkling about why she's so mad at me. She thinks she's supposed to be 'The One' at Quidditch, and she doesn't appreciate it when I do something to take away attention from her. I didn't even mean to! I can't help it… Accidents (even though throwing a Quaffle at someone really isn't classified as accident) just happen around me.

McGonagall shrugs, looking a bit annoyed. "I asked him, and he said 'Bell'. Poppy seems to think he's conscious…" She mutters, half to herself and half to us. She walks away from us and back over to Pomfry, still half-talking to herself.

Angelina's face is on fire and she races out the door. "Great," I say sarcastically. "It's all my fault and for once, I didn't even do anything." Before my friends can say anything, though, I salute them and say, "Wish me luck," before following Angelina out the door. With any luck I can get her to see my side of it… Better yet, I can even give her the role of 'temporary Captain'. It's not like I actually earned it- Oliver was probably still yelling at me in his head.

For an athlete, she hasn't gone far- I see her head disappearing down the stairs, and run to catch up with her. "Ange, wait!"

I knock into someone as I run haphazardly down the stairs. "Sorry," I automatically apologise without even glancing at them. Angelina's gone down another flight of stairs-

"Katie?" It's Lee, and he reaches out an arm to steady me as I turn around so fast I almost lose my balance. "I heard about Oliver, and- where're you going?"

"Sorry," I repeat. "Can't stop now, got to find Ange…"

I eventually do find Angelina in a deserted classroom. I think it's the one used for Ancient Runes, but I wouldn't know for sure as I didn't take that class, because I thought it would be too hard. Apparently though, the teacher's really nice and nobody does anything expect talk the entire time. You can bet I'm wishing I took that class now instead of Divination. Muggle Studies isn't that bad, really.

"Ange!" I yell in my best 'stop now or else' voice.

She hesitates, but turns around and glares at me. "What?"

"Look," I say, wishing I had a speech prepared so I wouldn't have to make it up on the spot. I'll probably end up saying something really stupid and insensitive and then she'll hate me forever. Story of my life. "I didn't realise why you were so mad until just before, and all I can say is…"

"What?" She demands. "Say you're sorry? That you actually suck at Quidditch, even though you've been made Captain? What, Katie?"

Oooh, that does it. "All I can say is this: Grow up! So I got lucky and threw a Quaffle at Oliver Wood's head, and in his delusional state he accidentally named me captain when all he was really trying to do was tell me off. Big deal. You're still going to be named Captain next year when he leaves, you're still good enough to play it professionally. Do you really think the Kestrels or the Harpies are actually going to care if you were only made Captain for two days and it was never even recorded? Of course not! So get over yourself, for God's sake. Yes, you're better than me at Quidditch. I know that, Oliver knows that, the whole damn world knows that!"

And, after that impassioned speech, the only thing Angelina has to say is, "Whatever, Katie," before glaring at me and walking off. This time, though, I let her go. I'm not sure if what I said really helped or not, but frankly, at the moment I don't care. She can deal with her own 'Quidditch demons'.

Now, I wonder if I can rope Lee into being Keeper? I mean, if not, I could always use Connie Cretin… I bet he's really good at reflecting things that are thrown his way. That time last week when I threw a tomato at him, he caught it and then threw it back!

I mean, granted, it ended up behind him, but it's the thought that counts, right?

We're stuffed, I know.

A/N: Augh! Help! Exactly what team is it that they play next, and do they win or lose? Remember, I don't have the book and it doesn't have it in the movie... Although, if it doesn't have it in the book either, I'll just make it up. Anyways, please remember to review! (By the way, last chapter was the first chapter in... ages that I actually got ten reviews for the one chapter, and in a reasonable time period. Thanks a bunch :D)