Through the Hoop

(Author’s Note: This story begins shortly after the end of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. And yes, the author is aware that elements of this story conflict with information in Quidditch Through The Ages. for the purposes of this story I’m cheerfully ignoring this fact.)

Chapter One

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Angelina Johnson looked across the desk confusedly at Ragmar Dorkins, the manager and owner of the Chudley Cannons. She was tired and sweaty, but felt her tryout had gone exceptionally well.

Angelina had graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry a few months ago, and it had been time to decide what to do with her life. She was intelligent – her eight NEWTs proved that – and she was a hard worker, and could probably have gotten any number of jobs, or even gone on to university. But after a few weeks of talking with her friends, the teachers she respected, and her parents, it was obvious what she wanted to do.

Angelina had been captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team last year, and despite losing both their Beaters and their Seeker, had led the team to a Quidditch Cup victory. She loved playing Quidditch, and everyone agreed she was an exceptional Chaser as well as a dedicated leader. She’d felt a bit guilty at making what seemed like a very selfish choice; with the war against Voldemort, the Ministry could use all the help it could get. But although Angelina was a competent witch, she wasn’t exceptionally powerful, magically, and her tactical skills were more applicable to Quidditch than to warfare.

So she’d researched the professional teams to find one that could benefit from her talents. She’d looked into Puddlemere United, thinking it would be wonderful to play with her old teammate and captain Oliver Wood again, but Puddlemere had a strong trio of Chasers and decent reserves. The Chudley Cannons, however, had just lost one of their top Chasers to retirement and had been fielding a reserve for several games. Other than that one weakness, the Cannons were a strong team, and Angelina felt she could help them contend for their division.

Angelina had written to Madam Hooch, the flying instructor at Hogwarts, who’d seen Angelina fly any number of times, and asked for advice. What she received back was even better; not only did Madam Hooch enthusiastically encourage her to try out, she wrote Angelina a recommendation so glowing it made Angelina blush, and sent a letter of introduction as well. Madam Hooch was internationally regarded as an accomplished flier and coach, and her word was as good as gold.

The letter had won Angelina a tryout with the Cannons, which she’d just completed before being ushered into Mr. Dorkins’ office. And she had flown as well as ever, putting forth a great effort and markedly displaying her talents. “What do you mean, am I ready? Sir?” she added quickly, not wanting to sound snippy. “I’ve been playing Quidditch for years, and there’s no point in being modest – I know I’m good. I think I’d fit well on the team…”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to suggest you couldn’t hold your own on the pitch,” Mr. Dorkins said. “No, you’re one of the best Chasers I’ve seen fly in an age. What I meant was, are you sure you’re ready for the…pressure.”

Angelina shrugged. “I imagine it’ll be a bit more nerve-wracking for a while… but I always feel better when I’m out there flying anyway, the butterflies go away. I think that playing professionally will simply be exciting, not frightening.”

“You still don’t understand me,” Mr. Dorkins said, seeming annoyed. “I mean, will you be able to deal with being the only woman?”

Now Angelina was very confused. She knew there weren’t any other women on the team…what difference would that make? “I- yes, of course I will,” she replied, getting a bit annoyed herself. “As long as the rest of the team doesn’t care, why should I?”

Mr. Dorkins peered intently at her, looking extremely shocked. “Do- do you really not know?”

“Not know what? Sir?”

“Well,” Mr. Dorkins said, leaning back in his chair and sporting a bemused expression, “Assuming we come to an agreement, you will be the first professional female Quidditch player in England.”

“What?” Angelina was sure for a moment she hadn’t heard him correctly. “That can’t be right…”

“It’s true, Ms. Johnson. There are hundreds of players on the various teams, but there has never been a woman on any team in all of Great Britain.”

“That’s absurd!” Angelina exclaimed, forgetting her desire to be polite. “What about the Holyhead Harpies? They’re all women! And there are women on England’s national team!”

“Which is technically amateur,” Mr. Dorkins pointed out. “Professionally, no team in the league allows women. As for the Harpies…well, around the league they’re generally regarded as something of a joke. They never compete for their division, and most other players and coaches consider them not a true professional team.”

Angelina’s mind raced. Thinking back on her research for local teams, she realized she hadn’t come across any women’s names… “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said flatly. “Some of the best Quidditch players I’ve flown with, and against, were women!”

“I know it makes no sense,” Mr. Dorkins said with a sigh. “I’ve felt that way since long before I bought the Cannons. But there has always been discrimination.” He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers. “Do you see what I’m getting at? As the only woman, you’ll be subjected to a certain amount of...taunting, from fans and from other players. It will get rather ugly…actually, taunting isn’t a strong enough word. Torment would probably be closer.”

Angelina was still reeling from this revelation. It was ridiculous…it was insane! What had happened to those incredible women on the Irish national team who’d helped capture the World Cup two years earlier? Had they ended up playing for the Harpies? Or had they vanished into obscurity? “So why are you willing to take me on, if it’s never been done?”

“Because you’re talented, Ms. Johnson,” Mr. Dorkins said. “I need a good Chaser badly, and you’re the best we’ve seen try out yet – in fact, you’re better than anyone currently on the team. We’ve got a contender this year, but for that gap; I need a gamer to fill it, and I think you’re her. If you can deal with the situation.”

Angelina’s expression hardened. “There is no if,” she said shortly, squaring her shoulders. “When do I start?”

“Er…” Mr. Dorkins looked worried. “You did hear the part about torment, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. What are the terms of my contract?”

“I just want to be sure you understand…”

“I understand,” Angelina interrupted, her anger getting the better of her. “But I want you to understand this. I don’t want special treatment – but I don’t want to be ignored either. Fair and equitable, or I’ll walk. And you said yourself I’m better than anyone on the team…so I won’t put up with hugging the bench. If I sign, I sign as a starter.”

Mr. Dorkins apparently wasn’t used to being addressed that way by potentials. He recovered quickly, though. “All right, Ms. Johnson. I don’t actually want to protest, since I do want you on the team very badly. And I assure you, I always look after the best interests of my players. I’ll give you a two year contract to start, with an extension year if you meet certain numbers on the field. And yes,” he added as Angelina opened her mouth, “you’ll be starting, contingent on whether you perform as expected.”

“Right,” Angelina agreed, forgetting her indignation in favor of excitement. She was joining a professional team! “Where do I sign?”

*****

Mr. Dorkins called a press conference before the ink had dried on Angelina’s contract. As the room filled with reporters from the various wizard newspapers and Quidditch magazines, Angelina, standing behind a curtain, began to feel very nervous. Madam Hooch had pointed out that playing for a professional team would be very public, but she hadn’t prepared Angelina for the spotlight.

And she failed to mention there aren’t any other women players, Angelina thought grumpily. Wonder if she thought I’d lose my nerve…

“Nervous?” Mr. Dorkins asked, walking up to her with a smile.

“A bit,” Angelina admitted. “Oh hell, who am I kidding? I’m scared out of my mind!”

Mr. Dorkins smiled sympathetically. “Would you rather stay here until I introduce you?”

“Er…” Angelina glanced around the edge of the curtain again, and swallowed. “Yeah, I think so.”

“All right,” Mr. Dorkins said soberly. “It’s going to start right away, you know. Today. There are reporters out there who would be the first to say women shouldn’t play professionally.”

Angelina scowled, and then smiled grimly. “I’ll eat them alive.”

Mr. Dorkins chuckled. “Good. Come out when I announce your name, all right?”

Angelina nodded, and Mr. Dorkins walked into the room. The reporters all quieted quickly as he greeted them. Behind the curtain, Angelina took several deep breaths to steady herself.

“Mr. Dorkins,” one of the reporters asked, “It’s been almost two weeks since Chaz Lanier’s surprising retirement. Have you managed to replace him?”

“As hard as it is to replace Chaz’s skills on the pitch, and as sorry as we were to see him go, I’m happy to say that yes, we’ve found a replacement, and a damn fine one at that. She just signed today, and I hope she’ll be able to start as early as tomorrow, after she’s been fitted for her uniform, of course.”

There was utter silence from the room, and Angelina’s breath caught. She peeked around the curtain; every single face was staring dumbfounded at Mr. Dorkins. Then one of the reporters tentatively raised his hand. “Er, excuse me, Mr. Dorkins,” he said delicately, as if afraid the world might explode, “but did you say ‘she’?”

*****

Angelina finally shut the door to her flat in London and leaned against it, breathing a huge sigh of relief. She instinctually rolled her shoulders, but it did little to ease the tension her body was holding.

When she’d walked into the room, the reporters had worn a mix of expressions, from disdain to disbelief, and none of it had felt very welcoming. Mr. Dorkins’s praise had been great, and he’d gone to great lengths to point out Madam Hooch’s endorsement and Angelina’s two Quidditch Cups at Hogwarts, one as Captain. “The Cannons hope, given Angelina’s youth and her talent, that she’s found a home for the duration of what will undoubtedly be both her long and impressive career,” he’d concluded, and the skepticism on the reporters’ faces had almost wiped the smile off Angelina’s.

Then she’d been taken to be fitted for her uniform. She was glad that the woman who made the uniforms didn’t seem even slightly perturbed to be fitting a woman after who knew how many men; though sadly, Angelina feared the orange uniform would be a lot less flattering on her then the Gryffindor uniforms had been.

After the fitting, Mr. Dorkins released her and she’d taken a Portkey back to London. Then she’d Apparated to her parents’ house, since they’d requested she inform them what had happened as soon as she could. They’d been overjoyed, and insisted that Angelina allow them to take her to dinner to celebrate. Not that she minded – she loved spending time with her parents, and free food to boot, not to mention she owed her grace on a broom largely to the muggle martial arts training they’d subjected her to as a child – but throughout the meal she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Mr. Dorkins’s warning, and his choice of words: torment. Given how the reporters had reacted, it seemed likely that Mr. Dorkins hadn’t been exaggerating. What have I gotten myself into?

Angelina stripped off her sweaty gear – finally! – and took a shower, sighing when the scalding water massaged her scalp, weighing down her long black hair. She found herself wondering why she’d never noticed that none of the girls who’d played Quidditch at Hogwarts ever talked about pursuing it as a career.

I need to find out more about women Quidditch players, she thought to herself as she stepped out, wrapping her hair in a towel. There must be some instances of women playing professionally. And if not, then I need to read up on female Quidditch players on national teams. Something tells me I’m going to need ammunition before too long. But I’m obviously not the best researcher, or I would have noticed this before.

Good thing I know the best person at research in the country.

Angelina scribbled a quick note and carried it over to the perch in the corner, where her owl Archimedes (a graduation present from her parents) was sleeping. She stroked his feather lightly, and he woke and hooted sleepily at her. “I need you to take this to Hermione Granger at Hogwarts, all right?”