Chapter 2
A Job Application
Three days later, Katie did not have her shit together. This was not the type of sadness a person could simply wish away when it was convenient. It was as if the ground was siphoning her energy with every step forward. If her life were a cartoon, a rain cloud would enshroud her shoulders like a damp cape.
Nevertheless, Katie's upcoming rent payment felt threatening enough to motivate her to beg for a job, so she penned a note to George.
George,
Lovely seeing you the other morning. You mentioned you had a connection with a potential job opening - is the opportunity still available?
Hope to see you soon.
x,
Katie
She'd read over the note several times, concerned that it might have a tone that was a touch desperate. She pondered over it for too long, and the words lost all meaning, so she slipped the note into an envelope and gave it to Ares, her grumpy owl with a supremely sharp beak and a penchant for biting.
"Damn!" Katie swore, as Ares fulfilled his biting quota for the day. She stuck her bleeding finger in her mouth, glaring at the owl as he hopped onto the windowsill and out into the chilly morning air. Bastard.
Unemployment was bad for her; for the fourth day in a row, Katie spent the morning rotting in bed. She supposed it was a sorry sight. Several plates of half-eaten toast had piled up on her bedside table. A number of novels were scattered on the floor - on several occasions she'd picked one up, read thirty pages or so, and then tossed it irreverently when the plot didn't fill the void of her depression. She hadn't washed her pajamas or her sheets (or herself) in so long, the air had taken on a stale musk.
Around midday, Ares returned with a letter tied to his leg.
Katie was curled on her side, huddled under a threadbare blanket her mother had bought for her before she began her first year at Hogwarts. Ares perched himself resolutely on the bed post, sticking his scrawny leg out insistently.
"Alright, alright," Katie groaned, lifting herself up pathetically to untie the envelope. Ares looked at her with his angry eyes, bit her finger for good measure, and stole a chunk of toast off the nightstand before flying off to his favorite spot beneath the living room window.
Hateful bird.
Katie's anticipation, though somewhat dulled by her general affect, was palpable. She ripped open the envelope and two pieces of parchment fell out. The first, written in George's barely-legible penmanship, was a letter.
Katie,
Great to hear from you! The job requires a bit of explanation:
Lee (Jordan, that is) has recently come to own a substantial share of Puddlemere United Professional Quidditch Team. Apparently, they've recently found themselves down a chaser (which is a long story to be told over a drink), and the pre-season starts next month. The manager has reached out to Lee to see if he knows anyone who'd be willing to try out, since they're in a bit of a bind. Lee asked if you'd be willing to give it a go, since you've got the experience and skill (and now, the time).
Tryouts begin in two weeks at their pitch in Lancashire. I've enclosed the address in this envelope, along with Oliver Wood's floo contact - he's been playing for Puddlemere since he left Hogwarts, in case you'd forgotten. He'd love to hear from his favorite chaser (which is you, regardless of Angelina's incredulous gasp of anger as she reads this over my shoulder).
Come to dinner at mine and Angelina's when you can - we're cooking a roast on Sunday.
x,
George
Katie looked at the second bit of parchment, on which Oliver's contact information was messily scrawled. It had been a long time since she'd thought of the old Gryffindor team captain. She wondered if it was an advantage or disadvantage knowing one of the team members fairly intimately. Not that she and Oliver had run in the same circles off the Quidditch pitch during their Hogwarts days - he was a few years older, so he was gone before they could form any kind of real friendship, despite a few moments when she'd thought maybe they were more than just teammates.
At least our lack of contact wasn't my doing, Katie thought blandly, I didn't drop him when things got hard like I dropped Alicia or Angelina or George or Lee.
If she was going to try out, Katie had a lot of training to do in the next two weeks. She laid back, hands on her face and let out a deep, guttural groan of resistance. It was going to take all of her energy (what little of it she had) to do this, but she'd be damned if she let George's kindness and Lee's desperation go to waste.
She began by peeling herself out of bed, a distinctly painful process. She padded over to the shower and waited until the stream of water was scalding hot before stepping under the steaming spray. Katie sighed deeply as the water washed away the filth of the last several days. She scrubbed her skin vigorously with an abrasive cloth, then dug her fingers ruthlessly into her long, dark hair, shampooing her greasy scalp. She even brought out her poor, rusting razor to shave her legs and armpits.
Katie made quick work of tidying her room, feeding Atlas the last few bits of toast from her nightstand in a peace offering that, frankly, he didn't deserve. She flicked her wand at the bed to strip the sheets, and made a stack of the half-started books with dog-eared pages on her desk.
Finally, she picked up her quill to reply to George.
George,
Thank you. Please let Lee know I'll be there. I'd love to come to dinner at yours on Sunday.
See you soon!
x,
Katie