The Quidditch Cup::
The Easter holidays came and went in a blur of Quidditch. Forbidden to leave Hogwarts by Oliver, we spent pretty much every waking hour on the pitch. I didn't even have time to think about the fact that Oliver and I had now been broken up for two months.
Well, much. Two months? Wow.
And that in itself is getting harder—the being broken up part. It's almost like a physical pain, needing him. Being apart has seriously somehow managed to bring us closer together. Crazy, right?
Maybe I'm reading too much into things but we're spending all of our breaks and lunches together; he's even let me help him create a few plays. I guess he's more comfortable with us just being friends right now.
On another note, however, I can tell that he's seriously starting to want me back. And both of our Quidditch games are suffering because of it. I can play fine, it's just when I have to score in Oliver's goal during practices that I have a problem. And Angelina doesn't make it much easier. What, with her yelling at me to flash Oliver in order to score. We both nearly fell off of our brooms when she said that.
And we're not the only ones who are getting distracted during practice.
Alicia and George are insanely out of it, not to mention incredibly cute. I'm still not exactly sure if they're officially going out but they're perfect together none the less. He's insanely overprotective though. About a week ago, Oliver told Fred to try and knock Alicia off of her broom (don't ask me why; this is Oliver we're talking about). Well, he succeeded and George shot a bludger at him. Oliver yelled at him for about five minutes after that.
Angelina and Fred are always fighting. Thank God they don't have to actually work together during a game, or we would lose for sure. Fred's been taking way too much pleasure in aiming bludgers at Angelina lately and since George is so busy protecting Alicia, Angelina's been hit more than once. As long as she's with Lee, Fred's going to be mad. And I still don't think Angelina knows why he's acting the way that he is.
I think Harry's the only one whose mind is fully on Quidditch. But then again he has a mass murderer after him, so who knows.
But putting aside our relationship problems (I see what Oliver meant by not dating team members now), we are practicing harder than ever. This is the game. The game it all depends on: the cup, Oliver's future, Oliver and my future together. Because somehow in my mind, winning this cup has become associated with me and Oliver getting back together. Hopefully I'm right.
And this game's against Slytherin. Even if we weren't playing for the cup we'd have to beat them.
I'm feeling pretty confident. Oliver's another story, however. The thing is that we're confident Harry can get the snitch but there's a catch. He has to get it when we're 50 points up or we win the game, but lose the cup.
The whole school's been crazy for weeks but this week, the week before the game, it's been astronomically worsened. Cormac McLaggen got into a fight with a Slytherin fourth year and let me just tell you, the results were not pretty. Fights like that have been breaking out all over the school. No one's safe anymore. Professor Flitwick even got hit by a stray spell yesterday. Poor bloke. He's just so tiny; we can't see him in the crossfire.
Now that the night before the match has arrived, we all sit in the common room, dreading tomorrow. Whoever thinks that Quidditch players don't get nervous, they are so wrong.
As usual, Fred and George are not at all worried, but are instead entertaining the whole common room with their jokes. And even when they're not funny, everyone laughs.
When Oliver finally shouts for the team to go to bed, I run up the stairs and into my room. Even though I know that it will be a sleepless night, I just want to be alone. I climb into my bed, still in my Hogwarts robes and try to sleep.
It seemed like two minutes later that my wand set off a volley of sparks meant to wake me up—wizarding version of an alarm clock. I groan and pull the covers tighter around me. Still half asleep, I snuggle deeper into my bed. My tossing, however, wakes me up enough to realize something—I'm not the only one in my bed. My heart immediately starts rushing. What the hell is going on?
Now fully awake and in full defense mode, I slowly turn over. And there, sleeping peacefully, is Oliver. If it wasn't so damn romantic, I'd be more worried about castle security.
"How the hell did you get up the stairs?" I complain, even though he's asleep. My voice seems to rouse him, however.
"Hm?" he groans.
"The stairs?" I ask again.
"Broom," he says, pointing to the foot of my bed. And there on my comforter is Oliver's Nimbus 1700. Just great. I finally get him in my bed and his broom tags along.
"Oliver?" I ask rudely, trying to wake him back up. "Oliver!"
His eyes suddenly shoot open, scaring me. "Slytherin!" he says frantically and begins getting up to leave.
"Not so fast," I say, getting up also. "Why were you in my bed?" I ask in a furious whisper. The last thing I want is for my roommates to hear this.
"I just couldn't sleep," he says. "I was supposed to be gone by the time you got up." Smart plan, dumb ass.
"But—"
"Katie, I've got to go," he says angrily, getting on his broom and flying out the door. I slam it behind him. If anyone's going to be mad, it's going to be me. What the hell was he thinking—God, he's an idiot. And I'm still in love with him.
OoO
We all head down for breakfast together and as we enter the Great Hall, three of the house tables begin cheering wildly. It's a mark of how nervous we are that Fred and George don't bow.
"Eat," Oliver urges us as we take our seats. "We need our energy."
"Then why don't you eat," I demand harshly. He stops urging after that and a few minutes later, he hurries us outside onto the field. Applause follows us once again.
"Okay—no wind to speak of—sun's a bit bright, that could impair your vision, watch out for it—ground's fairly hard, good, that'll give us a fast kickoff—"
Just an observation, but isn't the ground always hard? After several minutes of Oliver pacing across the field, students begin filing towards the lawn.
"Locker rooms," Oliver manages to choke out in a higher pitched voice than usual.
We change in silence and only a few moments later Oliver was saying, "Okay, it's time—let's go—" I am so thankful I didn't eat breakfast right about now.
We march out onto the field and as I always do, I tune out everything except Lee. I need his commentating skills.
Oliver and Flint shake hands and as soon as Madam Hooch blows the whistle, I'm in the air.
Alicia grabs the quaffle and quickly heads for goal. Suddenly, Warrington of Slytherin zooms by and takes the quaffle from her. I didn't even see him coming…I change directions just in time to see George hit a bludger straight at him. I guess having an angry boyfriend can pay off every once and a while. Angelina grabs the quaffle and heads for goal.
"Gryffindor back in possession," I hear Lee say. "Come on, Angelina—nice swerve around Montague—duck, Angelina that's a bludger! She scores! Ten-zero to Gryffindor!"
It's cute how he was so worried about her…Oh wait—goal! Yes!
Angelina is flying around the pitch, screaming in delight but suddenly that scream turns into a cry of pain. Marcus Flint had crashed straight into her. Accident my ass! He was trying to knock her off!
"Sorry!" I hear Flint say to Hooch. "Sorry, didn't see her!" Okay, even he's not that thick.
Suddenly, Fred's Beater bat comes soaring out of nowhere and hits Flint on the back of his head, causing his nose to hit the handle of his broomstick. I hope it's broken…
"That will do!" Madam Hooch shrieks. "Penalty shot to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser! Penalty shot to Slytherin for deliberate damage to their Chaser!"
"Come off it, Miss," Fred cries, but Hooch ignores him. Alicia takes our penalty.
"Yes! She's beaten the Keeper! Twenty-zero Gryffindor!"
Now it's Flint's turn—Flint versus Wood. Come on, Oliver.
" 'Course, Wood's a superb Keeper!" Lee rambles. "Superb! Very difficult to pass—very difficult indeed—yes! I don't believe it! He's saved it!" I fly forward and engulf Angelina and Alicia in a hug. Twenty-zero…
I quickly take possession of the quaffle but before I can even comprehend what is happening, I turn to see Flint carrying my quaffle. I ram into him, forcing him to drop it and I quickly regain possession. Montague swerves in front of me and I turn so that he can't get the quaffle, but it turns out that that's not what he's been aiming for. He grabs my head and it's a miracle I even managed to stay on my broom.
"That was deliberate!" Lee shouts above the crowd.
Madam Hooch flies over and yells at Montague for about a minute before allowing me to take the penalty.
"Thirty-zero! Take that!"
There was a sudden commotion by the goal posts and I turn to see Harry and that twit Malfoy heading for the snitch. He can't catch it now! We're not fifty points up! Two bludgers are shot at Harry, but he dodges both of them. Unsatisfied, the Slytherin Beaters, Bole and Derrick, head for Harry with their clubs raised. Oh dear Jesus… Right before they reach Harry, however, he rises into the air and the Beaters collide.
Taking advantage of our distraction, Flint heads towards goal—come on, Oliver. But no luck. Flint scores. Thirty to ten.
The game continues to get more and more dangerous after that. Bole hits Alicia with his club saying that he thought she was a bludger. So what's Alicia's almost-boyfriend to do? George elbows Bole in the face and we both receive penalties. I score for Gryffindor and Oliver makes another awesome save. Forty-ten.
I score again. Fifty-ten. Fred and George flank me after I score, trying to keep me safe from Slytherin's vengeance, but I wasn't the one who needed it. Two bludgers in a row hit Oliver in the stomach. I almost started crying I was so scared, but he was only winded. Gryffindor penalty—Angelina scores. Sixty to ten.
Only a second later, Fred hits a bludger at Warrington and Alicia is able to retrieve the quaffle from him. 70-10 to Gryffindor! Oh my God! If Harry catches the snitch now, then we win!
And then it happened. The snitch appears not twenty feet from Harry and he puts on a burst of speed. He would have caught it too, if Malfoy hadn't grabbed the Firebolt from behind.
"Penalty," Madam Hooch shouts angrily. "Penalty to Gryffindor."
Alicia took the shot and missed. And she's the calmest of us all. God, we're starting to lose our concentration.
"Montague scores," Lee groans. Way to be un-biased. "70-20 to Gryffindor…."
Angelina recovers the quaffle and heads for goal, me and Alicia flanking her on either side. The Slytherin Chasers (and God they're huge) suddenly push me and Alicia out of the way while the remainder of the Slytherin team comes pelting towards Angelina. That's going to hurt.
Seconds before impact, Harry shoots at the Slytherins sending them in all directions.
"She scores! She scores! Gryffindor leads by 80 points to 20!"
The last few seconds of the game go by in slow motion. Malfoy is heading towards the snitch but he's no match for Harry and the Firebolt. Harry quickly gains on him, knocks his hand out of the way and grabs the snitch.
Holy Fuck! We just won the Cup!
Oliver was the first to reach Harry and I'm almost positive I saw him crying. Fred and George pelt into the two boys, not even bothering to slow down. Finally, Angelina, Alicia, and I make it over.
"We've won the Cup! We've won the Cup!" We chant.
We slowly make our way down to the ground and Dumbledore presents Oliver with the Cup. Still crying, Oliver passes it to Harry who lifts it into the air as we all yell. I have never been this happy in my entire life!
Leanne comes over amidst the group of cheering fans and congratulates me, Cullen attached to her waist. I thank them, but who I really want to talk to now is Oliver. I eventually find him and notice that he too is searching for me.
"Oliver!" I cry. He turns and smiles at me before pushing his way through the throng of people until he reaches me.
"Katie," he sighs. "I need to tell you—"
"Mr. Wood?" an elderly man interrupts. I instantly recognized him as the Puddlemere scout form the Ravenclaw game. "Do you have a minute?" Oliver looks torn as to whether to leave or not, so I give him an encouraging smile. He returns it with an apologetic grin and turns to talk to the scout. I give him one last glance and head in the opposite direction. We'll talk later.
Suddenly, I hear Oliver shout above the crowd, "Katie, wait!" I just have time to turn around before Oliver's pressing his lips against mine. I don't know how long we stayed like that and I don't care how many people saw. This is how it's supposed to be.
He finally broke the kiss and turned back to Mr. Puddlemere who was wearing a slightly shocked expression on his withered features. "So, you were saying…?"
OoO
Sorry for the lack of action in this chapter, but I had to include the Cup and I hope the last part makes up for it :D
I'm sorry to inform you that there will be no teasers for the remainder of this story. Mainly because the other chapters haven't been typed up yet, but also because I don't want to ruin anything. I'll update within a week—promise. We're getting close! Two more chapters and an epilogue! Review, review, please.