A/N: I wasn't gone too long, was I?
Chapter 11 - Where's the Quidditch?
Wherein Katie and Oliver get stuck doing other things.
"Er, Bruna?"
The Keeper exhaled long. "Yes, Katie?"
"I don't mean to offend - this is great and all, but are we actually going to play ourselves some Quidditch today?"
"The day's barely started, Katie, and you should know -"
Coach Caroline, who was leading the day's two hour-long yoga session, put in, "Breathe in deep, Katie Bell, that's it - good form, Bru. Aaaand bring it back down to Warrior 2, core tight, girls, sink lower..."
"Yoga's important," Bruna sank down into the pose, her face conveying deep serenity. "It gives you the balance and flexibility you need to stay on your broom while knocking arseholes off theirs."
"How are you even doing that...! Look, I never thought Gwen could be that flexible." Jones was on her mat several feet away, holding her legs low over her mat like an Amazon poised to kill.
"Just... breeeeeathe into the pose, you know? Feel the stretch, don't fight it. Be one with your hamstrings."
Katie sighed, closed her eyes and followed the sequence she'd repeated around three times thus far. Legs shaking in protest, she leaned back into Crescent pose, cracking her back in the process. Whoever said yoga was fun had to be off their rocker.
"This isn't fun," Katie whispered, bending forward to touch the floor. "I didn't think I'd get this tired from just staying still." She knew she was being immature, but she had a brand new broom to fly! She'd gotten dressed in all her gear just to be made to strip back down into her sports bra, for Merlin's sake!
"Y'know, for someone who's spent all that time posing for photos, you sure whine a lot about this." Bruna kicked her legs out into a plank. Katie followed suit, feeling affronted. She opened her mouth to retort, but saw the Keeper smiling jovially. "Don't worry. You'll learn to love it. We all did. I mean, just look at Coach King - she obviously can't get enough."
Katie pushed up into Mountain pose and glanced towards their coach's corner. Coach King was asleep on her mat, a thin line of drool trailing down the side of her perfectly painted mouth. "She's obviously a morning person," Katie solemnly observed, bending back over.
"You could say that."
Meanwhile in Puddlemere, Oliver woke up sore. Yesterday had been was one of grueling practice like no other - an idiotic blunder from Davies coupled with some careless words had set off Coach Nolan's temper and affected the entire team. Oliver would have understood if Davies' mistake had simply been an accident, but the new Chaser had been caught with a stash of magically cultivated marijuana in his possession, and the bloodshot eyes to prove he'd just used the stuff. Coach Nolan had gotten angry. Furious. Apoplectic with rage - and that was before Davies grinned and uttered the words that would doom them all: "Want some, Coach?"
"Want some?" Coach Nolan had asked in a dangerously low tone. And then he bellowed, "WANT SOME? I'LL GIVE YOU SOME, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" He'd taken out his wand and started casting hexes in their direction. They all knew to run far, far away.
But the Coach wasn't done. Over his long ranting spell (a homily, yelled), he followed the Puddlemere Squad and made them do hundreds of rounds of sprints, core exercises, plyometrics, and even more sprints without rest nor water breaks. They were completely winded, and it hadn't even hit noon yet.
Davies had long since thrown up, but Coach Nolan took no pity. Though the rest of the team had to do the same drills, Davies had it twice as bad with Coach Nolan breathing down his neck. "Not so fun now, eh? That'll teach you to mess around with drugs in MY STADIUM!" Davies was only lucky that Management didn't decide to suspend him. After all, the season hadn't started yet.
Oliver groaned as he sat up, mustering the strength to stand and walk to his medicine cabinet. His memory of what happened after the midday break was blurry - after writing to Katie and eating a meager lunch, he'd returned to the stadium to be greeted with Quidditch drills. Coach Nolan hadn't calmed down - he was still fuming when he had Davies and the rest of the Chasers to take shot after shot - hundreds! - past Oliver. The Keeper was granted a reprieve, however, when a spent Davies threw the Quaffle wildly and hit him smack in the face. The Beaters, Wilson and Borodin had enough humor left in them to laugh at him (they'd just been sitting around, really) that Coach Nolan gave Oliver a break and forced them to take his place. They weren't laughing much after that.
It wasn't that Davies was a legitimate druggie - he just had a tendency to be selfish when it came to having fun. Oliver remembered back when Professor Sprout caught the Ravenclaw team harvesting mushrooms Davies had illicitly planted in the Greenhouse. But Davies being, well, Davies, he somehow managed to pass the whole scheme off as a science experiment. Everyone who knew was sure that Professor Sprout didn't believe him, but he got away with just a slap on the wrist and a few detentions. "Too bad," Oliver thought. "We would have won the Cup for sure that year."
He shifted the bottles in his cabinet around, looking for the right potion to ease his muscle pain. He smacked himself in the face when he remembered he'd given the last flask to Katie. He'd have brewed some more, but he'd always been dismally poor at Potions. Usually he just asked some from the Medi team. None of them were in the compound that early, however. Then he had the brilliant idea of asking Isadora Fairfax, who lived a floor (or was it two?) above him. She wasn't the most trustworthy teammate, but she knew her potions. Hobbling into the lift, he tentatively pressed the number 15 and waited for it to rise. It promptly came to a stop, and Oliver rang the doorbell. A few seconds, then nothing. As he raised his hand to press it a second time, the doors swept open to reveal an intensely cranky Chaser.
"Well. You're ugly this morning, Wood." Isadora herself wasn't her regular picture of poise - the shadows under her eyes were deep, and her expression was one of exhaustion. Oliver surmised that he must look the same way. "What do you want?"
"Er, good morning to you, too."
She glared at him, cross. "Unless you're here to sex the pain in my body away, then get the fuck out. It's fucking eight in the morning and I intended to sleep the fuck in."
Oliver's skin prickled, but he ignored her blatant (and profanity-ridden) proposal. It was certainly not the first time Fairfax had propositioned him that way, but she was usually drunk and a lot more personable when she did. And while she was by all means a very attractive woman, Oliver felt it was his responsibility to keep things professional. Plus, Isadora was a very frightening woman depending on the day and the hour. "Hormones," she always said. No man on the team dared question her. She should have been on the Harpies. The thought amused Oliver marginally.
"I was just going to ask if you had some of that relief potion. I'm all out."
"Then why the hell did you come over here without a fucking shirt on? Decency - heard of it?"
The Keeper looked down at himself self-consciously. "Oh."
"At least those bench presses have amounted to something, I'll give you that." But his request seemed to puzzle her - she obviously hadn't thought of using the relief potion herself. Finally she said, "Come in. I've got enough for two."
He shuffled into her pad and watched Isadora disappear into her bathroom. "So, uh, do we have practice today? I could use a day off," he laughed, trying to make conversation. Small talk was not his thing.
"Yeah right," he heard her snort. "As if the Golden Boy would ever take a day off from Quidditch."
"Hey, yesterday was pretty tough."
"Yeah, and you tell pony boy Davies that if he thinks that was bad, then he hasn't been acquainted with my fist. Where the fuck does he get off?"
Oliver rubbed the stubble on his chin. He hadn't shaved yet. "I don't know, I think he's had enough of that to last him a while - he'll behave." Mentally, he resolved to check on Roger later.
Isadora came back to her living room holding two small teacups. Handing one to Oliver, she said, "Cheers. To the wanker who ruined my day. May he forever reek of grass and curry vomit."
Smirking, Oliver clinked cups with her and swigged the minty concoction down. Relief flooded his every muscle as he thanked a much more affable Isadora and got up to leave. The room swirled a little.
"What," she said roguishly, "You're not staying?"
"Thank GODRIC that's over," Katie grumbled to herself as she hit the showers. Coach Caroline had somehow picked up on Katie's aversion to the exercise, and hovered around her as the session went on. As the poses grew more complicated, Katie felt herself getting more desperate. But Coach Caroline had thwarted any of her attempts to cheat. As the cool water pounded over her body, Katie let the frown on her face disappear. "No yoga for two more days," she assured herself somewhat manically.
Over team breakfast, Coach King announced that they would be preparing for two things: a friendly warm-up game against the Arrows, and a press conference to announce the new lineup. She declared that they wouldn't mess around for either, and that strategy was everything.
"I want us to beat the Arrows, but I don't want you to reveal anything spectacular, Bell," she said. "We don't want to reveal our secrets just yet, do we? Anyway, we have some work to do with regard to team dynamics. Just in case, let Annie and Wilda do the work. Glinds, catch the Snitch quick. I want them up and out of here before they figure us out." Murmurs went around.
"I don't know, Coach," interjected Vanna Dermont. "Aren't the friendlies for practicing team dynamics? What's wrong with letting them know just what the new Harpies can do? The fans will just love Katie!" She winked in the Chasers' direction. Jones rolled her eyes.
"That can wait. We'll save Katie for when it counts the most." And that was final.
Oliver woke up at noon to a grumbling stomach. His nap had been a good one, and save for his hunger, he felt revitalized. But he felt oddly discombobulated, and remained so until he realized he wasn't in his room. Sitting up, he pondered just how he ended up on Isadora Fairfax's fluffy carpeted floor. He moved to stand up, but his bottom appeared to be stuck to the floor.
"Have a good nap, Wood?" came her voice from a corner. Oliver spun his head around and saw Isadora lounging lazily on her couch. She was dressed differently - from wearing a ratty shirt she'd changed into a silky black slip. Leisurely she slipped a spoon of ice cream in her mouth.
"Fairfax," he groaned, "Not again. We aren't doing this."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean."
"Hmm. I'm not sure I do. Hungry?" she licked the spoon clean.
"No." His stomach betrayed him by growling loudly. Isadora quirked a brow at him. "Look, Dora, this is getting old. The first few times I thought I'd give you the benefit of the doubt. But you have to know I don't appreciate getting sedated without my permission. See if I trust you with anything again."
"Meeeeerlin." She drew the name out exasperatedly. "You aren't my dad, Wood. Otherwise would I really want to shag you?"
"I'm sure you don't mean that, I -"
"I mean come on. Even that mystery girl of yours got some loving, so I'm sure you've got it in you. I'm fucking repressed. And you aren't gay, Wood."
He'd heard this before. "I'm not." They stared one another down, Isadora's expression one of amusement, and his one of discomfort.
"So where do you put it?"
"What?"
"All the sexual frustration?"
"The... er...?"
"You know, the itch you need to scratch. I'm on a team full of fucking blokes and I still can't get a lay."
Oliver was aware that Isadora would never proposition the others the way she did him, but this conversation, though rehashed, was weird as always. "Well, you could try Davies."
Isadora snorted. "That fuckpuss can fester and die alone. I just need a shag buddy. That's where you come in. And we don't have practice today."
He blinked once, twice. "I've told you, Dora. No. Now would you unstick my butt? Please?" She rolled her eyes unapologetically and flicked her wand. Instantly his bottom felt free, and he got up to leave.
"Er, thanks."
"One day," she drawled, suddenly bored, "Your penis will fall off from disuse. Wouldn't that be a tragedy?"
Oliver felt his face grow hot, and he suddenly felt very naked. He turned to leave.
"By the way, that owl package on the table is for you. Opened mine already - it's the week's itinerary. We've got a game against the Kestrels in a couple of days. And then a shoot the day after. PR shite. Merlin knows you love them."
Taking it, the Keeper nodded his head. He didn't even hear the latter part of Isadora's statement. "The Kestrels, hmm?" his veins were throbbing with a new kind of excitement. "That'll be exciting." He hadn't played a real game of Quidditch since the war. Though the Kestrels game would be a friendly, he was giddy with the thought of playing with actual people. An actual game!
"Now if you were only capable of looking at a girl that way," Isadora remarked, "Then I'd believe you actually had a clue."
A/N: Now I'll be the first to admit this chapter wasn't entirely necessary. But I enjoy imagining what they'd be doing in the non-Quidditch time :) In any case, QUIDDITCH COMETH in the next installment! Still, let me know what you thought about this one! Yoga? Fairfax? Backstory? Any guesses? :)
Til next time,
I x