Chapter 4
Quidditch Practice
A/N: Katie's POV.
The first Quidditch practice of the year was a sorry sight. The late summer sun glowed low in the sky, its thick, incessant heat settling like an oppressive blanket over the castle grounds. I wiped an arm across my sweaty brow, panting earnestly.
"PASS THE BALL!" Angelina roared to Alicia, swerving around George as she sped across the field on her broom.
George's trajectory shifted. Alicia swore, narrowly missing him with a last-minute jerk of her broom.
"Drop it!" I called from where I circled beneath Alicia. She didn't need to look at me as she dropped the quaffle, trusting me to tuck it under my arm and search the field for Angelina, who flew in a wide arc around the pitch.
"KATES!" I ducked just in time to avoid Fred's well-aimed bludger.
"Okay, stop!" Oliver's irritated voice called up from where he hovered on his broom below, "STOP!"
We touched down on the dewey grass of the Quidditch pitch. Oliver slid off his broom with a scowl, his arms crossing over his broad chest.
"Spinnet," he started, his jaw ticking in displeasure as he addressed Alicia, "When Johnson calls for the pass and she's wide open, pass her the bloody quaffle."
Alicia leaned against her broom with a practiced sort of irreverence I was certain was just to piss off Oliver, "Noted."
Oliver didn't rise to the bait, "Johnson," he continued, "if you're going to call for the ball, you'd better get your ass over to Spinnet's side of the pitch in time to actually catch it."
Angelina raised her eyebrows at his tone but said nothing.
"Bell," he said, turning to me. Merlin, he was in a mood. "What's the point of a completed pass if you're in the path of a bludger and your teammates are twenty seconds away from you?"
I gritted my teeth. "The thrill of the chase?"
Oliver's eyes flashed. Yeah, he was not to be trifled with today. "Don't give me lip, Bell," he snapped.
Alicia cleared her throat loudly.
"Weasley," Oliver wasn't finished, apparently, "Good use of your speed, but it would be more efficient if you didn't waste your energy on intercepting with your body."
"Ah, but I wouldn't want to deprive the ladies," George replied with a wink. Angelina rolled her eyes, muttering something sarcastically under her breath.
"Potter," Oliver glanced over at Harry, who was looking very intently at the grass. Oliver seemed to come to his senses as the young wizard rocked uncomfortably from foot to foot. The captain cleared his throat. "Erm, good work."
There was a beat of silence. We all looked at Oliver warily.
"Right, let's run the drill one more time," Oliver said gruffly.
I sighed, mounting my broom and pushing off into the sky.
"What a prick," Angelina groaned as we all trudged back to the locker room after practice, sore and irritable.
"He's really turned it up a notch," Alicia agreed miserably, "and by it I mean his absolute insanity."
"Our captain either needs firewhisky or a good shag," Fred slung his broom over his shoulder.
"Probably both," I muttered. I fumbled tiredly with the straps of my gloves. Oliver had stayed behind to clear up some cones he'd levitated on the pitch for a cool-down drill, but I didn't doubt he knew we were complaining about practice.
Somewhere beneath the frustrated set to Oliver's mouth and the annoyance in his gaze I could sense the unchecked buzz of anxiety. Rightly so, I supposed. It was his last year as captain, and his last year at Hogwarts. Scouts from professional Quidditch teams would be attending games over the next few months to see if any seventh years were worthy of signing right out of school.
Once inside the cool of the locker room, Alicia and Angelina were quick to change.
"We're heading to Gryffindor tower before dinner," Angelina said, "Are you coming?"
"Nah," I shook my head, "I'll meet you in the Great Hall, I'm going to shower."
"Don't stay too long," Alicia ruffled my hair affectionately.
I was alone in the locker room, a quiet calm settling over me as I padded over to the showers and turned on the cool stream of water. I stripped off my Quidditch robes absently, tossing them on the floor and hanging my towel on a hook outside of the tiled shower stall. As I slipped under the spray, I sighed contentedly at the cold drum of water against the flushed heat of my skin.
The door to the locker room banged open and I opened my eyes with a start. Someone sighed deeply. Oliver. I heard his footsteps, his locker open with a hideous creak, then the shuffle of his robes falling to the bench.
I was acutely aware that I was naked in the same room as a half-dressed Oliver. I scrubbed the sweat off my skin quickly, ignoring the frantic thumping of my heart in my throat. I turned off the water, hand reaching blindly for the towel on the other side of the stall and wrapping it tightly around myself like a suit of fluffy armor.
When I stepped out of the shower, Oliver's back was to me. He was sitting on a bench, elbows on his knees and head bent low. His back expanded with a deep breath, and I wondered briefly if he knew it was me before he turned his head and caught my eye.
"Hey, Kates," he said hesitantly.
"Captain," I nodded. I wasn't going to let him off that easily. Oliver's gaze landed on the shower, and I watched his mind connect that the last time we were in here alone, I had narrowly kept him from drowning himself.
I walked to my locker, pulling out a pair of jeans and a grungy old t-shirt. I felt his eyes on me, a shiver licking up the back of my neck. A gentle heat pooled in my stomach, and when I turned back to face him, he was standing.
"I-" he started awkwardly, looking anywhere but my towel-clad form, "I'm sorry, Kates, you didn't deserve that. None of you did."
I hummed quietly in assent, "That's true, we didn't."
He had the sense to look a little ashamed, but I watched his jaw set again, and his irritation win over, "We have six weeks until our first game against Hufflepuff. We don't have time to fuck around."
"You're not going to have a team in six weeks if you keep this up," I crossed my arms.
Oliver's gaze dipped down to me, the tops of his cheeks were turning an angry pink. "I'm doing what needs to be done."
I scoffed, "What needs to be done? Oliver, you're ostracizing your teammates. They're all going to resent you if you don't figure out a way to communicate that doesn't make them want to throttle you."
I stepped toward him, pushing my clean clothes to my chest protectively. The warmth in my stomach was at odds with the cold locker room air, and my skin pebbled with gooseflesh.
"Are you going to resent me, then?" he asked, his eyes unreadable as they searched mine. He'd said it so softly, as though my opinion of him was extremely important.
We were close enough that if he reached an arm out, his hand would have grazed my towel.
"I know you want us to play well for the scouts," I said quietly, "and we will. Just trust us." Without thinking, I put a steady hand on his arm.
Oliver's throat bobbed, his eyes going to where my skin touched his shirt. For a brief moment of utter insanity, I wondered what it would be like if I dropped my towel. Would he look at me with that glazed-over expression? Would he turn around and clear his throat uncomfortably?
I removed my hand from Oliver's arm and rubbed the back of my neck, where I could feel a blush spreading. His hand caught mine - rough, calloused fingers wrapping around my fist.
"Kates," he started, and I realized I was standing so close that I could feel the low rumble of his voice in my chest, and the delicious warmth of his body envelop me, "I-"
The locker room door banged open again, and Oliver was suddenly on the other side of the bench.
"Sorry," Harry said, eyes wide as he took in me in my towel and Oliver's chagrined expression. Harry grabbed his book bag from his locker, "Didn't realize I left this here."
He grinned sheepishly at us and walked out of the room.
Oliver stared at the door long after Harry's retreating form was gone.
"Well," I cleared my throat, "I'm going to go change."
Oliver nodded distractedly, "Yes, good. Alright." He ran a hand over his chin.
"Catch you later, Captain," I said with a forced lightness.
Oliver gave me a pained sort of grin as he gathered his bag and uniform, and sauntered out of the locker room.
