A/N: Waa! The big game is in the chapter after this. Had to write it first so I'd know what to write in this one! (For some reason writing big chapters is more important to me than writing them in chronological order.) Hope you like it in spite of the delay. Please review, lovely readers! While there's still time to tweak Chapter 17! :*
Chapter 16 - Two Weeks
"Do the clothes fit, Captain?" Katie asked nervously. She half-lay on her bed, still mortified. How could she have forgotten about Bruna? And Oliver! Merlin!
"Yeah, yeah they do," Oliver called over the rustle of his new clothing. A short while later, he walked back to her doorway and knocked. "May I come in?"
Katie forced a small laugh, tilting her head to look at him. "As if you even had to ask."
"Well, I could do without shocking more women."
"With what, your abs? I doubt Bruna will be the last," Katie replied before she could stop herself. "Blue really is your color," she hastily followed up, referring to the T-shirt she'd produced. It hung just right on his body.
Before Oliver could respond, a tiny voice sounded, startling Katie. "Breaksfast is ready for Oliver Wood!"
"What was that!" Katie's eyes widened in alarm. More surprises were the last thing she needed.
Oliver gave her a funny look and replied, "Bootsy, of course."
Katie returned his look with a confused stare.
"Bootsy?" Oliver repeated. "Your house elf? Strange one, about this high?" he held his hand two feet off the floor.
"You've made friends. With one of the house elves." Her tone was incredulous.
"Is... anything wrong with that?"
"They never seem to want to talk to me."
"Funny, because this one seems to like talking." He offered Katie his hands. She gratefully took them, and Oliver hauled her out of bed and into a natural embrace with a dramatic, "Phwoooargh! You're getting heavy, Kates!"
"You're just getting soft, Captain!" she joked into his shirt.
He ignored her taunt and instead walked out to the breakfast nook, where Bootsy was cheerfully humming while arranging the table for two.
"Bootsy," he proclaimed formally to the elf, "Have you met Miss Katie?"
The elf turned around and her jaw dropped, eyes growing wide as saucers.
"Hello," Katie said. "Nice to meet you, finally."
Bootsy stared down at her bony feet. "We is not supposed to talk to players," she mumbled. "No, no. We is stupid distractions, Miss Joanie said. She detesteded house elves. Miss Joanie did not even lived on the Compound. But Miss Joanie was going to put Bootsy in the fire."
"Joanie... Joan Gafton?" It seemed the late Chaser had a much less savory side than her public persona, or so Katie kept hearing.
The creature nodded. "When Bootsy broked her shiny trophy one year. It is Bootsy's faults. Bootsy likes Keepers. And hoop polish. They is Bootsy's favorites." As an afterthought, she added, "Miss Katie is very good, too."
Oliver's frown had deepened intensely by this point. "Everyone can like Quidditch," he said emphatically.
Bootsy looked up. "Oliver Wood has clotheses," she said distractedly. Then she turned to Katie. "Will Miss Katie put me in the fire?"
And Katie replied, "Nobody's going to fire you, Bootsy. We can be friends."
The elf's face brightened immensely, and she then boldly came up to Katie, gesturing her to come closer. Katie bent down towards the strange elf, who then whispered, "Is Oliver Wood Miss Katie's guest?"
"Yes, he is," Katie whispered back conspiratorially. She raised her brows at Oliver, who had already been acquainted with Bootsy's peculiarities. "Sneaky one, too."
"Sneaky like how Miss Wilda has guestses in the nights?"
"Er...?"
"Can Bootsy has Oliver Woodses' autograph? Oliver Wood is second bestest Keeper in the League. After Miss Bruna. Miss Bruna is the bestest."
Katie laughed, "Why don't you ask him?"
Oliver was only too happy to oblige, and the happy elf left the bungalow two friends and an autograph richer, plus the top secret task of obtaining a Portkey back to Puddlemere HQ for Oliver.
"Odd one, that Bootsy," Oliver commented over breakfast. Today they had egg white omelette with fat-free sage bangers and orange juice, with plenty of fruit on the side.
"She reminds me of... Dobby? The one Harry liked so much?"
"That's the one."
"I think we'll be friends. All my friends are odd anyways," Katie took a sip of her drink.
"And George by far is the oddest. Tell me again how his contraption got me?" Oliver recounted how he'd touched her Portkey by accident, leaving the story to Katie to finish. She did so in exaggerated fashion, and told her version of drag, nifty earrings, and, of course, George.
"I was so scared something had happened to you," Katie laughed, finishing her explanation, "Or that you'd come dressed like that. Imagine!"
Oliver huffed. "But that was a nap for the books. No dreams, no grogginess after, either. We should ask George for some."
"For when we're on the road," Katie agreed. Then she sighed. "Bruna's gonna have my head."
"Geyser?"
"Yeah. I was supposed to run with her today. She just told me about her and Sean Flanner, so I don't know how I'm gonna explain this," she gesticulated between them vaguely, "To her."
Oliver imitated her weird air stirring gesture. "This?"
"Yeah," Katie grimaced. "This. Er, like, why my half-naked... friend, who is incidentally her ex's teammate, was wandering about my room in the early morning. Just the average situation, really."
He only nodded, and took a thoughtful bite of his omelette. "Mmm, Flanner was something lovesick when she left him. It takes a different kind of woman to understand his... situation."
"Bruna's a good girl," Katie defended. Secretly she was glad for the topic change.
"I'm not saying she isn't!"
"It was probably for the best, anyway," Katie sighed.
"What was?"
She shrugged, "You know, that whole... inter-team dating business... thing can get kind of messy. Our Management apparently thinks so... And you had a lot to say on the matter, if I can recall..." she trailed off, poking her sausage.
"It's not for everyone," Oliver agreed, "But..."
Katie looked up at him.
"Er," he fumbled, "What... well, what I mean to say is..."
Yes? Yes?
"I've been thinking for some time now that maybe... it wouldn't be so bad. If something's cooked long enough, it should be... ready to eat, yeah?" He trained his eyes on something else other than her face.
She looked down at her food, unsure of what emotions her face betrayed.
"I mean," Oliver started. "Do you feel like," he stirred the air again, before rushing, "Maybe going to the Opening Gala with me?"
"Together?" she asked. A smile crept its way onto her face, and she dared to ask, "Like a date?"
"Well..." Oliver put his fork down, "If you weren't put off by me dressed in drag, then... yeah. I mean... we'll both be there, and it's bound to be boring..."
Katie nodded slowly, seeing if she understood him. "Oh. Of course. Well, if you need company, I'll be around. I think we're going as a whole Harpies unit..."
"Yes," he affirmed, not taking his eyes off her. "But I think I'd really like it if we spent the time there anyway. Y'know. Together."
Katie searched his face. He looked dead serious, which scared and excited her at the same time. "I wonder," she finally replied, "If that offer will still stand after we cream Puddlemere at the opening match!"
"Mmm," Oliver mused, "Depends."
"On what?"
"If you manage to get anything past me." He quirked a brow at her.
"I was serious about scoring those goals, Captain. You'll be sorry!" She tried to suppress a laugh, to little avail.
"So is that a yes?" He looked just as chuffed.
"Only if you can handle it, Captain."
"I'll be ready for you, Kates," he glanced at her and grinned back.
Their expressions grew softer as they settled into the moment, and Katie could have sworn he was going to grab her hand. Just as he extended his fingers to brush against her arm, a rather loud POP! sounded from behind them and broke the spell.
"Bootsy has the Portkey!" the elf announced victoriously, waving a pouch about. Oliver and Katie jumped in their seats. "It is round," she cooed, "Like a Quaffle."
"Heeeeyyyy, Bootsy," she airily greeted, lifting her hand to tuck some hair behind her ear. "That's amazing!"
"Oh! Er. Thanks, Bootsy," Oliver said, sounding a bit flustered. Getting to his feet, he quickly said, "Well, I guess I'd better get going."
"So soon?" Katie asked, standing up as well.
"Yeah, er. I did spend the night. And practice starts in," he looked at the clock. "Two hours? Can't be too early!"
"Oh! Yeah, I understand," Katie frowned, although she didn't, really. "I guess I'll show you out?"
Taking the pouch from Bootsy, Oliver nodded. "Thank you for breakfast," he said almost curtly.
"You're welcome," Katie said.
"Oliver Wood is welcome," simpered the star-struck elf.
Katie tried to suppress the tiny feeling of resentment she held for Bootsy at that moment. Happy and oblivious to the fact, the elf snapped her fingers and vanished.
Katie walked Oliver to the door and said, "Two weeks, Captain. Watch out."
He gave her a small smile. "Oh, I will. In fact, I'm looking forward to it."
Making quick work of dropping the Portkey - a fluffy stress ball - onto his hand, he vanished as well.
Katie shut her door with tingling palms. She no longer tried to fight the smile on her face - she gave up and let the feeling of giddiness take over. Turning round, her smile dropped just as quickly when she caught a glimpse of her clock and remembered herself - and training in twenty minutes.
"Right," she sighed. It was probably a good thing that Oliver had left. Otherwise she probably would have forgotten all about it.
Oliver stood, a little dazed, before the Puddlemere condominium. He couldn't remember a time when he'd found himself returning home after an entire evening out. Not that he remembered the evening prior, but it was strange nonetheless. Anyway that morning had been very pleasant, and as such, he was in a very good mood. He'd just entered the lobby when a familiar voice called him from the lounge.
"Wood! Mate!" Sean Flanner loped over, his duffel bag slung around his shoulders.
Oliver quirked a brow at his teammate. Flanner was not known for his punctuality, and he was two hours early. "Oy! You're already here."
"Obviously. And you've just arrived, I see."
The Keeper offered him a sheepish grin/
"Why, don't be modest, Wood, where have you been? Disheveled hair, unshaven face, sleeping clothes... What lucky dame got to keep you for the night?"
Oliver dodged the question. "Why are you here so early?"
"Beatrice, obviously. Didn't wanna be there when she awoke, otherwise I'd have to take care that she wouldn't throw a fit. She's been rather clingy lately, you know how it is at this stage."
The Keeper merely shrugged. Good a friend as Flanner was, his business was his own.
"I was gonna crash at yours, actually," Flanner continued, "But you weren't answering the door. And no way was I going to knock on Fairfax's. Come on, tell me who it was and I'll forgive you."
"It's nothing!" Oliver insisted, brushing Flanner's hand off his shoulder. But he couldn't wipe the grin off his face. He'd sort of asked Katie to be his date. Katie. Date. Datie.
"Hey. I was kidding." said Flanner as they stepped into the lift. "But now I'm really curious. You have to know I've been worried about you, Mr. Extra Virgin Oliver Oil."
"Really." Wood rolled his eyes.
"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Wood. Okay, I lied. But you know I've got a bet going with Neil and Philly? The boys have got some big Galleons on your being a homosexual. A homosexual! Not that there's anything wrong with that... but I'm on your side, mate! You're a warm-blooded heterosexual male. Strapping man."
The Keeper shook his head good-naturedly. "You weren't going to lose that bet and you know it."
"Do I? Do I?" Flanner probed dramatically. He didn't take his eyes off Oliver as the lift stopped, and they entered Oliver's flat.
"Are we really having this conversation? Like, for real. The season starts in two weeks, mate."
Sean sighed, plopping himself down on Oliver's leather sofa. "It's not every day you, the Golden Boy, turn up from who-knows-where-you've-been-all-night, with an idiotic look on your face to boot. I love this couch," he mused, before relaunching, "You're not fooling me. Now be a good lad and tell me her name."
Oliver considered it a moment, and then said, "You could ask Bruna Geyser." He strode into his room, knowing he'd been a little cruel. But Flanner simply loved to chat and gossip, much more so than the average male. It irked Oliver a little, and it was one of the two reasons the PR team loved him so. The other was probably his charm.
"What!" Flanner came running. "You wouldn't. I know you wouldn't." He pointed a finger.
"Don't be mental, it's not actually Geyser," Oliver grumbled, his mood souring a little. "Besides, you and I know you can't go down that road again. And before you ask, mate, nothing happened."
"Bruna or no, I'm a changed man. Beatrice couldn't even tell. And since when do you tell me to relax? This woman must be a - a - she's a Harpy, isn't she!" Flanner put the pieces together excitedly.
With his back turned, Oliver shrugged, but he felt his ears growing pink. He was used to being teased, but not when his tormentors were actually correct. Looking for something to do, he reached into his wardrobe for his protective gear.
"Yes, yes," Flanner muttered to himself. "Can't be the Beaters. Can't be Bruna. Is it the Seeker? Perky redhead?"
"No." Why wasn't Flanner ever this excited when they were talking actual Quidditch? Why? Why?
"Germont? No - she's engaged. I know - it's Wilda Griffiths! You sly bastard. Davies will be so jealous."
Oliver scoffed softly and shook his head. Had his dragonhide shin pads always been this dark? Or was it because he'd changed polish brands?
"Well then who is it? Don't tell me it's Jones?" Sean suppressed a shudder.
With a laugh, Oliver said, "She's terrifying."
"Oliver Wood? Fear a Beater?" Flanner pretended to look flabbergasted. "But thank Merlin. Come on now, we don't have all day."
Oliver turned around, clutching his gear tightly. "I was just accidentally hijacked by my friend, alright? Katie Bell. And I missed my morning suicides because of it."
A look of uncertainty briefly passed over Flanner's face, and then he clarified, "The rookie? The girl at the shoot?"
"She's my friend from Hogw-"
"The one in the magazine! Your mystery girl, then!" Flanner jubilantly wagged a finger at him.
"Shhh! Fairfax is probably still asleep upstairs. If you wake her, she'll skin your arse."
"You're getting it on with your mystery girl! And here I thought you only snogged Quaffles!" the Chaser cried again, kneeling down on the floor. "Thank Merlin, thank Morgana, thank - ow!"
Oliver forcefully threw a pillow at his face to silence him. "I told you. Nothing happened."
Flanner sighed, and Oliver could almost detect something - was it pity? - in his eyes. "But you like her."
"Why does everyone keep asking me that."
"Because it's bloody obvious. I saw that magazine, can't believe she wasn't my first guess. Not to mention you're actually out of your flat, socializing."
Flanner said it like it was taboo. Oliver raised a brow.
"And because Priscilla may have tried to ask Davies and me if we knew anything about her."
"She what!" Oliver's eyes widened in alarm.
"See?" Flanner hugged the pillow and smirked. "Obvious now, isn't it."
"And what does it matter? PR? Priscilla beat you to it."
"No, no, no. I'm gonna be straight with you, if you don't mind. Wood, you've always been happy with just Quidditch, and then you'd lock yourself in your little man-cave, scrawling in that diary of yours -"
"It's a playbook, not a diary."
"-like a madman serial killer... Not even Fairfax's come-ons or a round of Firewhisky could lure you out. And now I have to find out from Priscilla that you have a life? And that you fancy someone? That is pretty damn scary, Wood. Not to mention hurtful. I took you under my wing!"
"I do not act like a serial killer."
"Antisocial, obsessive tendencies..."
"Sod off."
"I was teasing earlier, but I'm serious, now Wood," and Flanner meant it. "You're a good kid. But not everything's about Quidditch, and I think you're only starting to get that. Whoever this girl is must be something to get you out of this compound all night. Swapping Quidditch tips... and spit."
The thought seemed to tickle Flanner. Oliver only twitched his lips.
"So you're going out, right? We could double. You, her, Bruna, me."
Oliver looked at him resignedly. No point hiding things from Flanner when he was clearly on a mission. "She just, uh, agreed to go to the Opening Gala with me."
"The Gala."
"Yeah, the Gala."
"That doesn't bloody count!"
"Why not!"
"Attendance is sort of mandatory. Everyone's gonna be there."
Oliver hadn't thought of that. "Oh."
"Do you think she'd agree if you asked her out on a normal date?"
Oliver's spirits sank even lower. He felt like an ickle first year, still unable to talk to girls, still unable to get a date. "I -"
"Oh, come on, mate. Don't tell me you've friendzoned yourself." Flanner stared at Oliver intently.
Oliver shot him a halfhearted glare.
"I'm just calling it like I see it. You're telling me that the top seeded Keeper in the League can't even seal the deal? You need to be the same fearless troll - intelligent fearless troll - that you are on the pitch! Deadly mercenary! You want her, you better go out and grab her! Like you mean it! And then take her for all she's worth!"
"She's not some prize."
Flanner got up, pretended to dust himself off, and sauntered out the room. "You know what I mean. I'm gonna take a nap," he called. "Wake me up when it's time."
It took Katie all of five minutes to confess to an understanding Bruna what had happened, but she was still surprised that by the first water break, everybody already knew what happened.
"Atta girl, Rookie! He's such a hottie!" cooed Glinda. "But I couldn't do that... Puddlemere, you know?"
"You better be careful. No messing around as soon as the season starts! But he seems a fine young man, would he be a worthy escort for our dear Katie?" Vanna added, eyes twinkling.
"I thought he and Flanner were boyfriends," mused Annie, quite uncharacteristically. Katie and Bruna gaped at her. "Sorry," she said with her American drawl.
Wilda reserved but a smug grin for Katie, whereas Gwenog said nothing. Katie didn't have to ask to know she disapproved.
"Now you've done it," Katie told Bruna as their captain marched away. "Gwen's angry with me."
"Nah," Bruna replied. "Well, okay, a little, maybe. But this was an accident, right? Anyway you should see her when Wilda has blokes over. Rage!"
"The house elf mentioned something about Wilda's guests. I'm beginning to think she's kind of infamous for this sort of thing."
"The less you know about that, the better." Bruna kicked off towards her goal posts. Katie rolled her eyes and followed.
"Is anyone ever gonna tell me anything?"
Coach King's whistle sounded. "Well?" she screeched, "What are you witches waiting for? Scrimmage!"
The rest of Katie's day was taken up by battling phantom players, all of whom seemed a little more violent. And just once, reminiscent of her tryout, she could have sworn that Gwen intentionally hit a Bludger her way. Great.
Scrimmage had never felt like such a blur to Katie. Was it just her, or were the phantoms particularly rough? Was it just her, or did the phantoms look like Puddlemere players? And was it just her, or did the Keeper look just like Oliver - with fangs? And was that a devil tail attached to his bum?
It was all a bit jarring. It felt like a lifetime before Glinda caught the Snitch, and Katie felt nothing but relief when the tiny Seeker waved it, triumphant but exhausted. The hourglasses revealed that they'd been playing for nearly six hours non-stop - ridiculously long for practice. Even their friendly games lasted three hours, tops. Professional games lasted around that long, too. But Katie rationalized that they had to be ready for any possibility.
When she touched down, a harried-looking Coach Caroline quickly ran over her stats: only fifteen out of twenty-four attempts at the goal, with nine rebounds and seven assists. Her foul throw percentage against the phantom Keeper was pretty low, but her steals were above average. Fairly good, all things considered. But Katie couldn't even remember doing half those things. She felt like -
"Those moving suits of armor, Bell," said Coach King wryly, stopping Katie before she entered the locker room. "What do Muggles call them? Row boats?"
"Er, robots?" Katie muttered.
"Well. You were playing like one of those. Real slow, too."
"I'm -"
"No, no. Don't apologize yet. C'mere, Rookie, let's toss a few Quaffles."
Katie was nonplussed. Apart from her interview, she'd never had the chance to speak to Coach King one-on-one. Pulling her gloves and arm pads back, Katie followed her coach back to the pitch.
"A little bird told me you had an interesting visitor last night." King sounded casual, but Katie had to tread lightly. When angry, the coach could outscreech a banshee.
"Was it Bruna?"
"No, the fanatic house elf. Talkative little one, too - I rather preferred it when she was afraid of Gafton."
"Bootsy's... alright."
"Mmm. What wasn't alright, missy, was your game today. Below average, even." Coach King handed her a Quaffle. "Toss it here. Let's see what we can do about that throw, yeah?"
Katie did as she said, feeling a bit self-conscious as she did so.
"No, no. Just do it like you always do. Just focus."
Taking a breath, Katie threw the ball, leading with her shoulder.
"Good. Again."
She aimed for Coach King's chest.
"Again. Relax your wrist."
"One more. Don't over-arch your shoulder. Put your back into it."
"Good. Give it here."
As Katie fell into her trance, she wondered if she really was ready. Did she have what it took to play for six or more hours straight and perform consistently against Puddlemere? Oh gods, her offense today was crap. And her defense certainly left something to be desired. What would Oliver think -
"Stop!"
Katie halted in the middle of her throw, and the Quaffle sank slowly onto the grass. "Yes, Coach?"
"What was going on in your head the last three throws?"
Katie blinked at her. She couldn't remember. "Er..."
"Come on, Bell. We don't have all day. You didn't notice that you were throwing them directly at my face? Or at my knees? And that form! I'd think you were still in second string at Hogwarts!"
A blush crept over Katie's face. "I wasn't focusing, Coach, I'm sorry."
"You didn't answer my question. What's on your mind, Rookie? You can't afford to be distracted." The coach wasn't screaming or screeching like Katie was so used to hearing. Her regular speaking voice, while still high, was actually much more pleasant. Gentle, even.
"Well," Katie started, "I guess I'm a little nervous. I'm not really the sort to think things through so hard before they're about to happen, but this is pretty big."
"What is?"
Katie shrugged, tossing the Quaffle again. "This whole Pro Quidditch thing. Playing a real game against my idols. Against... oh, sod it. You know about Oliver Wood, right?"
"Wood. Bloody brilliant Keeper. Your guest of honor." Coach King smirked as she threw the Quaffle back, Katie's original problem ignored.
"It's not what you think - he accidentally touched a Portkey I sent."
Coach King nodded. "I believe you."
"You aren't angry?"
"Am I?"
Katie shrugged. "Gwen is, it seems."
The coach shook her peroxide curls. "Not my style, kid. But I can make a few intelligent guesses: you're afraid of playing against Puddlemere because you're good friends with Wood. More than friends, even?"
"Yes. I mean, no. We're just friends... but to be honest, I do feel uneasy about playing against him. We'd always been on the same team. Until now, anyway."
"So you know his strengths."
"You could say that."
"And his weaknesses?"
"Y...es."
"Good," said Coach King, adding a little more edge to her voice. "Then we shouldn't have anything to worry about."
Whoa, what? Katie felt confused. She thought Coach King was on the verge of giving her sage advice, or comfort, or something. Why had their conversation taken a turn for the strategic?
"Sorry?"
"Listen, kid," Coach King said less kindly, "I don't know you very well just yet. But I do know that you're a damn good flier. I'd gotten more than I hoped for with you - you have good chemistry with the girls, and we haven't had to make too many adjustments. Do you know how difficult it would have been to start from scratch?"
"Very, I imagine, Coach." Katie recalled when George and Fred dropped out, and when Ange and Alicia had graduated. Creating their new lineup was a nightmare.
"Correct. You had it easy, young lady."
"I suppose did." Katie agreed, heart sinking a little. This did not help reassure her at all. Training with the Harpies was not as physically taxing as she thought it would be. Mentally, however...
"Maybe too easy. I usually gave my rookies hell. Bru, Glinda, Annie, Wilda... ask 'em. But that was back when I had a full roster of second stringers to choose from. Nowadays, as you may have noticed, we keep our bench to zero. Preserves the glamour, you know."
"The glamour, Coach?"
"Of playing for an elite all-witch team. Too many of the reserves were just in it for a chance at fame. Raul's wannabe models, that sort. Talent-wise I had little to cultivate, and in any case substitutions aren't even allowed."
Coach King continued, "My point is this. We may have lucked out with you, but don't think that means you're entitled. You may have a spot on this team but you have yet to earn your stripes. Certain... privileges, shall we call them, are reserved for when you've proven yourself."
Katie grit her teeth, knowing Coach King had been referring to her bringing Oliver in. "It won't happen again."
"The game is in two weeks. I want you focused. No distractions, and you'll be golden. From tomorrow until game day, I want you to practice everything you know against Wood. Help your coaches and the Chasers study him. Understood?"
Guilt bubbled up in Katie's chest. It felt like betrayal, but she had to be professional, didn't she? And Coach King, while seemingly bipolar, certainly had a point. "Yes, Coach," she replied glumly.
Coach King threw the Quaffle at her one final time. "Good. Put that away. Hit the showers, Bell."
Katie walked back feeling dejected. She'd been lured into the possibility of girl talk with Coach King, only to be scolded? What had been an accidental visit now loomed over her head like a weird issue. It was her fault - she had let her anxiety over Oliver affect her game. But she found it a little bit disheartening that everyone - even the ones that seemed to like Oliver as a person - seemed to have something against their friendship. Could Bruna have been right? Was it really that big of a deal? Two parts of her were struggling: her sense of duty to her team, and her sense of loyalty to Oliver. Those two sentiments had never been separate before. Suddenly she wasn't as excited for the game or the Gala.
Later that night, Katie opened her journal. Right on schedule, Oliver was scribbling away. But instead of his usual Xs and Os, or performance logs, he was writing a note directly to her.
Hi Kates, how was practice today? Ours was a bit weird. Let's just say I'd never been less inclined to share everything I know about a player until now. Three guesses?
Katie picked up her quill, wistful.
I'm guessing they wanted the dirt on me.
Might as well put that out there. It made her even more glum - and to think her day had started so well. This felt like her morning's polar opposite.
Yes, you could say that. I realized though (and this cheered me up greatly) that I haven't actually seen you play since my last year at Hogwarts.
Well, I don't think I'm such an eyesore to watch...
That's not what I meant. It means the information I have is outdated. I told them as much. You, on the other hand, have this entire playbook to guide you. Cheat.
Ha! Now if only I could bring myself to read it... Zzzz.
Hey. This is a masterpiece!
I'm sure they'll put it in a museum someday.
Or you could just keep it.
Or I could just keep it. Yeah.
You sound down. Or you... read down. Everything ok?
Yeah, I've just got the same thing on my mind as you do.
Oh... making plays against me already, huh?
It kind of sucks, Captain.
Well, same here.
Is everything always this dramatic when the Harpies play Puddlemere? I thought Quidditch was supposed to be fun.
Something tells me I'm not your only problem.
You're probably the main thing. Maybe.
Ouch.
Sorry. Ol, do you think maybe it would be better if we stopped using the playbooks til this stupid game is over? Like, just so we can focus and stuff. Is that weird?
This time, Oliver didn't reply. She added:
It's not like we can talk about tactics or anything with each other til then anyway, right?
Katie bit her lip. The thought really upset her. It was a while before Oliver did reply.
I respect that, Kates. Good on you for prioritizing. A superstar's gotta do what she's gotta do. :-)
When Katie failed to reply, he added:
And Quidditch is never a stupid game.
Finally she penned,
I miss us being teammates.
Me too, Kates. Two weeks, then?
Two weeks, Captain :)
Katie shut the journal and knocked herself over the head for her dramatics. She tucked it away - buried it in the depths of one of her pillowcases - and swore not to open it for a fortnight. Girl power! She didn't need Oliver to reassure her that she knew what she was doing. But for the first night since she'd been there, she fell asleep feeling nervous and utterly alone.
A/N: Thanks for reading! The season opens next! :O Review and cast your bets! I'd really appreciate it :)