Through the Hoop

It can’t really be Oliver, Angelina told herself, fighting down her anger and forcing herself to think. He was traveling out to Appleby with his team to play against the Arrows tomorrow. But that would mean someone was impersonating Oliver, probably with Polyjuice Potion.

So who is it? Angelina could only think of three possibilities. First, that one of her teammates was trying to play a cruel practical joke; it was possible, and they all knew she’d been friends with him during Hogwarts.

Second, it could be a fan from an opposing team who’d seen the reports of Angelina and Oliver’s interview from before their match. It was less likely, though, since no fans knew where Quidditch teams stayed while they were on the road.

The third possibility made Angelina shiver. There was a slim chance that Voldemort’s Death Eaters were trying to get to her. She’d been on good terms with Harry Potter while in school, and even flown on the Quidditch team with him—her new fame might make her a prime target for the Imperius Curse, or even a murder to undermine Harry’s circle of friends. But it’s still unlikely that anyone knows where we are, Angelina reminded herself. My guess is possibility number one—and if I’m right, someone’s getting a boot to the bludgers.

Angelina readied herself, and in one swift motion unlocked the door, threw it open and snapped out “Petrificus Totalus!”

Oliver just had time to widen his eyes before the spell hit him and he froze up. Angelina dragged him inside, straining a bit from the effort. She dumped him unceremoniously on the ground, and shut and locked the door. Then she turned back and searched him thoroughly, finding only a wand. It seemed familiar, and Angelina wondered if it really was Oliver. Well, I guess I’ll have to find out.

“Right,’ she said, returning to the prone figure, “Let’s get this out of the way right now.” She kicked the man in the stomach hard enough that he shifted back a few inches. “That’s in case you’re one of my teammates in disguise harassing me,” she said. “Or if you’re a fan from another team. If you’re a Death Eater—” she grabbed him by the hair and pulled him upright—“Then I’m going to do that a few more times before I turn you over to the Ministry.” She stepped back and regarded Oliver, who was unable to look up at her. “And if you are actually Oliver…” She stomped down between his legs hard enough to shake the floor. “Then you were bloody stupid to show up here.” She pointed her wand. “Finite Incantatem!”

“Angie, it’s me!” Oliver said as soon as the spell freed him to speak. “I’m sorry I missed our lunch but—”

“Shut up,” Angelina interrupted, still pointing her wand. “Prove you’re you. Tell me something only Oliver could know.”

Oliver opened and closed his mouth a few times. “I… um. You…” he lapsed into silence, thinking.

“I think I’ll just get right to the kicking,” Angelina said impatiently when he took too long.

“Wait!” Oliver cried. “Er… how about this: My last year at Hogwarts, right after I came out of my Transfiguration NEWT final, you shoved me behind that statue of Boris the Bewildered on the Fifth floor and snogged me senseless.”

Angelina grudgingly lowered her wand, fighting her embarrassment. It was an obscure enough event that only she and Oliver would know it; she’d never really gotten over the embarrassment of her crush on Oliver. “All right, fine,” she muttered. “You’re you and you apologized. Now get out,” she finished, turning away towards the bathroom. I need a bloody shower...

“Wait—let me explain, Angie—”

“Piss off, Oliver!” Angelina snapped; she was angry and humiliated, and if Oliver didn’t watch his step he was going to get a taste of what Jenkins had. “I’m tired and I have my first practice with the team tomorrow—I am not in the mood to hear your lame excuses for standing me up! Just have the balls to admit you’re a self-centered prat and get the hell out!”

“But something really did happen, Angie!” Oliver insisted. “You heard about the Death Eater attack in Bristol, right?” Angelina nodded cautiously. “Well, my mum was there, visiting a cousin.”

Angelina’s heart froze. “You mean she-?”

“No, she got out okay,” Oliver assured her. “From what she said she threw a few good hexes of her own at the Death Eaters; if some snooty pureblood shows up in the next few days with a glowing red arse, we’ll know he was there.” Angelina smiled weakly. “Mum was in St. Mungo’s for a few hours, but nothing worse than a few cuts and bruises she got in the chaos.”

“Oh. Bloody hell, I’m sorry, Oliver…”

“Forget it,” Oliver said. “All you knew was that I stood you up, of course you were furious. But I really wanted the chance to see you and explain, that’s why I asked our coach if I could get away tonight. Can we talk?”

“What, now?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Because—” Angelina hardly knew where to start. “Because I have a very rough day ahead of me tomorrow and I need to get some rest or I might kill one or more of my teammates. Because if the Cannons’ owner Mr. Dorkins or any of the Cannons’ staff catch me with you in my room I’ll automatically be suspended or even released. Because even with what happened you could still have sent a message before now, and I’m still pretty damned angry. Because you and I aren’t as close as we used to be and you don’t have automatic forgiveness privileges. Because we’re not the kids we were at Hogwarts and you seem to have trouble remembering that. Because if you want to be friends again you’re off to a pretty bloody awful start at it.”

“Okay, okay,” Oliver said ruefully, holding his hands up in defeat. “I—you’re right,” he muttered. “I made some bad assumptions about all this: I thought you’d catch what I was doing to fool the press right off, I assumed you’d understand why I couldn’t make it to lunch—I even assumed you’d be the same as you were last time I saw you during your fifth year—”

“Yeah, you did, and I’m not,” Angelina interrupted tiredly. “Look, just—just go away, will you? We can talk some other time, I promise, but right now I have too much on my mind and I just can’t deal with you.”

Angelina really wished she hadn’t said that in that way—Oliver looked really hurt, although he tried not to show it. “All right,” he said, heading for the door at last. When he got there he reached in his pocket and pulled out a bit of parchment. “Here’s my address,” he said, putting the parchment on the table. “It goes right to me instead of through the team. When you can—when you’re okay with it—write me, okay?”

“I will,” Angelina promised. Now that she’d actually gotten to see him, in person and not under the spotlight, Oliver didn’t seem all that different from when he’d been at Hogwarts at all. “Er… good luck against Appleby tomorrow.”

Oliver smiled slightly. “Thanks. You won’t have much trouble against Wigtown—they’re in a rebuilding year, they’re flying mostly rookies.”

Angelina was surprised at how pleased she was that Oliver knew her team’s schedule. “Thanks,” she replied, feeling a bit like the shy second-year who’d first developed a crush on the burly, handsome Quiddich captain. “I’ll, um, see you around.”

Oliver nodded briefly, opened the door and slipped out after looking both ways. He closed the door softly behind him, and after a moment Angelina heard the pop as Oliver Disapparated.

Angelina put in an order to room service, and then perched on the edge of her bed while she waited for her meal to arrive. As she calmed down, she began to feel less angry at Oliver, and more ashamed at her own behavior. I’m letting the tension of my situation get the best of me, he scolded herself. Oliver was trying to set things right, and he hadn’t really done anything so terrible in the first place. He’s probably the most important friend I’ll have over the next several months—assuming he still wants to be friends after my comment about ‘if you want to be friends again’.

Her food arrived and she ate it without really tasting it, deep in thought. When she was through she was too tired to decide what to do about Oliver, so she stripped down to her knickers and crawled into bed, utterly exhausted. But although her body was practically screaming for sleep, her mind wouldn’t shut up. I’m more nervous about tomorrow than I thought I was, she realized after half an hour of staring at the ceiling with her head full of images of falling off her broom.

Elwood and Kendall will have it in for me, and Jenkins might try something too, as payback for what I did to him, she thought, sitting up and rubbing her neck to try and ease the tension. I’ll keep an eye on them, but the one I’m really worried about is Landow. He’s really got it in for me—I get hurt, and he’s back at starter. Lay that on top of his bias against women, and I’ll have won my bet with Dorkins ten minutes after we start flying tomorrow.

So the question is, what do I do about it? She wondered. I can’t just start taking other players down in full view of everyone—it’ll get me a bad rap, and Jenkins will have an excuse to bench me. Plus, someone might make the connection between me and Jenkins being used as a human Bludger.

But if I just grit my teeth and take it, I could get seriously hurt—or worse. And I don’t want people to think I’m a pushover. And again, too many times getting battered and Jenkins will start saying I’m not tough enough to play, and bench me.

I’m going to have to walk a fine line, Angelina thought unhappily, where I can’t get called out for being too aggressive, and at the same time can’t be a prime target because I’m not retaliating. Damn it, she groused, delicacy is not my strong suit. There must be something I can do, some way to use the skills I do have to protect myself—

Angelina’s face split in a wide, evil grin. There is something I can do, she thought enthusiastically. At least for while I’m on the pitch. And if I’m lucky, I’ll come out of it looking even better! With that happy thought in mind, Angelina lay down again, and this time she didn’t have any trouble falling asleep.