A/N: Hello! Happy Easter or April Fools' Day depending on your time zone! Of course if you're celebrating April 1st, it's also Fred and George's birthday! (RIP Fred though.)
Here's the latest - it's a bit long so bear with me! I can't for the life of me write short ones. Does that bother anybody? Too-long chapters? This will set the mood for the rest of the story so... here we go!
Chapter 14 - Dating Politics
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Katie opened her journal one afternoon to find Oliver scribbling feverishly again. The words showed up on the page as he wrote them:
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October 14, 1998
MAGPIES FRIENDLY
Poor defense! Call for flanking by Fairfax and Davies on the M play against Import. CANNOT HAVE A REPEAT OF THIS. EVER. X
Look out for Import from Africa - I have never seen his method of feinting to catch and shoot Q. Took me by surprise. (-) What's his name again? Do research on this fellow!
6 goals past me in under 30 minutes, all from him. DANGEROUS! You will pay for this by running six miles tomorrow morning. And suicides. 20 rounds.
Alasdair Maddock acting weirder than usual. Double check rulebook if Quaffle-kicking is permissible. In any case he is rubbish at kicking Q into goals. (+)
Note: Work on swoop saves tomorrow. 6am. Also on cross-goal saves. Locate Fairfax immediately. She WILL do drills with you at the ass crack of dawn. No excuses.
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It seemed he was having a bad day. Katie tended to catch Oliver writing his notes mid-afternoon, typically after Puddlemere's friendly games. Today's game must not have gone so well, because he was beating himself up over it again. He was writing rather quickly, too, using acronyms and mysterious little symbols here and there. He continued to detail his observations on the page, most of which were self-berating. Katie watched on as he drew a crude diagram of a Quidditch pitch, and charmed the Xs and Os to move according to plays he had in mind.
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FINAL SCORE, he wrote angrily, 210-180, Montrose. X X X X
SAVES: 13/19.
PENALTY SAVES: 3/3. Okay, you need only run three miles. Not six.
PLAYING TIME: 78 minutes.
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What! He had only let six goals in - the same six goals he had recorded. He was taking the African player's performance against his goalkeeping too personally, it seemed. Katie felt it was time to intervene.
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Hi, she scribbled on the margin. Oliver's mad scratching halted.
Hello Kates, he wrote more cautiously.
Tough day?
You could say that.
You didn't do too bad.
I did. You should watch out for this new guy they've got -
Yeah, you really spelled it out here. But hey - just six goals past you.
All from him!
And your teammates scored 18 goals on Montrose. That's hardly shabby. She contemplated a moment before adding: :)
But we lost because I let those goals in. We could have won if I'd saved even one.
May I point out the obvious? You're obsessing again. :) No! Must... control... smiley faces!
It's my performance.
It's just a practice game.She could practically see Oliver pouting while waiting for his reply.
It is, he finally agreed. How was today's game? The Falcons, was it?
Do you have to ask?
Okay, well done :-)
It was no secret - the Falcons had been struggling. Last week, Oliver felt the need to recount in full detail how Puddlemere had trounced them. He was particularly proud that he'd been able to saved every single goal. Katie had interrupted his gloating then, only to have him challenge her to do better.
180-30, she wrote. He'd have asked, anyway.
How many minutes?
Not even 20. We had to stay afterwards to scrimmage some more. Extra training in a bit.
That was quick. Any goals from you?
Thanks to Glinda. 1/1. Not much to report, I'm afraid...
Did you try the play from the outside? I drew it on my notes on the Wasps. Been dreaming about it for ages. If I may say so, it looked rather inspired on paper.
Yes, thank you. I wasn't sure if I could pull it off, but Coach King seemed impressed. Annie thought I just wanted to show off when I suggested it.
You were always a fast learner. And I thought it would suit your style of playing.
Oh? And what style would that be?
You know. Like you want people to watch you.
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Katie blushed. She knew he was right - Coach King had told her the same. The observation surprised her; after all, her showy playing style didn't necessarily reflect her personality. All the same, part of her was gratified that people - well, Oliver - took notice. Or remembered.
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Who's watching?
Oliver didn't reply for a few seconds.
You'll see soon enough. People will love you.
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Having run out of things to say, Katie began doodling Quidditch goals, and then enchanted the accompanying stick-figure Keeper to fall and dangle from his broom. Beside it she wrote, Oliver Wood.
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Hey. This is for serious Quidditch homework, Bell!
*shrug*
Alright, you.
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He sketched his own stick-player, added a ponytail, labeled it Katie Bell, and charmed it to fall off its broom and dangle right with the stick-Keeper. The two displeased drawings eyed one another, and tried in vain to clamber back onto their brooms.
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They need more practice.
So it seems.
Speaking of, I've got conditioning in a few. Talk to you tomorrow, Captain! Try not to punish yourself, you did just fine!
I'll be the judge of that. Take care :-)
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Katie shut the journal, biting her lip. This had been a small ritual of theirs for some days now - he did most of the play-making, so it was like she had complete access to his manic Quidditch thoughts. Some of his ideas were genius, and others were just his kind of crazy. Katie knew a lot of his other ideas were less for him, and more for her to try out. Which she did, of course, unless he got out of hand with his physics-defying notions, or perhaps got overly engrossed in whatever plans he was making. And whenever that happened, she'd happily interrupt, then they'd share a little exchange. Those few minutes were probably her favorite part of any given day.
She stepped out of her home in a sports bra and shorts, stretching her legs a little. The house elves plucking weeds off her lawn smacked into one other and stared at her, their inquisitive eyes bulging at her.
"Miss Katie," one of them bowed. The other clutched her bag of weeds anxiously.
"Hello," Katie said cheerily, not expecting a reply. She sometimes wished she could make friends with the elves, but they were too shy or too sneaky. Shrugging, she took off running in the direction of the stadium.
Inside, her teammates were only starting to gather and warm up. Gwenog was already running around the pitch, as was Annie. Without skipping a beat, she joined them and ran until their lineup was complete. Wilda was naturally the last to arrive, and she did so in her usual fashion - decked out in a neon yellow sports bra and zebra-print sweats. Her trainers were an equally loud shade of purple.
"Tone it down!" Jones teased. "The 80s are long over."
Wilda stuck her tongue out, and playfully shoved the cackling captain.
"Alright, enough!" A whistle sounded, and Coach King motioned for the entire team to come inside.
Katie exhaled loudly. She felt great! She followed the staff inside, groaning only when Coach Caroline, the conditioning guru, called her over.
Okay, so she wasn't 100 percent great. She hadn't quite outgrown her tendency to overextend her arm while throwing, and she had hurt her rotator cuff muscle two friendly games previous. It had factored in costing them the game, and Coach King had put her on heavy conditioning to be in top shape for when the season opened.
She sat herself down as Coach Caroline stretched her shoulder and chest, wincing a little as she pulled. "You should be stretching this yourself several times a day," the coach chided her. "It's boring stuff but it's crucial to your game."
"I'll get on it, Coach. It feels alright when I'm playing -"
"Yes, but just you watch. As soon as you throw that Quaffle in poor form, you'll regret it."
Katie knew she was right. She allowed herself to be stretched, distracting herself by watching her teammates position themselves in the pre-set circuit. Gwenog had made straight for the bench press, and was grunting as one of the coaching staff spotted her. Gwen was unnaturally strong, and she made sure everyone knew. Perhaps it was a way of asserting herself - not that she needed to. Gwen was probably the best definition of the term "Alpha Female".
Bruna was elegantly doing push-ups next to a struggling Vanna, who grunted as she performed her planks. Wilda was swiftly doing pull-ups, an exercise Katie had yet to conquer beyond two or three repetitions. Glinda busied herself with weighted boxing, her preferred alternative to the regular dumbbell exercises. ("Faster!" she shrieked at no one in particular.) Annie stoically moved at the squat rack with a barbell across her shoulders. No-nonsense, as always.
The two minutes passed, and each player moved to the next exercise station. Katie giggled as an exhausted Vanna eyed the bench press, her face contorted with something between gratitude and dread.
"What are you laughing at, hmm?" Coach Caroline raised a brow. "Get in there."
Katie thanked her, and proceeded to do push-ups next to Bruna, who was silently doing her planks. Five circuits later, they were interrupted by Coach King, who'd reemerged from her office.
"Alright, ladies," she called, "Gather round. I've got the latest schedule from Lara."
She continued. "We've only played seven out of the twelve teams for the friendlies, but it seems the League is cutting time down. The first game is on the 31st of October, a commemorative match to open the League before the real season starts next year. And would you believe our luck? They've selected us to play."
"Ha!" Gwenog boasted. "And why shouldn't they? We're the most exciting team in the League. Don't you say, Rookie?" She brushed against Katie, who cringed a little at the sweat she left on her arm.
"Err - aye." Gwen shot her a look. She amended, "Yeah we are!"
"Uh, Coach?" asked Annie. "Who're we against?"
Coach King checked the memo. "It says... Ah, there it is. Puddlemere. We're playing the Boys in Blue."
"Yes!" Glinda squealed. Bruna bit her lip as a smirking Gwenog gave her a hard nudge. Wilda looked equally gleeful.
Katie's jaw dropped. She knew she'd have to play against Oliver but - "So soon?"
The team looked at her. "It appears so, Bell. Problem?" Coach King eyed her over her half moon spectacles.
"No, it's just..." Katie paused. "We haven't practiced against them yet. Does it count in the standings?"
"Yes, it does. Jones is right - they want us to play to open the regular season with a bang, even if we formally begin in '99. They're probably expecting a quick and dirty match - a good show to build hype and press. There's going to be a gala afterwards, which apparently we are all to attend."
"Dirty?" Katie swallowed.
Gwenog snarled, "We're going to crush those pretty boys." Her eyes had a mad glint to them. "Are you ready, rookie?
"Oh! Is it going to be a Halloween gala?" Glinda chirped. "I have the perfect costume!"
"I'd like to bring my husband," gushed Vanna, visibly cheerier. Even Annie looked excited.
"La! There we are," Wilda smirked at Gwen over the murmuring women.
"FOCUS!" Coach King snapped. They all fell silent. "No thoughts about this ball, understand me? Puddlemere is surely working their tight little arses off, and so must we! Holyhead is starting this thing on top!"
"Yes, Coach," they mumbled in reply.
"What was that, now?" she barked.
"YES COACH!" the workout room echoed heartily.
"Better," she said. "Now back to work! You should be on your last set of exercises. After this, stretching and ice baths!"
Gwen slung an arm over Wilda, claiming she'd need two ice baths after all the heat. Wilda proclaimed that Gwen needed two baths only because she stank something terrible - or something along those lines. Katie couldn't process much after that. She was thinking about the forthcoming match.
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"S'matter, Katie?" Bruna toweled her face off, getting ready to start her last set of squats. Being the closest in height and weight, they'd naturally become circuit partners, and it was Katie's turn to spot her.
"Nothing, I just don't know how to feel about playing Puddlemere."
"Tell me about it," Bruna rolled her eyes, preparing to take the weight on. "I for one am not looking forward to it - save for kicking their asses. But hey, it's your first real game! Spot me please - HUP!"
Katie steadied the barbell. "Am I mistaken, though, or does everyone tease you about Sean Flanner?"
Bruna tried not to pull a face as she lowered into a squat. "Yeah. Him. Nothing to tease about, though. One. Two."
"Then what's the big deal?"
"Katie," Bruna grunted, "Later. Five. Six."
"Oops."
Katie took her turn at the squat rack when Bruna finished her set. As she took on the weight ("Oof! This is heavier than last time!"), Bruna began her story.
She sighed, "Where do I even begin with Sean Flanner?"
"One... Uh, the beginning? Two..."
"Okay, mmm. I met him after my first game against Puddlemere a few years ago. I was nervous as heck - I was this rookie playing against one of the most popular teams in the league, you know?" she shook her head. "I told you before - I was so afraid to commit errors, so much so that couldn't play right. I missed the first five or so goals, and every other goal after that. And I knew who he was, actually. Sean Flanner, hotshot Chaser, really handsome... that didn't help. At a certain point I was already so embarrassed, and then Gwen really let me have it. She was screaming at me, literally in my ear, and then I screamed back at her! Right there on the pitch!"
"Nine... Ten... She left Mummy Vanns," Katie puffed, "with both Bludgers? Twelve..."
Bruna laughed. "Yeah, she did. Came right by me and threatened to do the Keeping herself if I didn't snap out of it. And then I yelled at her to get off my back... Can you believe it?"
Katie fought to finish her last rep strong - "FIFTEEN! AAH!" - replaced the weight, and then panted, "What did she say?" They walked to the water cooler together.
"Nothing! She flew away, though I could have sworn she was this close to hitting a Bludger my way. But I really straightened up after that. The game went on for ages but I didn't miss another Quaffle. We won, you know, but Puddlemere caught the Snitch. Their old Keeper retired soon after. Gwen and Joan Gafton, bless her, got so drunk that night."
"Wait, what does that have to do with Sean Flanner?" Katie took a swig of cool water.
"Hmm? Oh yeah. Well, after the game and the press conference, he caught me outside the locker room. His teammates had already left, and... well, he looked like he was waiting for someone."
"You?"
Bruna rolled her eyes. "Yeah," she said. "He introduced himself, then he was all, 'You play brilliantly. And you're stunning. How have I never met you before?' Blah, blah, blah. I can't believe I fell for it. I was still shy because I pretty much had the worst start ever. But oh! He was so charming. He begged me to get a drink with him, and I accepted. Stupid me."
The two walked towards the mats and mirrors to stretch. "Fast forward, he was a perfect gentleman, and we'd gone on a few dates. Secretly, of course. Coach would have killed me."
This surprised Katie. "But they said relationships were okay! I mean, Annie's engaged..."
"Yeah, but not just any relationships, Katie. Dating men from other teams, especially Puddlemere, is not okay, even if they say it is. They're one of our fiercest rivals, in case you've forgotten." Bruna bent over to stretch her hamstrings.
"...Oh." This was news. Katie always knew that Holyhead vs. Puddlemere was an exciting match-up, but she didn't think there was any real beef involved. She pretended to wobble as she stretched her left quad.
As if Bruna knew what she was really thinking, she said, "Oh, you can be friends, sure. I know you're buddies with that Keeper of theirs, and that's fine. Off the pitch we're all grown-ups, aren't we? Save for Gwen sometimes, but you know how she can be."
"Yeah," Katie said weakly. She was only thankful Bruna didn't know about how awfully chummy she wished she and Oliver would be. "Does Gwen hate them?"
"As individual people? No. But she really wants to win whenever we play them. They're like her Number One Enemy. Probably because their male players are so popular. We're pretty much their female counterpart."
"Oh," Katie repeated. What was she going to say to that?
"Anyway, so one free weekend I was at Se- Flanner's place, and we were... you know."
"...Er, hanging out?"
"Yeah," Bruna laughed. "Hanging out. And then his Floo went off, and a woman - his mum, I think, just began shrieking at him. She was all, 'SEAN FLANNER! YOU GET HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT! YOUR BEATRICE HAS BEEN WITH ME, CRYING AND WAITING FOR YOU ALL WEEKEND, AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING? ENTERTAINING THIS - THIS HARLOT?'"
Katie's mouth dropped. She tried scanning her memories for that one very crucial fact, but as far as she'd known (thanks to Witch Weekly), he was unattached. "He's married? And he didn't tell you?"
"I know. I was so shocked. No one seems to know. The bachelor thing is all marketing, I suppose. Puddlemere has one intense PR unit."
"I've heard," Katie said, recalling Oliver's misadventures with a woman he'd named Priscilla the PR Pogrebin.
"Anyway he didn't even have to explain. He put out the Floo immediately, and then he was all, 'There's something I need to tell you, please stay,' but I wouldn't have a word of it. I got up, grabbed my stuff, and left."
"Wow. Go, you."
Bruna nodded nonchalantly. "And then things got worse when he started sending me letters, and gifts, and flowers, and even a Howler begging me to let him explain. I threw them all out. Naturally the girls got suspicious. By the time our next game against Puddlemere came along, they all knew he at least was trying to romance me."
"You don't talk to him?"
"No. I am no home-wrecker. Though I have to say, I play fantastically against Puddlemere now. Flanner hardly gets anything past me." The Keeper gave a small chuckle.
"Well. That explains a lot." Katie finished the last of her arm stretches. "He doesn't talk to you either?"
"I try to avoid him, but he still tries to corner me sometimes. The others tease me, but they don't really know what that's about. They think I secretly like him, or at least that I'm just playing really hard to get."
"Why don't you tell them?"
"Well, I wasn't ready at the time. Then I just never got around to it. Now it just feels awkward to bring up. Plus it's highly inconvenient that I still find him very attractive."
Katie laughed. "I won't tell a soul."
"You'd better not! Now let's get to that ice bath."
"Noooo!"
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"Wood. Geddup, mate."
"Errgh."
"It is I, Prince Charming. Would the fair maiden like a kiss?"
"Sod off, Davies."
"Oh, come off it. Don't be mopey over this morning's game."
"You are cutting into my precious nap time."
"Yes, yes. Nice sheets, by the way. Go, go Gryffindor!" Davies jostled the bed. "What've you've got there? A secret diary?"
"Graaah!" Oliver sat up grumpily. "What do you want? Actually, no. How did you even get in here?"
Davies ignored both questions, choosing instead to pet Oliver's head. "I take it you haven't gotten the memo."
"What memo?" Oliver dodged his hands.
"This one. Deverill sent it out not an hour ago." Davies tossed him a piece of parchment.
"Hello, Puddlemere," Oliver mumbled, squinting, "It is my pleasure to announce... Quidditch League's opening ball... Puddlemere will be playing THE HOLYHEAD HARPIES?" If he wasn't fully awake, then he was certainly discombobulated.
"Ah, there he is, ladies and gentlemen." Davies applauded, causing Oliver to remember himself.
"Er. Why're you telling me this?"
"Oh, nothing," Davies casually replied, "You just love Quidditch more than anybody I know."
"Bollocks."
"And I may have wanted to see your face when you found out we'd be playing against Bell."
Oliver shut his eyes and hoped he looked cool. "The Harpies are always an exciting match-up. Your first real game, too."
"Indeed, and the addition of a certain female friend might raise the stakes a little, no?"
"Maybe you should ask Flanner."
"Maybe you should ask Ms. Priscilla over at PR. Or Coach Nolan." The Chaser snooped through the items on Oliver's bedside table, gleefully picking up their weeks-old issue of Witch Weekly.
"Nolan?"
"Yes, that's why I'm here. After he gave me his daily sermon he sent me over. He wants a word with you."
This confused Oliver greatly. "What about?"
"I think I've given you enough clues," Roger dangled the magazine in front of him. "Off with you, Casanova!"
Oliver got up and made to walk out of his flat. Then he swiftly spun around. Roger had quickly made himself comfortable: he was lying on the bed, thumbing lazily through the magazine.
"I'm a handsome bastard, aren't I?" Davies asked.
"Out."
"Alright, alright."
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"I never want to do that again," Katie bit out. Her teeth were still chattering as they did after every ice bath. She couldn't seem to get used to them.
"I love ice baths," Glinda chirped, pushing Katie into what looked like a big, dark, wood oven. "In Finland, they always follow up with a sauna. Here we are!"
"Oh," Katie breathed as the hot room filled up with steam. Soon enough, however, she was dying to leave. "Glinda," she coughed. "I can't breathe!"
"Use a Bubble-Head Charm! But if you can't take it, don't force yourself, Rookie!"
Katie barged out of there quick as a Billywig. She could still hear Glinda's tinkling laughter as she exited the sauna. Shedding her towel, she got dressed and hurried home, feeling tired and a little mopey. Her mood was far different from earlier that day. Maybe she should run a proper bath - a warm one with lots of bubbles.
She mused that when she signed on to play professional Quidditch, she hadn't imagined there would be quite so many Muggle techniques involved. Even the equipment they had in their gym was Muggle-made. The only magical bit was the Quidditch!
Not that there was anything wrong with Muggle techniques. Yoga, saunas, ice baths, the gym - they were effective, yes, but tiring and weird. She remembered that that Brevis Birch fellow seemed to have a lot of negative things to say on the matter... But all the same, Katie felt more secure with all the Muggle stuff than with the idea of using dark magic. It was just Quidditch, for Merlin's sake! She'd have to ask Oliver about their methods - Oliver!
Her pace slowed to a dawdle. They'd be playing Puddlemere at the end of the month. This was the debut Gwenog Jones had been pressuring her about. She'd been counting on practicing with Oliver before ever having to play against him, but it seemed there was little chance of that now. That sort of sucked, because... well, Oliver was her Captain. Her best friend. He'd always looked out for her, and vice versa. They'd always been on the same team, and for the first time, she felt like they'd be on opposite ends of the pitch.
Bruna's words popped into her head: Puddlemere was supposed to be one of their fiercest rivals. She supposed she knew as much. But she hadn't felt any of that, probably because they hadn't played against them yet. She sighed, pushing the thought to the back of her mind.
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"Ah, Wood. There ye are." Coach Nolan adjusted his frown as Oliver walked into his office.
"Coach. You asked to see me?" Oliver shook his hand in greeting.
"Aye. Siddown, son."
Oliver did as he asked, his face expressing growing concern. Coach Nolan reached into his desk and pulled out a neatly compiled stack of newspaper and magazine clippings.
"There're a few things I'd like you ta explain."
"What is it?"
Nolan coughed out a laugh. "I was hopin' you'd tell me."
Oliver leaned forward to inspect the materials. Three recent features from the gossip sections of the Prophet:
It's a Chaperoned Date Number 2 for Oliver Wood and His Mystery Girl!
Wood's Mystery Girl Identified: It's Harpies Rookie, Katie Bell!
Oliver Wood and Katie Bell: Mere Teammates, or a Bona Fide Match? We've Got Witch Weekly's Scoop!
He'd never seen those before, but he did recognize the clippings from the same Witch Weekly magazine that he had back in his flat. Young Blood: Hogwarts' Rising Stars.
Oliver groaned inwardly, leaning back in his seat.
"I suppose this is the same 'mystery woman' they wrote about before?" the coach asked gruffly, his stern gaze unwavering.
"Did you cut these out yourself?" The Keeper was incredulous.
"Don't be an idiot, PR gave 'em to me. Apart from the rag, there ain't no photographs. Wards didn't detect you bringin' anyone in, either, so I gave you the benefit o' the doubt. Now answer me."
Oliver sighed, expecting a repeat of the sermon he'd been given once before. "She's Katie Bell, not some mystery woman. We aren't seeing each other."
The Coach nodded his head and inspected their photos. "Pity. Not that it's any o' my business, but she might have been good for you."
What? Oliver looked up, surprised. "You aren't angry?"
In fact, Nolan looked rather amused. "Nah. Ye've been playin' better than I've ever seen, lad. I had my doubts before, but you've been in peak condition fer weeks. Look atcha here," he pointed at the photo, "All smilin'."
Was he teasing? Oliver didn't understand. "Coach, I played dismally earlier -"
"Don' overthink it, Wood. We'll work on that hook save of yers, eh? Ye haven't let me down."
This was new. Nolan claimed he was hands-off, but he was usually very stringent when it came to his player's romantic liaisons. He often scolded the Beaters, Wilson and Borodin, for traipsing around London with whom he emphatically called "bacchanalian wildwomen". Oliver's last brush with the coach over his dating life (or complete lack thereof) hadn't gone over well either - but it was probably because he'd been playing so badly. Come to think of it, even the Beaters played terribly after a night on the town. Nolan just had the clippings to prove it was because of their womanizing. Thanks, presumably, to PR.
"Was... that all, Coach?"
"Hmm?" Nolan was still inspecting the photos of Oliver and Katie, much to Oliver's growing embarrassment. He tossed them back onto the table. "No. Did Davies show ya Deverill's memo?"
"Yes, Coach, I -"
"Regardless of yer personal goings-on, it's bound to be one helluva match. Ya know the Harpies are no joke. Your girl - she any good?"
Oliver swallowed. "She isn't my -"
"I said, is she any good?"
He gave a resigned sigh. "She's excellent."
"But I trust that ya won't be s'prised by anythin'?"
"On the contrary, she's full of surprises."
"Yeh? Well, we'll just have ta prevent that, won't we?"
This was fair - they always discussed Quidditch tactics anyway. "I'm sure they'd ask her the same about me and Davies," Oliver agreed, though he felt heavy about sharing his knowledge. This was new; he was usually excitable on the matter. He knew it was because the topic was Katie, someone whom he felt was very much part of his private life.
"Good lad. That's all from me - though I must warn ya, someone's been waitin' her turn to speak with ya."
Oliver's eyes widened. "Coach. No. Please."
Coach Nolan offered him an almost apologetic look as he called, "Priscilla?"
The door banged open as a rotund lady skipped inside. "Coach Nolan! And Oliver, love! Am I happy to see you." She offered the bewildered men some unreciprocated air kisses, and sat herself down.
"So you've seen the material?" she drawled, waggling her eyebrows at Oliver.
He pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.
She rested a hand on his thigh. "I didn't mind the articles at first - any publicity for you is good publicity, after all, even if it was probably totally false. And you voluntarily being out with a woman? Oh, my goodness. Merlin knows that wouldn't happen even if the sun went out," she tittered. "So just imagine my delight when I saw these photographs - oh! My heart just melted. You've been holding out on me, young man, and I think it's time we had a chat."
Oliver looked to Coach Nolan, who held his hands up in resignation. "Out of my control, Wood."
"We aren't dating," Oliver began with a sigh.
"But imagine if you were!" Priscilla gesticulated, her beady eyes bright. "You're from Puddlemere, and she's from Holyhead. We could frame it like a Romeo and Juliet love story - you know them? Family versus family, team versus team. Hidden - no - forbidden love! The drama! The publicity!"
"I'm sorry, Priscilla, but I don't want any drama -"
"There you go again," she tsked. "All I'm saying is, you two lovebirds look very well together, indeed. I could arrange to have you followed by some paparazzi on your little dates, hmm? Appearances here and there, an article or two the next day... totally harmless!"
"Except for the fact that we. Aren't. Dating." Oliver's face was stern. Nolan only looked on interestedly.
"But you want to be, don't you? I saw those pictures. Everybody knows they are so unlike you, Mr. Wood. You must know that you are by far Puddlemere's biggest selling point to the media and to the audience, and it is your duty to the team to help keep Puddlemere in their minds and hearts. If they want to know your business - which they do - then so be it."
Gone were all her happy pretenses. Priscilla was on business mode - she wasn't going to back down. "Now tell me you don't want to get involved with this girl," she challenged him.
Oliver hesitated - that was his downfall.
"It is set!" Priscilla smirked triumphantly.
"No, it is NOT!" Oliver suddenly shouted, to the surprise of everyone in the room. "Listen here," he said, getting up. "I put up with a lot of rubbish from you people. The ridiculous shoots, the appearances, even that stupid fake relationship you made me have with Amber. That was six months of my life, Priscilla, and Merlin knows why she still owls me! All I ever wanted to do was play Quidditch. But I do all that other rot. For the fans, of course. For the team, maybe. For whatever agenda you people have, fine. But just this once you're going to have to leave me and Katie alone. I mean it."
He stormed out, leaving a flabbergasted Priscilla and a very smug Coach Nolan in his wake.
"I will have my way!" Priscilla screamed at his retreating figure.
"Ya heard the lad," Nolan growled. "Just give him some damn privacy, woman."
Priscilla was beside herself. "Men!" she huffed, and stormed away herself.
Coach Nolan inspected the photos one last time with a chuckle. "What do ya know?" he mused. "It seems our Wood can be mad for somethin' besides Quidditch."
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Oliver impatiently waited for the lift to take him up to his flat. As the doors opened at the 14th floor, he marched in and went straight for his bedroom. He considered flying his Firebolt 2 out to cool off, but ultimately decided against it. Odd as it was to even think it, he'd had enough of Quidditch - and being seen - for the day. Plus the fall afternoon was getting chilly. Instead he conjured himself a glass of cold water, downed it, and then plopped back down on his bed.
He faced the ceiling, which had a diagram of a Quidditch pitch painted on it. He waved his wand and made his little Xs and Os to move around and distract him. Okay, so there wasn't such a thing as too much Quidditch - just too much PR. And Priscilla. Still aggravated, he tossed his wand aside and rolled over.
His face missed the pillow and hit something harder - "Ow!"
It was his and Katie's journal. His frown softened as he opened it to their last correspondence, and his breath caught when he saw she'd written something new on it:
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Hey Ol. I wonder if you've heard the news? I'm sending Gwenog (the owl) over with something for you. Maybe we'll have use for it soon :) -K
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He didn't have to ponder for long because Gwenog (the owl) did arrive soon after, with a pouch attached to her talon. He gave her a snack and took it, thinking little as to what could be inside. He opened it and dropped its contents on his palm: a Quaffle charm he'd had in his possession not long ago. He barely registered why it looked so familiar when he felt a pull round his navel.
He'd Portkeyed himself away. Oh.
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A/N: I hope you enjoyed that! I've never written note-passing types of dialogue but I certainly had fun :) The next two chapters FINALLY see the league come to a start so if you have comments, suggestions, feedback... leave me a review, please? I do enjoy a good conversation via FFNet inbox! Next update soonish - I'm quite inspired!