Chapter Twenty-Five: Katie Bell, Former Quidditch Player
"Bell!" Jones screamed so loudly that Katie almost flew into the almost empty stands, "stop thinking about your pretty boy and play your fucking game or so help me–"
"Yes yes," Katie groused, for Jones was roughly fifteen feet above her on a broom and the shouting was excessive, "you'll replace me with Hellman. Just do it already, would you?"
For a second, the numbing apathy that had crept over her from the moment she'd awoken, sure that she was right that Leanne was drugging her and removing her memory but not quite knowing why, or why Katie was so sure that she was right, was shaken a little by the dark look on Jones's face. Behind Jones's head Katie could see the one member of the audience, a frowning Harry Potter, who'd obtained special permission only due to a solid five minutes of begging (and his Auror status) craning his head round to watch her argument with her captain.
"You'd like that, Bell? Sitting alone in your flat, your mates playing on Quidditch teams still, watching everyone slobber over Hellman while you…what? Hope to be that boy's trophy girlfriend? You know he's engaged, don't you? I read an article in Witch Weekly yesterday–"
"You read Witch Weekly?" Katie said rudely, "I thought you were above such things, captain."
"I was sent it by forty-two male players in the league," Jones said, her eyes slitted, "crowing how your man was a cheater and you, the high and mighty girl who was too good for any of them, was being made a fool of."
"Ah,'' Katie said, not even sure if she cared anymore about the drama of her Quidditch life and non relationship with Montague. It had been her biggest fear for months, and that fear seemed laughable now. How could she be afraid of public humiliation, when she'd not even noticed that her best friend had disappeared after punching swiss cheese holes in katie's memory, making her turn into a complete trollop with pesky sex amnesia? "I might be better at it if I could remember all the times I've supposedly had it,"
Katie said mournfully.
"Bell, don't try to make me feel sorry for you by acting crazy again," Jones said, "it doesn't work on me. First you're three hours late to practice, despite me sending you sixteen owls and four howlers–"
"I was being interrogated by Aurors," Katie snapped, "I told you! I had a note!"
"From one of your best mates, who happens to be the Auror who interrogated you," Jones said, "how convenient. Then you show up without an apology and that boy trailing you with a puppy look on his face, making sure every nosy witch in this godforsaken country has told her friends how you didn't even dump him when he's two timing you–"
"He's worried about my brain injury," Katie snarled, "I'm glad you are too."
Montague had followed her and her unwanted Auror bodyguard to practice when Katie had lunged out of bed, insisting she was late to practice and needed to go right now, her father fighting off owls in the garden with a broom while Hermione frantically read a book on evil best friends and the lengths they went to ruin your life. Jones had taken one look at Montague and started shouting.
The rest of the team was running dive drills without them, pretending like Katie wasn't getting reamed out by Jones for an exceptionally long time, even for Jones. All except Hellman, who was flying with the second string and making every goal she shot with no effort and a beautiful bounce of her stupid hair.
"Does this brain injury remove your dignity, self worth, and ability to tell time?" Jones said acidly.
"Funny enough, yes," Katie said.
Jones blinked.
"I'm not joking," Katie said, "I lose huge batches of time and don't remember things I'm supposed to remember. Important things. It also turns me into a horrible slag."
"Ah that," Jones said, "live life, who cares? Imagine dying, and never having a slut phase?"
"My biggest regret, I'm sure," Katie said, "the most tragic part is that I don't even remember it. Or maybe that's the best part. My brain is rotted cheese. Swiss cheese. Whatever. Pick your metaphor."
"Alright," Jones said, squaring her shoulders, "I hate to do this Bell, I really do. After the raise and everything. All the exposure and funding you brought to the team…"
Later on, Katie blamed her half dead brain for not understanding what was about to happen next.
"But I can't have you playing if you're ill," Jones said, "it's not morally right. We might lose the cup over this, you're still better than her, but I've got to put in Hellman until you figure this mess out and get well."
If Katie hadn't been using Montague's grip, which she just now realized she'd switched to years ago with no memory as to why, or even that it had happened at all, she would have fallen off of her broom.
"You're firing me because I'm being put under dark magical spells?" Katie exploded, "isn't that a violation of..of…" she couldn't remember the phrase, and the fact that her brain was no longer able to even think of words made her twice as mad, "that's illegal! I could–I could sue you!"
"You could…what?"
"Sue you," Katie blustered, "I just need a solicitor! Wait, I know one! Jimmy Jenkins! That would make my dad's life! I'm–I brought in millions! You said! I helped us get here to the cup, I've got a callused left arse cheek because you've been making us fly so much, how is a callused arse cheek even possible, and yet you are–"
"Bell," Jones snapped, "you've been a mess for months. Breaking your leg mid match. Causing gossip. Starting catfights in my locker room when that hasn't happened in at least seven years."
"I didn't start–"
"Getting our team name linked with Death Eaters," Jones continued, "playing like garbage except the few brief moments you pull your head out of your arse and stop mooning over some pretty boy who is playing with you like a bored cat with a toy."
"He's not–I'm not–"
"Hiding from reality," Jones said, "being drunk all the time."
"I don't hide!" Katie shouted, "I'm a Gryff–"
"Pretending you're not in love with a boy who's using you for a laugh," Jones said brutally, and Katie could no longer argue.
She could barely even breathe. Love Montague? Of course she didn't love him! Just because she'd enjoyed fucking him too much and she found him funny and amusing at times, and just because she'd grown to enjoy his company and his brother's antics and he kind of fit in with some of her friends, and maybe she liked him and wanted to date him if he wasn't engaged, didn't mean–
"Don't lie to me, Bell," Jones said, as if Katie had tried to argue again when she was instead feeling like Jones had ripped out her heart and eaten it in front of her, "you might fool your friends but I'm Gwenog Jones. I aced all my N.E.W.T.S. I could've played for any team in the league, but I wanted the challenge of raising the worst team, the most mocked team, to something great. And I did, didn't I? So don't think some little girl with the problems of an even littler girl is going to fool me."
Katie forced herself to speak.
"I'm not trying to fool–"
"I'm sorry, Bell," Jones said, her voice just as harsh, "it's hard being the girl who's stupid and tricked. I'm sure you're not used to it. You're popular and beautiful and a hero. Everyone loves you. He probably worked very hard to trick you like this, and now you're in denial. You're Katie Bell, best friend of Harry Potter, Quidditch star–"
"I'm not Harry's best–"
"Beautiful and barely touched star of the Harpies, top ten women's jersey sales in the league, hero of The Battle of Hogwarts–"
"I barely did anything at The Battle of–"
"Men lined up to kiss your arse and any other part of your body that you ask them to–"
"There is no line of–"
"You aren't used to things not going your way. But they have. You're off the team until next season, Bell, or until you go back to normal. Whatever comes first."
There was a curious ringing in Katie's ears. She'd even forgotten Leanne and Tatiana Prewett for half a second.
"I'm not used to things not going my way?" Katie said, her voice sounding odd even to herself, "you arrogant bitch."
"What did you say, Bell?" Jones said slowly.
"I was almost murdered at seventeen for being a mudblood!" Katie screamed at the top of her lungs. Harry leapt to his feet, pulling out the most famous wand in the world, but that didn't register with either of them. "I've been tormented since I was eleven for having Muggle parents! I almost died six times in The Battle–"
"And you've used all of that like a weapon to get your way, just like every spoiled child," Jones said, her voice getting even colder. It was the way of Snape when he was mad, and that should've warned Kate too, but it didn't. "Explanations into your behavior does not excuse it, Bell."
"So what explains you being a cold bitch?" Katie snarled. Harry had somehow commandeered a broom and was flying over, Ginny at his heels.
"Experience and wisdom," Jones said, "you're off the team permanently, Bell. Enjoy being the other woman to Tatiana Prewett and Sheila Hellman. That's what you wanted, isn't it? I see that now. You needed to be a victim. Congratulations. I've made you the victim. I'm the villain."
It was such an unfair statement Katie couldn't even breathe.
"What's going on?" Ginny said, parking her broom midair on a knut, "Katie, are you–"
"She's off the team for misbehavior," Jones said, "permanently. No arguments, Weasley, unless you want to join her." From the way Ginny bristled and sat up straight Katie had a feeling the next day's headline was going to be something along the lines of "Stupid Former Harpies Player Getting Played by Playboy Boy Toy Gets the Chosen One's Girlfriend Kicked Off Team With Her Own Selfish Idiocy." Then again, that would be a ridiculously long headline, even for a gossip rag.
"Don't, Ginny," Katie said, "I don't want to see you–"
"What do you mean, off the team for misbehavior?" Harry barked, stopping his broom with panache. From the way Jones briefly closed her eyes Katie knew she was suffering from the same pain all serious Quidditch players did when they saw Harry fly: the agony of seeing a truly talented Quidditch player shite all over his abilities by refusing to play in the league.
"You haven't noticed she's an enormous train wreck?" Jones said icily, "Potter, get off my field. I'm only allowing you here as a courtesy, you're not on the–"
her voice changed like it was underwater, and suddenly Katie was back in time at Hogwarts without warning.
"...so what do you think the third task is?" Montague asked her.
Katie turned in disbelief from the rampaging blast ended skrewt she was supposed to be putting a pink bow on. How Hagrid could even tell it was female…
"Aren't you supposed to be-" she trailed off as Anastasia Higgs was dragged ten feet behind her skrewt through a pile of hippogriff dung.
"Did your brain just short out, Bell?"
"Shush," Katie said violently, "I'm enjoying this." Higgs shrieked louder. She couldn't drop the lead. if she did, she'd get run over by three more skrewts. It was glorious.
"Couldn't happen to a nicer person," Montague said after glancing at the girl, "I heard what she did to you in–"
"What are you doing here?" Katie snapped, good mood evaporating at once. Like she needed a reminder of that incident. "Aren't you supposed to be–well fuck if I know what you usually do now. But you definitely shouldn't be in the fifth year Care of Magical Creature's class."
"I've got a free period," Montague said, "and you're avoiding me again."
"Am I?" Katie said, "maybe take a hint and fuck off, then. It's creepy, you know, when you know someone is avoiding you and then you keep showing up–"
"It thought we had a laugh last time we talked," Montague protested, "why are you avoiding me?"
Katie glanced about. If he was going to crash a class, he'd picked the perfect one. Generally, Montague strolling into a mixed Gryffindor Slytherin class and casually chatting to a Gryffindor would've caused a commotion. But the skrewts were bent on murder, and no one even noticed.
"He's just playing!" Hagrid shouted, running after Jimson and Harris as they were cornered by a skrewt belching flames while they shrieked about their fathers' wrath. It was a sign of the madness that no one was even watching Anastasia Higgs almost being trampled to death in a pile of literal shite.
"I suppose," Katie admitted, "you have a better sense of humor than I realized. I mean, considering I thought you had no sense of humor that's not saying much, but–"
"I'm not as bad as you think," Montague said, frowning, "I know Flint and Zabini and Malfoy and Anastasia have given you the wrong idea about what Slytherins are like, but–"
"And you've been a saint, it's true," Katie nodded, "I often think wow, I wish I could meet a gentleman who makes gross and dehumanizing bets about fucking me with his mates–"
"I wasn't–how many times–"
"Zabini propositioned me," Katie said, watching Montague out of the corner of her eye. She didn't know why she wanted to see his reaction, but she did. Quite a lot.
Montague froze, his giant muscly arms on the fence next to her spasming slightly.
"Propositioned you?" he said slowly, "as in–"
"Well, he left it up to me," Katie said, still watching, her heart beating faster for some reason, "gave me options."
"Let me guess," Montague said, "sex, fooling around, or a relationship to enrage me?"
"Basically,'' Katie said. She bit her tongue so she wouldn't follow up by telling Montague it was more repellent than anything he'd ever done, even when Zabini looked like a painting of a god and kissed like one too. She waited.
"And?" Montague said, turning to her, his hands twisting on the fence like he wanted to wring someone's neck. There was an angry line between his eyebrows.
"And what?" Katie said, "You really think I have self esteem that low?"
"No," Montague said, and she didn't miss the way the furrow between his eyebrows relaxed, just a little, "but I think you'd agree to date him just to mess with both of us." A group of Gryffindor girls screamed, and they both glanced over and away. It was another day in Care of Magical Creatures. "To mess with me and Zabini," Montague clarified, like Katie was an absolute idiot.
"Got that," she said, "maybe I would've, if i thought that would actually mess with Zabini. But I'm not sure he has a functional heart or soul."
"Just a dried up walnut," Montague agreed, "and an empty spot where the soul should be."
"So you're here, why?" Katie asked again, "out of some altruistic reason, you'll have me believe? Concerned Zabini and his lack of soul is getting to me? That I'm going to fall for it and get hurt? Please. Like you care."
"Just wanted to discuss the terms of our bet," Montague said, "in case you haven't noticed, we're currently tied. And if we tie–"
"We both lose," Katie said at once, "clearly."
She'd thought about it once too often, when she was trying to sleep. She had no wish to lose and have to kiss Montague. She didn't even want to win. Well she did, but only so Montague wouldn't win. Not because she had any desire for his lips to be on her feet per the terms of their original bet, or to have him wear that t-shirt to a pure-blood event. She never had desired to have him kiss any part of her at all. With how weird he'd been lately, god knew what he'd try to he'd bite her toes off. Maybe he'd get off on kissing her feet, the fucking lunatic.
"Or we both win," Montague said, and it was like all of her nighttime horrors were coming true. Either he wasn't as disturbed by the thought of kissing her sweaty feet as Katie had intended, or he was desperate to kiss her and win his dumb bet. Either was repellent.
"Lose," Katie insisted, "we both lose."
"I'd say win," Montague argued, "I dunno why you're resisting, Bell, you'd win that way. I'm the one who has to–"
"You want to bite my toes off," Katie blurted, "Don't you. Just admit it."
"Uh, what?"
Anastasia Higgs might actually be suffocating in a pile of blast ended skrewt shit, and no one noticed but Katie, who was maybe flirting with a Slytherin that looked like a pile of boiled ham when angry. It was not flirting if Montague was normal, of course. But he was a Slytherin. The black arts might be involved when flirting with a Slytherin. there was no way of knowing. Katie had never witnessed another Gryffindor doing it.
"This couldn't wait until later?" Katie said, eyes darting about, "the third task is ages away still."
"I just fancied a talk," Montague said, a hint shiftily, but was that unusual for a Slytherin? No. "Is that too much to ask?"
"Yes," Katie said, "I charge for Slytherins." Too late, she shut her mouth.
"Oh?" Montague said, eyebrows raised and mouth smirking, "what's your fee? I've got money."
"Really," Katie said, "I had no idea. You never bang on about it like it's pathetically your best trait or anything."
"Listen Bell, is it my fault I'm rich, and a pureblood, and got sorted into Slytherin?" Montague demanded, "because you're always acting like it's my fault, or something! Like I chose all those things. Did you choose to be in Gryffindor? Did you choose to be a muggleborn?"
"What's wrong with being muggleborn?" Katie said, knowing exactly why it was so hard to be muggleborn and refusing to admit it. The real reasons it was hard being muggleborn, after all, weren't the same reasons they got looked down for having muggle parents.
"Nothing," Montague said, and it was a good go of it, but the slight hesitation, and five years of knowing the rat bastard made it clear to Katie that he was lying for some reason, instead of just insulting her heritage like usual, "My point is–"
"I don't care that you're pureblood," Katie said, turning to look at him fully, "are you stupid? Fred and George are two of my best friends, and they're pureblood. So is Alicia, even if she's not pureblood according to you lot, because she's got squibs in her family or whatever. I don't care that you're rich. Harry's rich, did you know? You probably don't, because he doesn't bang on about it and think it makes him better than people."
"So it's the Slytherin thing, then?" Montague said, "That's the problem?"
"No," Katie said, "I was friends with Anastasia, wasn't I? Or I thought I was, anyway. Don't you get it, Montague? The problem is how you behave, the things you do! If you were a muggleborn, or you were in another house, or you were poor, and you acted the way you do now, I still wouldn't be able to stand you!"
Montague was staring into her eyes. It was too intense. Katie wanted desperately to look away. What was that look? What was happening between them, right now?
"You stand me," he said finally, "you more than stand me, Bell. Why else would you agree to kiss me, huh? Why else would you want my mouth on you, if you won our original bet? I think you're a liar. You like how I act. I'm different then all of those stupid boys who kiss your arse and say "please Katie can I breathe the same air as you and may I lie in this puddle for you Katie, so your feet don't get wet, and all those halfwits who lie and tell you you're the best Quidditch player ever–"
"You are unbalanced, you know that?" Katie said, not her finest retort, but something was wrong. Her heart was beating too fast. She felt sick. What had almost just happened between them? Had she wanted, just for a second, when he'd been looking at her, for Montague to get it? To change his ways? To apologize, to talk to her nicely, to be her friend? And was she disappointed that he hadn't understood, that he'd doubled down on being an arse? She turned away, heart hardening, "if we tie, it should be something else. Like, um. You apologize to Alicia and Ange for being a twat."
"And you apologize to Cassius and Adrian for being a bitch?" Montague drawled.
"If that's what you want," Katie said coldly.
"Not really," Montague said, "if we tie, I want you to tell Zabini you used him to get to me, and then never talk to him again."
"Done," Katie said, fighting a smile. Bloody idiot. Zabini already knew that she'd been using him to get to Montague, and she'd gladly never talk to Zabini again.
"You sure?" Montague said, "it would just be easier to kiss me, you know. Zabini doesn't take rejection well."
"And you do?" Katie sneered.
"Who's rejected me?" Montague scoffed.
"I have, you half-wit," Katie said.
"Oh, have you?" Montague said, with his own sneer, "we'll see how you react, when I win and I kiss you. I bet–"
"No more bets," Katie snarled, for she was trying not to think on how she'd originally thought about how kissing Montague might be fun for a lark.
"It's a turn of phrase Bell, god. What I'm saying is, when I win our bet and get that kiss, you're going to love it. You're going to ask me for more, all the time."
Katie laughed. "After kissing Zabini? I doubt it."
"He's not half the kisser I am," Montague snarled. He was turning into a boiled ham again. Gross.
"Lucky for me, I'll never find out," Katie said. She watched with satisfaction as a second blast ended skrewt trampled Anastasia Higgs deeper into the pile of shit.
"Shame for you I was right, eh?" Montague said. Katie turned to look at him.
"Why do you look like that?" she asked, startled, for Montague was still Montague, but he wasn't. He was leaner, in an appealing way. He didn't look like a boiled ham. He was in fact, maybe as handsome as Zabini was.
"You liked fucking with me way more than with anyone else too, didn't you Bell?" Montague said, but he didn't look as smug about the outrageous words coming out of his mouth as Katie would expect. His voice was wrong too.
"What happened to your face?" Katie asked, her own face heating. How the hell was he handsome now?
"I knew you'd like it," Montague said, "why do you think I did it?"
Katie jerked awake. She was lying on a patch of grass. Everything was red.
"Ginny?" Katie croaked, making to sit up, before hands pressed her back down.
"Lie still," Jones commanded, and Katie closed her eyes again briefly. Jones. Right. She'd just called her captain a bitch and been fired from her dream career. Her eyes reopened.
"We told you," Ginny snarled, her hair still half hanging in Katie's face, "we told you she was really ill! You can't possibly fire her–"
"Hiatus," Jones interrupted, her face stern, but twitching, like something was wrong and she was having pity and emotions for the first time in her life and didn't understand it. "I was…too hasty, Bell. I see you really are quite…sick. I'll forgive you this once. Potter assures me it was caused by some sort of mind altering potion."
"It was," Harry lied without blinking.
Ginny pinched Katie out of Jones's eyesight.
"Did I say something rude?" Katie asked, only because Harry and Ginny expected it of her, had fought to cover up her torching her career by calling Jones a bitch, and that meant something.
"No," Harry and Ginny said at the same time Jones said yes.
"Oh, how terrible," Katie said, after another prompting pinch from Ginny, "not after I thought we'd gotten it under control!"
"Yes, well, direct it at someone more deserving," Jones said coldly, "I've been your biggest supporter, Bell."
Another pinch when she opened her mouth with outrage stopped another Katie rant. She tried to look contrite instead.
"You've banned Skeeter from the pitch, Captain," she said, "got anyone else in mind?"
Jones's eyes narrowed, and Katie was reminded that she wasn't your typical jock. She'd been in Ravenclaw. Perhaps she even knew Harry was lying about the potion's effects.
"Just get home and get all your memories back Bell, before I change my mind."
"So she's not fired?" Ginny needled, "your increasingly famous first string chaser that got you to the cup, well known for her heroics during the Battle of–"
"Don't test me, Weasley," Jones said, "I've got a cup to win, sponsors to placate, and I've got a chaser who can't stay on her broom without calling me a bitch."
Katie tried to smile winsomely.
"The nausea from the Confuscious Confusion leaving your system kicking in?" Harry asked sympathetically. Katie stopped her attempt at smiling at once.
"Great," Ginny said, "she'll be okay by next match."
"In two days?" Jones said acidly, "Forget it. Hellman's in. If we win, which is a big if, because I know you hate her Weasley and will be too petty to pass her the quaffle–"
"I play to win," Ginny said angrily.
"Then if Bell is alright by then, we can have her back for the final," Jones said. "We can put it out that leg of hers is still bothering her. Pin it on the Falcons and Flint."
"No," Katie blurted, "Flint will love that." She could just picture the spread in Witch Weekly, written by Rita, where Flint boasted about his giant long pole breaking Katie's leg so thoroughly magic couldn't fix it.
"But his captain won't," Jones said with relish.
Katie curled back in her childhood bed, miserable beyond belief. Ginny had joined the madness going on in her parent's house, and was now watching The Wizard of Oz with Bill and Ron and a very reluctant Montague.
Katie held her stuffed cat to her morosely.
"Now you can't even watch Ginny react to Glinda," she said pitifully.
"No worries," Harry said, as he held up a vial of murky pink potion to the light in Katie's room, shaking it. "Your dad is recording their reaction for us on the camcorder."
Tears sprung to Katie's eyes. Why the hell had she avoided her parents since graduating Hogwarts, when they were clearly the best parents of all time?
"It's okay," Harry said, when he spotted her wiping her face, "I get it. It's like being torn in half, sometimes. Except it's harder for you and Hermione, isn't it? Especially you. The Dursley's were rotten to me. Hermione didn't really have friends. But you, you had great parents and a beautiful place to live and nice friends, and they can't quite mesh with a world full of magic and hatred and wonder and death."
"That was deep," Katie said through her clogged nose, "have you been hanging out with Luna recently?"
"No, or she would've already had me cutting off Flint's hair and putting it in some sort of old witch's brew for reversing evil tooth possession."
"Evil tooth possession?" Katie choked.
"Yeah," Harry said, "you know. Flint's evil front teeth have possessed you to fuck Slytherins for fun, and now we need to remove your soul from them. Something like that. You know Luna."
Katie made a weird gurgling noise.
"Are you really off the team, do you think?" Harry asked after he poured the pink liquid into a cup.
"It would be an ironic end, wouldn't you say?" Katie said, "like rain. On your wedding day."
"Not irony," Harry said, "neither is ten thousand spoons, when–"
"All you need is a knife," Katie said in unison, then they both laughed.
"I have missed you," Harry said, "you haven't been around much. Since…"
"Montague?" Katie asked gloomily.
"Earlier," Harry said, "I haven't seen you much since Snape killed Dumbledore, have I?"
An alarm rang in Katie's mind, then disappeared without her remembering it at all. Harry held out the drink.
"What is that?" she asked, sitting up.
"Theo made it," Harry said, "I know what Hermione thinks about him, but it's not Theo dousing you, I'd bet anything on it. Besides, George made it with him."
"Made what?" Katie asked, absurdly touched. Was she even worth all of these people, and all of the effort they were giving her? How could she ever replay them?
"It'll speed it up," Harry said grimly, "getting the potion out of your system. like a detox. Bottoms up."
If it were anyone else, Katie might've paused out of a learned mistrust of magic. But it was Harry. She swallowed the bitter pink drink whole, without further question.
"Alright then," Montague said, "we're all tied up. I've been thinking about it."
"Thinking about what?" Katie said, unnerved. She sat up from the patch of grass she'd been reading a book on new flying maneuvers you could do on a Firebolt. Not that she'd ever own a Firebolt. Maybe fifty years from now, when they were antiques. Leanne looked over at them with a frown from where she was sitting with her stockings off, bare feet in the shallow edge of the lake.
Montague sat next to her. "About our bet, of course. We've already established that I get a kiss when I win."
"You won't," Katie vowed, "Harry's winning." It was a delusional prayer, really. She had already resigned herself to Harry not winning. The fact that he was tied with Diggory was a big enough shock as it was.
"If you want to keep dreaming," Montague shrugged, "but if Potter stays tied with Diggory and wins too, that's still what I want. Forget telling Zabini that–"
"We already agreed," Katie said, outraged, sitting up, "either we both lose if Fleur or Krum win, Harry wins and you wear a Potter for President shirt to some ridiculous ball from hell, or Cedric wins, which he won't, and I'll force myself to kiss you and it will be disgusting. If Harry and Cedric both win, I tell Zabini–"
"He already knows," Montague shrugged, "he doesn't care. He's been snogging whatsherface in Ravenclaw since the ball. Uh. Geneya Smullins. Sorry Bell, I know this will crush you."
"And after he just so romantically propositioned me for sex too," Katie sighed, lying back down, staring up at the robin's egg blue sky, so rarely seen in Scotland. She almost jolted back up when she realized that she was publicly relaxing next to the disgusting toad that was Montague, and stopped herself in time. It wouldn't do to look scared of him. He'd like that too much.
"That's Zabini for you," Montague said, and he surprised Katie by lying back on the blanket next to her, like they were friends or something worse, comfortable in each other's presence and not mortal enemies. She stopped herself from flinching, at least, but she knew she was lying stiff as a board. "You know, I don't know why you're protesting so much. It will be much easier to kiss me, then it would be to talk to Zabini, and then–"
"You win your tournament?" Katie said coldly, "the gross sex one, where I look like an idiot?" One of the clouds she was forcing herself to stare at looked oddly like her and an unknown man with red hair who could only be a Weasley snogging heavily on a desk. She blinked, and the cloud went back to being a rabbit.
"Oh, is that why you'd deal with that lunatic Zabini rather than kiss me?" Montague said, and Katie tried not to look at him, she really did, but she darted a glance next to her, and he was watching her.
"Duh," she said, hastily looking back up at the sky. God, she hoped no one saw them. How she would ever explain this…
"Well that's easy," Montague said, "I'll make an Unbreakable Vow. If we tie, I can still apologize to Spinnet and Johnson, if that's what you'd rather I do, or I can wear the shirt like you wanted if you won, or I can kiss your feet like you originally requested when we bet on the winner of the Gryffindor Slytherin match next year–"
"The apologies," Katie said hastily, "I pick the apologies!"
"And I'll make a vow not to tell anyone and you'll kiss me," Montague said, like they were having the most normal conversation in the world.
"Pass," Katie said. Knowing Montague, he'd find some way around an Unbreakable Vow. You could never trust a Slytherin.
"Alright," Montague said, sounding frustrated but poorly trying to hide it, "but I'm at least holding you to our original bet about our match that you tried to cancel, Bell."
"Deal," Katie said mindlessly.
"Don't," Leanne whispered. She had appeared next to them on the blanket from nowhere, bags under her eyes, her hair stringy. She was older. She wasn't quite Leanne.
"What happened to you?" Katie said, sitting upright.
"Isn't it obvious?" Montague said, and it was a different Montague, an older one, but prettier. He was playing with a large metal ring that was too big for his hands now, "it's the same thing that-"
They both vanished, swirled, and Katie was sitting on a windowsill, her winter scarf gone, her shoes off, her socks dirty, as she watched the Beauxbatons carriage fly off, the Durmstrang ship disappear under the water.
"Shame," Leanne said, "I'll miss Benoit. He was dreamy."
"He was the dreamiest," Katie agreed, thinking of the Beauxbatons boy who had danced with her at the Yule Ball after she'd slapped Zabini and returned to the dance.
Benoit had then danced with Leanne in turn as Zabini sulked in a corner, watching her. Zabini had gotten over it remarkably fast, going on to dance with a series of some of the prettiest girls in the school, and Katie had tried to convince the cute French boy to kiss her without actually saying it, with no success.
A flash of white blond hair and a dark wooden wand and an opal necklace and Benoit leaning over her with a quill and parchment making notes was in her mind, then it was gone.
"Already forgotten him?" a boy snorted from behind the girls as their feet dangled in a patch of dandelions.
"You're slow today, Montague," Leanne said without turning, "we just said he was dreamy."
Katie froze, then relaxed. Well. She'd already held up her end of the deal and talked to Zabini, and from what she'd heard, Montague had held his end up as well. Alicia had laughed about it, said Montague was clearly drunk early on a Saturday morning, and Ange had ranted about how suspicious it was, but Montague had apologized, even if neither of the girls had known why. Fred had bent a meaningful look at George. Then Fred had turned to Katie with an accusing glare when she'd laughed at a description of Montague apologizing "for like, being richer than them and being arrogant about it." Katie had spent the next few days avoiding Fred and his sure to be pointed line of questioning, wondering if she'd decided to toy with Montague and his stupid bet for her own amusement. Zabini, for his part, had laughed when she had found him and said it had all been a game to enrage Montague and that she never wanted to speak to him again.
"How much did he pay you to say that, Bell?" Zabini had drawled. His cat eyes had glittered, then dropped to her lips.
"Nothing," Katie said, then added, because there had been no such stipulations about explaining, "I lost a bet to him, so he wanted me to tell you that. Also to not talk to you."
"I don't particularly want to talk to you either," Zabini had said, "want to snog, instead?"
For one mortifying moment, or maybe ten, Katie had considered it, and Zabini had moved closer, the cat eyes a gleam with triumph.
"No," Katie had lied, "I'm er. Snogging a cute French boy now. You might've seen me dancing with him. Benoit. From Beauxbatons."
"I saw him," Zabini said, and for all Katie had been sure she was right about Zabini, she had realized at the last second that she was wrong, and Montague had been right by the way the cat eye's changed, the curl that came to Zabini's lip. Katie took a step back, then forced herself to hold her ground. "You think I didn't take note of a boy who thought he was going to steal a girl I wanted to fuck? I've already written to my father about him."
"What, Montague's dad?" Katie had said, startled, grasping at anything to not feel afraid. Zabini hadn't really said anything too terrible or unexpected for a Slytherin, but the hair on her arms was raising anyway and she didn't know why. It was precisely the wrong thing to say.
"You fucking bitch," Zabini said, voice low, "you jumped up mudblood, you actually think you can throw my relationship with my father in my face when your father is a wretchedly untalented painter?"
Katie's blood went cold.
"What did you say?" she said, but Zabini continued like she hadn't spoken at all.
"When your mother looks like a man, half the time? My mother is the most beautiful witch in the world, and yours mops up blood when muggles cut themselves open like barbarians."
"Are you stalking my parents?" Katie said, voice high. "How do you know anything about them? Why are you even keeping tabs on me? You've got whatsherface now!"
Fuck! Why hadn't she just kissed Montague? How was this worse than kissing Montague and watching as his friends laughed as he won his stupid gross bet?
"We'll stop talking when I say so," Zabini said, his voice even quieter, "you think I take orders from Graham? That I will stop fucking you because he begged–"
"We're not fucking!" Katie said, and because she could think of nothing else, she kicked Zabini in the shin, just like she'd kicked Montague, then started backing away, fingering her wand, her eyes darting around for an exit from the courtyard, "you absolute fucking menace! I can't believe you made me wish I had just kissed–" she bumped into someone.
"Watch it now, Bell," Pucey said from behind her, "before Zabini disembowels you with that specialty of his mother's."
Without a shred of nobility in her, Katie deliberately put Pucey between her and Zabini.
"Duly noted," she said, "er, thanks, Pucey."
"Don't thank me," Pucey winked, "you grabbing me and shoving me into Zabini's curse-line just earned me enough points that I'm definitely going to win–"
A man was kissing Katie, an older version of Katie that actually had hips and boobs, and had a streak of glittery turquoise in her hair. The man was gorgeous, and huge, and so covered in muscles and tattoos Katie's father would faint when he–another swirl of the smoky bar they were in, and Katie was back with Leanne and Montague, watching the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang contingents disappear.
"-you've already forgotten him?" Montague was sneering. Katie blinked, looking down at her Gryffindor knee socks with muddy soles.
"Don't you dare!" Leanne said, leaping from the window, "don't you dare say that!"
Katie blinked, her head feeling fuzzy. Why was Leanne so mad on behalf of Benoit Lambert, a boy they'd both danced with and flirted with at the Yule Ball, who'd kissed their hands before boarding the flying carriage of Beauxbatons, both of their cheeks flushed red while they held in excited giggles.
Montagued scoffed, crossing his huge arms, "are you really getting so worked up on behalf of a boy who didn't even know you were alive?"
"You are vile," Leanne said, her eyes wide, "god, you're worse than I thought!"
"Well don't worry, "Montague said, "you certainly weren't the only girl he never noticed, right Katie?"
Katie blinked. What were they talking about? And how had she forgotten?
"And he'll never know either of you are alive now. Guess that doesn't matter."
"Cedric Diggory is a hundred times the boy you are," Leanne said, her voice shaking with rage, and Katie's stomach dropped. Well. There went crazy ass Zabini, vaulting past Montague again on which was the lesser way for her to suffer by losing a bet.
"Are you–you're talking about Diggory?" Katie said, voice rising alarmingly.
"Pay attention, Katie," Montague said impatiently, "I know you were getting all wet over your French frog that's hopping away, but I was saying I can't believe you've already forgotten Hogwart's dreamiest boy. Shows the fickle nature of girls, eh?"
Katie's mouth dropped. She turned to look at Leanne, who looked homicidal. Her wand was out.
"Don't call me Katie," she said stupidly, "you haven't the right. Not when you're gloating over the death of the nicest boy in school, for what?"
"I'm hardly gloating," Montague said, "just pointing out the fickle nature of Gryffindor girls. The poor boy is barely cold, and you're already moving on to lusting over a French-"
Katie slapped him. It felt good. Great, even.
"Piss off," she said, as Montague rubbed at his jaw, his eyes dark and full of rage, but she was too angry to be as scared as she probably should be, "don't ever talk to me again."
"I don't think you mean that," Montague said coldly.
"I think I've never meant anything more in my life," Katie said, her voice rising with conviction.
She stormed off with Leanne, realized she'd left her shoes, and was forced to stalk back and pick them up, Montague's snotty little laugh making her face burn. No matter. She'd had a little adventure this year, been a little more exciting. Now she'd go back to being reasonable about how Slytherins were the dregs of the universe.
Author's Note: So sorry for the delay! I've been scratching and clawing to get rid of my writer's block with increasingly terrified results that it's not working well lol.