Chapter 4

Alda and Brenda were sitting at one of the tables at the multi-purpose hall. Alda seemed even more uncomfortable than Brenda, which pleased Brenda a tiny bit. She'd spread her drawings on the table and watched as Alda examined each. Alda smiled tentatively. "I really like those. It's exactly what I imagined it to look like. How did you know?" – Brenda shrugged. "As I said, it's my job. Most people don't know how to remodel a room to achieve a certain impression or feeling. Because our minds don't work like that. Our brains add impressions and memories that make something seem appealing, but it's not when we actually see it. Our brains aren't objective." – "Is there any way we can have these sketches in colour? I think I need them coloured in order to be able to transfigure the room accordingly." – "Sure. I can watercolour them." – Alda was looking at her expectantly. – "It'll take a while. I think I can colour them until the day after tomorrow. I'll have to get the colours just right. With watercolours, you only get one shot." – Alda blushed a little. "Of course. Take you time fluid-…painting those. Thanks." Alda squeezed Brenda's wrist with her forefinger and thumb. Brenda lifted an eyebrow, not sure what that was supposed to mean. But Alda just rose and accompanied her to the door. Perhaps it had been an affectionate squeeze squib-version.

As Brenda was walking back to the Rearing Unicorn, she watched the Quidditch team appear one by one in front of the inn. She waited at a little distance – it was never wise to stand in an apparating spot unless you wanted to be stood upon. Nevertheless, the final player managed appearing on her left foot. At first, he didn't really notice until the pain set in and Brenda cried out and shoved him. The shoving didn't really work, she had to wait until he realised what had happened and stepped off her foot voluntarily. "Sorry," he said before grinning at her. "I'm Mac, by the way." – "Hi. I'm Brenda." She shook his hand which he held a little longer than was appropriate and she didn't know what to make of it. More often than not, she was like air to wizards. She noticed Oliver watching them. Brenda withdrew her hand and motioned towards the door. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, why don't you go inside? It's almost dinner time."

Brenda followed the Quidditch team upstairs to fetch her watercolours. Her room sported a high-level muggle lock, which needed a fingerprint to unlock it, as well as countless protection charms. Her parents even had an American wizard flown in years ago to alohomora-proof the fingerprint-lock. Retrieving her watercolours from her suitcase, she dashed back downstairs to start painting while the light was still acceptable and Alda's descriptions were still fresh in her mind. After 30 minutes, Brenda had made good progress but didn't dare do anymore, as her brain was addled. Two wizards sort-of paying her attention was occupying her mind as she was ashamed to admit.

Brenda had put her flustered reaction to Oliver this morning down to the fact it had been a while since her last boyfriend, and she wasn't showered by male attention during her work-days. However, Mac standing close to her this afternoon hadn't had the same effect on her. And that despite the fact was also quite good-looking. Instead of continuing to paint (it had grown too dusky now anyway), Brenda on a whim decided to read up on Quidditch. She wished she could simply google it, but as it was, she had to resort to her parents' library. Quidditch through the Ages, there it was. They'd kept all their old school books thinking Brenda might be needing them. Brenda carried it back to the dining room and made herself a cup of coffee on the muggle coffee machine she'd brought back with her one day. It was just too annoying to always have to ask her parents to magically make her a cup of coffee whenever she fancied one. She sat down with her coffee and book on her usual small table in the dining room just when the dinner bell rang. She put her watercolours to one side and started reading. It was really quite boring, especially since Brenda only wanted to know the rules. But the book didn't have a table of contents pointing her in the right direction as to where to find them. She leafed through it several times but couldn't find a page that looked as if it explained the positions in table form. Finally, Brenda sighed and started at the beginning.

By the time dinner was over, Brenda had switched from coffee to wine and was thoroughly bored by the detailed recounting of the development of "modern Quidditch". "Quidditch through the Ages?" The voice brought Brenda back to reality. She was a little annoyed at herself for becoming so engrossed in a book she found really boring. The voice belonged to Oliver. Brenda looked up at him and then at the book that was lying in front of her on the table, open on page 52. Either he had somehow recognised her book looking at the one open page or he'd been watching her for a really long time. Oliver laughed at her frowning expression. "Don't worry, I'm not stalking you. I've only just read that book about 50 times, I'd recognise these strategy mappings anywhere." – Brenda followed the movement of his eyes to the moving pictures on her current page featuring cartoon Quidditch players moving back and forth along arrows. "Right," she said, blushing a little and somehow feeling caught. "I just wanted to read up on the rules. It's been a while since I pretended to play Quidditch dragging a broomstick behind me." She didn't say she thought it wasn't a proper sport. She didn't like to offend people to their faces. "I expected to find the rules on page one, but I've read 20 pages now and we're still in the middle ages playing 'an early version of the much-loved game'." – He laughed openly at that. It transformed his serious face – it really reached his eyes. "Yes, there is a lot of history in that book. Might be boring to anyone but a true fan." – "Which I suppose you are?" Brenda replied with a smile. An actual honest smile. – "Well…," he was looking down on his team jersey he had kept on tonight. "Kind of." – "Are you first or second team?" Brenda blurted out. She decided not to feel guilty for her curiosity; after all, he'd already asked her a lot of personal questions as well. – "First team," he answered, his voice laced with a little bit of pride. "I'm the keeper." – Brenda nodded slowly. "So probably the person keeping some sort of ball from entering some form of goal." – He laughed again. He seemed in a good mood tonight. "Sort of, yes." Then he cocked his head. "Look – the book never just lists the rules. It evolves each rule and position in a separate chapter from early forms of Quidditch." – Brenda exhaled audibly. "Damn it, why can't I just google it? You wizards really should have a magic version of the internet, including Wikipedia." – Oliver's expression was puzzled, but he seemed to ignore his confusion, as he went on, "Luckily, though, this house is full of Quidditch players. I, for example, am quite familiar with the positions and rules." He was smirking, but his expression turned serious again almost immediately. "Care to join me tomorrow morning? I can show you the ropes, if you like."

Brenda's mind was in turmoil. Spending time alone with a wizard – a wizard who knew she didn't have magic – might not be a good idea. She would have to wear one of her mother's charmed rings that stupefied a person if she touched their skin with it. Her mother had them especially made so they wouldn't stun Brenda when she put them on. She didn't usually take such risks and her parents would kill her if they knew, but for some reason she really wanted to go. She didn't even like Quidditch much, she was sure, but it didn't really matter. "Okay, but you can't tell anyone." – Oliver nodded. – "No, I mean it. If my parents find out, they'll throw you out. They really will," Brenda added with emphasis. Also, she'd be in trouble herself, of course. – "I promise I won't tell anyone. Trust me, okay?" – It was too much to ask, but Brenda still nodded. "I'll meet you down here at what, 06:00am?" – Oliver nodded. "Six is fine." Before the silence could turn awkward, Oliver emptied the cup of tea he'd been cradling. "I'll turn in, then. See you in the morning." – Brenda rose and reached for his cup. "Let me take that. Good night." When he'd disappeared, Brenda sat back down. Damn. What was happening? She needed to call Adrian – only she couldn't really explain to him how much she hated she was coming to like a wizard.