You should all officially be angry at me – I told you there were only five or so chapters left and then I haven't written anything for ages. You all have permission to scold me – I've got the plans all written out, I've just been lazy in typing them up. Bad author! Of course, reviews may spur me into fast writing… In case you couldn't tell, I'm very poor at this subtle-hinting thing and even worse at blackmailing…
Name: Katie
Age: 16, and intending to keep it that way
Hair: Standard pony-tail.
Mood: In the mood for some serious arse kicking.
Location: En route to the biggest Showdown of my life. And I don't just mean the game.
So here I am. On the Quidditch Pitch. Well, actually, I'm several miles above the Quidditch Pitch, looking down at the fourteen ant-sized players taking the field. I'm trying to tell myself this is a tactical 'observe-thine-enemy' thing, but really I'm trying to summon enough nerve to gate-crash the last match of the season. Not that I'm worried about what Cally will do to me. Or even Wood. Bring it on I say, as far as I'm concerned. No, I'm worried McGonagall might seize Lee Jordan's commentating microphone and beat me to a bloody pulp if I damage Gryffindor's chances at winning the Cup. But I'm not here to play the Quidditch match. I'm here to win a much more important game.
I took a moment to savour the skies and look down upon the tiny Quidditch Pitch below me. Funny how I can still feel the nerves and tension, even though I'm miles away from the cheering crowd. I'm not even technically playing this match. I doubted anyone could see me soaring above the Pitch at this height, even the spectators – unless they had pointed Occular thingies at the sky. I tried to pick out Cally from the fray of Gryffindor's lining up on the Pitch. She'd be dressed as me, no doubt – McGonagall had stipulated Wood had to have me turned back into a normal 16 year old before the game. Well, I'm here aren't I? And I'm 16. For a few hours at least. Hopefully that should give me enough time to whup Cally's arse. If not, I'm pretty sure I could still whup it even when I'm five.
I counted seven scarlet dots on the field below me. So Wood was going ahead and replacing me with Cally. I should have expected it, I suppose, but Wood was always one to issue empty threats. Not this time. I shouldn't blame him; his mind had been poisoned by Cally, who no doubt was the hooded figure in Gryffindor's line-up, disguising herself as me. But it still hurt a little. Cally.
She had a lot to answer for, that Cally. Never-mind she'd ruined my academic year, causing me to fail my subjects, forcing me to give up Quidditch next year to focus on my studies, even though I'll possibly have to repeat sixth year. No, never-mind that; it was all water under the bridge. I'll forgive her for hexing me into a five-year-old and making my last few weeks at Hogwarts miserable. And I'll even let her stealing Wood away slide, because perhaps he was never mine to begin with. But because of her, I couldn't remember the last time I'd been on a broomstick. Studying wasn't me, Wood wasn't mine, but flying? Flying was a part of me. And Cally was going to answer for stealing my place in the Quidditch line-up.
Madame Hooch's whistle cut through the air, assaulting my ears even at this height. Bowtruckle droppings. I was late to my last ever Quidditch Game. I'd missed my cue and my chance at a show-stopping entrance. Harry was better at that kind of thing anyway – I was more a stealth kind of flier. I angled my broomstick down towards the Quidditch Pitch.
Drawing into the game, I hovered just above all the action for a few seconds, getting a feel for the game, working out who was who. Harry was the only one of our team I could actually see - he soared up slightly to my left, breaking away from the general scrum of the rest of the team so could scan for the Snitch. A Slytherin player came up to hassle him, so he rocketed away. I could make out Wood at the opposite end of the Pitch, hovering about the goalposts like a fretful mother hen. With the identical Quidditch robes I couldn't tell Cally apart from the others, but there was one Gryffindor player who just seemed out of sync with all the others. She might have been catching the Quaffle and scoring against Slytherin, but she was definitely not following our plays: it was as obvious to me as when someone watches a dance chorography and one person's out of time. I knew which one was Cally. I honed in on her. As I dove I heard Lee Jordan's running commentary on the game.
"Excellent intercept from Gryffindor," Lee offered, "Katie Bell is it – can't tell because her hood's up – anyway, excellent intercept by Gryffindor, she's really belting down the field. Strange, no-one seems to be backing her up – not like Wood not to have his players in some sort of complicated formation. She lines up the shot, she's going to get it past Slytherin through the left goalpost, I can tell."
Oh no "Katie" isn't, I thought. Not if I can help it. As I streaked towards her I could hear some microphone feedback echoing around the Pitch – McGonagall seemed to think Lee's prediction was tipping off the Slytherin Keeper and was attempting to wrestle the microphone out of his hands. Lee, I dimly noticed, was getting quite good at fending off McGonagall's attacks, and he managed to yang it back and continue commenting as if nothing had ever happened.
"Don't worry Professor, it's a fairly safe bet that the Slytherin Keeper can't tell his right from left. And what did I tell you, Katie's flitting around the goalposts, about to score an excellent goal that I foresaw – incidentally Trelawney only gave me a P for my OWLS in Divination last year, can you believe it? Anyway, Katie's taking her time lining up the goal, a little bit of showing off it seems. She's not the one usually to show off but I suppose we'll forgive her because she is a cracking Chaser."
No, I won't forgive her. I don't care if Cally is about to make a goal for Gryffindor; I don't even care she's about to make one pretending to be me; I'd rather lose the Cup than have her score a goal. Especially if she's shameless pratting about while doing so. Gritting my teeth, I fought my instinct to swerve, and ploughed straight into her.
"Did you see that?!" Lee exclaimed, delighted, "Was that a Gryffindor player who bowled into their own Chaser? Can't believe it myself, it's not like Gryffindor to fumble a play that badly, but I saw it with my own eyes: another Gryffindor player has crashed straight into Katie and no goal. Wonder what their Captain has to say about that – Yep, there's Wood, firing up from the goalposts – speak louder Oliver, there's a little deaf woman in a small village of Paraguay who didn't hear you."
Entangled, Cally and I plummeted towards the ground. I couldn't help grinning as I heard some of the abuse Wood was yelling out; his thick Scottish accent even more discernable when his Highland blood was up. I couldn't believe I was actually glad to hear Wood screaming himself hoarse at me, but it reminded me of old times. Even though Cally and I were a tangle of limbs and knotted hair, she met my eyes once – they widened in shock as she recognised me – I'd like to think they widened in fear too. I disentangled myself from Cally – taking care to elbow her a few times where I thought her face was - and pulled out of the dive, heading towards Fred and George. I winked to them as I drew closer, letting them know I was back in the game, so to speak. Merlin's teeth, I'm even using Wood's corny sports metaphors. I must be enjoying myself.
I turned into the game again, taking savage delight in noticing Cally's nose was bleeding. Unfortunately I didn't think I'd broken it, but there's still plenty of time left in the match. I completely ignored the game that was unfolding around me – every time the crowd roared, I took no notice. Who had possession of the Quaffle, who scored, I didn't care. I had eyes only for Cally. I tailgated her, dogging her broomstick's tail aggressively. Loyally, no-one on our team threw the Quaffle Cally's way, but every time she intercepted the Quaffle from Slytherin, I knocked it out of her hands. After the first few times, she saw me coming, and tried to evade me. This time I was in no mood for cat-and-mouse games. I trapped her up against a wall, pushing her so close against the side she must have gotten splinters and friction burns. Eventually she pulled into a dive to try to evade me. I dove straight after her. By now my antics had gotten us noticed.
"Seems to me someone's really taken issue with Katie Bell this game, which is highly unfair, seeing as the poor girl's only just recovering from an aging hex that caused her to go round as an infant… Leave Katie alone, you." Lee scolded. "Here come the other Gryffindor members to sort it out. On the other hand, just look at that superb blocking technique from that rogue Gryffindor Chaser. Speaking of rogue, I know my arithmetic has never been good, but is that four Chasers the Gryffindor team seem to have on the Pitch?"
I was wondering when they'd notice Gryffindor had one extra player. In the meantime, Lee had reluctantly surrendered his microphone to McGonagall, who was barking orders into it.
"Gryffindor must take one player off the Pitch immediately or risk being disqualified!" She demanded.
Cally thought she could use my distraction as a means of escape. Evidently, she thought wrong. I grabbed her robes to stop her from going anywhere. She pulled away, trying to shake me loose. But I definitely wasn't letting go. I clutched my broomstick tightly between my knees as Cally accelerated away, me trailing behind her with my broomstick facing the wrong way, my fists still full of her robes. I was getting sick of this. Someone was going to get hurt. Fingers crossed for Cally. With an effort, I threw my whole weight sideways as I pulled tightly on Cally robes, like reining back a wayward horse. For once I was grateful of all the times I had wrestled Wood. Cally gave a sort of 'gulking' noise as the hemline of her robes tightened and strangled her, and we spun towards the grandstand, crashing into a row of spectators. I'm pretty sure the spectators weren't hurt, but they were fairly weedy first-years judging by the fleeting look I saw of them. By then I was rolling around the seats grappling with Cally, a bit more preoccupied with trying to finish what I started, rather than about the safety of first-years. I was determined to break Cally's nose.
"Gryffindor, THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT BY TAKING A PLAYER OFF THE FIELD!" McGonagall screeched. "BREAK UP THAT SCUFFLE NOW." Fred, George and Angela came racing over to help. Alicia seemed to have more faith in me and my wrestling skills; she remained playing on the Pitch, taking advantage of the Slytherin's distraction, who were all watching our all-out brawl with interest.
Fred pulled Cally away from me, and George had to hold me back.
"GRYFFINDOR! PLEASE INDICATE WHICH OF YOUR TEAM MATES WILL DEPART FROM THE GAME!" This voice was not McGonagall's, but Madame Hooch's, who seemed to have been blowing her whistle for several minutes, without any effect.
Cally immediately seized her broomstick and rejoined the Pitch. I don't know whether she was merely attempting to put as much space between me and herself as possible, or she was indicating she was going to remain in the game. Either way, I wasn't having any of it. I grabbed the Beater bat from Fred and aimed it at Cally's retreating back, throwing it with all my might. It spun neatly a few times before hitting her square on the head. Shazam. She dropped to the ground like a stone. Ha. Score 1 to Katie Bell. Cally: 0.
Lee Jordan had resumed control of the microphone. "Well, I'd say Gryffindor's made a pretty clear indication of which team member they chose to depart from the game."
I calmly returned the bat to Fred, remounted my broomstick and rejoined the game. Ange and Leesh sat back and let me score as many goals as I liked to vent my frustration. I'm pretty sure Slytherin stayed right the hell out of my way as well. Gryffindor ended up winning the game. By winning I mean we flogged them 1630 to 30, but who'd worry about keeping score when we won by that much? Harry didn't even catch the Snitch, but when it became obvious Slytherin weren't going to stage a comeback, Hooch blew the whistle for the end of the game. I didn't really care that we'd won – I was just happy to be back on a broomstick, playing Quidditch.
"Congratulations," Madame Hooch said, still slightly bewildered as to what had occurred on her Quidditch grounds. She tentatively handed the trophy to Oliver, no doubt worried our whole team would turn on each other. Wood calmly accepted the trophy, raising it into the air. The Gryffindor crowd was cheering in response, but the rest of the team was mute and silent. I felt bitter, and the Cup didn't seem as bright and big as it had in previous years. This whole game had been a farce. Gryffindor had shown the least amount of teamwork we ever had. For once I would have felt better if that trophy had Slytherin's name on it this year. We trudged back to the changing rooms, letting Wood have his glory. I doubt he noticed we'd gone.
Everyone went into the showers to clean up, but I stayed outside, trying to clear my head and dispel the rage I still had for Cally. I only had hours, or maybe even minutes, before the Weasely's potion wore off and I became five years old again.
Cally appeared out of nowhere. She was still disguised in her Scarlet robes, although they seemed a little ripped and torn. In fact, Cally herself was looking decidedly worse for wear – blood was streaked all down her face, one eye was closing up and her nose looked distinctively off-centre. I took note to congratulate myself later.
"So how'd you do it?" She sneered.
"Do what? Kick your arse? Because I thought Jordan gave a fairly good blow-by-blow account as thousands looked on, but I can go through it again with you if you want." I struggled to my feet to be on more even territory with Cally, my knees and ribs protesting from Cally inflicted bruises.
"How'd you turn back to normal?" She clarified.
I walked straight up to her, till we were toe-to-toe. I was taller than her, I'd never realised before, but then again, I'd been the size of a five-year-old before. Wonder who I can thank for that piece of spell-work?
"It's temporary." I growled. Cally glowed with happiness. "But you'll make it permanent."
"Or?" Cally challenged.
"Or I'll make that temporarily broken nose of yours permanent as well." I darted my hand out and before she could stop me, I had gripped her nose between my two knuckles. "Okay?" Cally was silent. Her breath was coming through her nose in sort of squeaking noises, and I was having trouble keeping a straight face. "Okay?" I moved my hand around, forcing her to follow with her head, unless she wanted her nose to be even more crooked.
"Okay." She whimpered. "Just don't hurt my face, okay?" I released her, and she pulled her head back haughtily.
"You ever try to jinx me again," I warned her, "and you'll be dealing not only with me, but with my friends. Who includes the only boy powerful enough to have escaped from Voldemort, twins who have no qualms whatsoever in breaking every law ever written, two girls who have no trouble helping them, and a girl who's so smart she's basically the human equivalent of the fountain of knowledge. And then there's me. Now, because Oliver, who was supposed to be my tutor, was under your weird genetic-family-illness love-spell, I'm a little rusty on this jinxing stuff. But I'm sure we'll work something out." I picked up one of the Weasley's discarded Beater bats. I'm not usually this violent a person, but I'd had a bad couple of weeks. Besides, Fred's bat had a nice heft to it.
It was at this moment Wood appeared, still clutching the Cup.
"Katie? What are you doing to Cally? And also, what the hell possessed you to take part in the game this afternoon? Cally could have been seriously injured, we could have been disqualified, we could have lost the game - "
"I sort of won the game for you." I interrupted dryly. "Seeing as I am supposed to be your team member. But why I am bothering to tell you all this, seeing as you're clearly still besotted under Cally's love Charm." I didn't have to look around to know Cally was smirking in satisfaction. "You." I pointed the Beater bat at Cally. "Fix him."
"I don't know what you're talking about." She said innocently.
"Luckily for you, I do know what I'm talking about. If you don't break that stupid love drug you've put him under, I'm dragging him right up before the board of Puddlemere United and using him as evidence that you broke your contract by be-spelling and muddling with their potential triallees. Then you'll never get your dream of being Puddlemere United's newest Chaser."
"You wouldn't." Cally shot me a look of deepest loathing, and I realised I'd made my first real enemy outside of Slytherin, who don't really count. I grinned cheerily back at her. She sighed in defeat and clicked her fingers.
"Katie?" Wood asked confused, looking like he'd just woken up. He noted the Cup in his hands and completely forgot about me. "We won the Cup?! Awesome!" I noted Fred's Beater bat was still in my hands. I gave Wood a sharp hit on the head with it at he went down like a sack of flour. Sometimes Wood just doesn't change.
"Oh yeah, Cally – head's up. I already did." Cally looked confused for several seconds, until four official-looking wizards bearing the Puddlemere crest on their robes crossed the Pitch.
"Callidus Venenum? Come with us please. We have to discuss the consequences of the breach of your contract."
Katie Bell: 2. Callidus Venenum: Sod all.
I walked across the bare and empty Pitch, littered with sweet wrappings from the Game and treading over a torn banner bearing scarlet and gold colours, leaving a crying Cally and an unconscious Wood behind me. I should have felt elated. But I felt just as empty as the Pitch I left behind me.
Okay, enough of angsty Katie feeling sorry for herself. Wood's back to normal - yay! I was re-reading my first few chapters and I realised how much happier those chapters were than this miserable drivel. So I promise you, now evil Cally's out of the picture, it should be back to happy Wood and Katie. Who, of course, are only happy arguing with each other. Memo to self - More Wood and Katie arguments. Unless you all prefer there to be a bit of drama... Because the whole issue with creepy evil Flint hasn't been properly resolved yet... Just let me know. I am entirely at the mercy of your merest whims and fleeting flights of fancy.