Catching Hearts

The first Quidditch match of the season came and went, along with an incident with the wizarding world’s paparazzi almost getting a picture of Oliver and I together after the Harpies’ victory. The team had seen the man with the camera sneaking up on an unwary couple snogging (Oliver and I) and had intervened, storming in and effectively getting between us and the camera man and also breaking us apart. After the initial embarrassment wore off, we just laughed and linked our hands together, following the team and the reserves back to the place we were all apparating from. They were going to have another party at Lena’s place, but Oliver and I were going to have a nice quiet dinner back at his home with his parents.

The real first string beater for the Harpies was still out over a month later, and so I was playing in every game. The bad news - for me - was that she would be back in two weeks. I had three more games to play before then…and Oliver’s team was the last of those. Somehow, we hadn’t played Puddlemere United yet, but that was drawing to an end. And, as was common to the competitive natures that both he and I possessed, we constantly taunted and teased each other about it. It was a bit more good-natured than our spats at Hogwarts, but there was a point where we got in an argument and we both stormed off.

He came to my apartment an hour later to apologize.

*

“No, the best play of all time was Puddlemere in 1756!” I shook my head at Oliver’s previous statement. “When Weatherby did a triple sloth grip roll, passing to Hewlett on the second rotation, and Hewlett smacked the quaffle to Mason with the tail of his broom, and then Mason corkscrewed through the center hoop with the quaffle! How many times does someone go through the hoop with the quaffle and not just throw it through?”

Oliver laughed. “I still think the Wasps and Tornadoes game in 1344 had the best play.”

I rolled my eyes, but snuggled against him. “Whatever you say, Oliver.”

He just chuckled again and pulled me tight against him as we watched a Muggle sitcom on my television. It was three days until the big game, and we were both exhausted from practice.

That might explain how we dozed off, at only seven in the evening, leaning on each other’s shoulders on the lumpy couch in my living room.

*

When I woke up the next morning, I was laying down on my couch. It took me a moment to register why I felt there was something missing. Hadn’t Oliver been here when I fell asleep last night? Hadn’t he even fallen asleep just a few minutes before I had? I was almost sure of that, but he wasn’t in one of the chairs and he wasn’t on the couch with me.

Yawning, I sat up and stretched.

“You awake now?” a voice called, and I jumped before turning to look over the back of my couch and through the doorway to the kitchen. There Oliver was, grinning at me with a spatula in his hand. “Breakfast is almost ready! Do you want me to bring you a plate or were you coming in here?”

I laughed and said, “I’ll come in there,” even as I rolled to my feet, yawning again. It was only six in the morning, but we both had to be at practice in an hour. As a result, breakfast was a hurried affair, and then we scrambled off to our respective training facilities with a quick kiss and to popping noises to indicate our disapparation.

I stumbled a bit when I reached my destination, lugging my freshly laundered practice gear into the locker rooms as the others started to get there and get ready for the day. I pulled on all my gear quickly and drank half a bottle of water to keep hydrated. By now I knew that keeping yourself hydrated was highly essential to the health of a professional Quidditch player, and I wasn’t about to get pulled from a game for something as silly as dehydration. I took out a small dose of my potion and downed it, chasing it with another drink of water. I wiped my mouth off, cringing at the taste of my medical potion, and started stretching my muscles to ease the tension that had built up there. That would be another stupid thing to lose a game for.

Practice, after all the preliminary stretches and everything, was just the same as normal; twice as long as Hogwarts practices and a hundred times more vicious, with the team actually aiming to hurt each other if the others weren’t quick enough to get out of the way. Like a said, a hundred times more vicious than Hogwarts. Especially more so than Ravenclaws at Hogwarts. Within the first fifteen minutes, I was already perspiring heavily even as a bludger made a solid thwack against the heavy club I wielded. We did hold back in practices, or else I’m afraid all of our chasers would somehow be injured. Except for Lina, who was nimble and quick and somehow always kept an eye on bludgers and other players.

“Let’s wrap it up for today!” Gwen’s voice called out. Surprised, I glanced at my watch. We’d played straight through lunch. It was already three in the afternoon, which utterly flabbergasted me, because I hadn’t felt the passing time drain me. Now that I knew how much time had passed, though, I felt fatigued.

“Ugh,” I groaned in unison with Jem as we landed on the ground. I saw her legs wobble beneath her and reached out a hand to steady her, to which she gave me a grateful nod.

Gwen gave a half hour long talk after practice was over, going over things we could improve on and ploys that we should try to use to our advantage against Puddlemere in two days. Tomorrow we would have two shorter sessions, so we’d be a little more rested for the game the day after, she told us, one starting at eight and lasting until ten and another starting at one and lasting until four. She amended her idea and said to come back at six for a short one hour practice, saying that we should eat, drink, and take lots of naps between those so that we would be perfectly well rested for the game. When we were dismissed, I laughed lightly to myself about Gwen’s changing decisions before following the example set by Lina and disapparating.

*

After a hasty shower and a late lunch, I collapsed on my bed and was asleep nearly as soon as my head hit the nice, soft, fluffy pillow that graced the head of my bed. I had been planning on waiting up to see if Oliver was going to stop by, but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open and I needed the sleep anyway.

I woke up around nine to a brief note left by Oliver that said he’d dropped by but decided to take a leaf out of my book and would probably be snoring by the time I woke up and found the note. I giggled to myself and got something quick to eat while I was awake before returning to my room and once more collapsing on my bed. Sleep came slower this time, but it came nonetheless and I fell into a dreamless and soothing sleep.