Antics

"Now team, I think I've stressed how important this game is to us. We win this, we're on the the final game. It's down to four teams. I know the past few have been easy to win, but we really need to step it up. Remember the play's I've set out. Come on guys, now... make me proud."

"Pussy." you coughed. The team laughed.

"Let's go out and kick some ASS!" Marcus screamed.

Pumped, you guys left the changing rooms to be introduced.

The captains shook hands. You saw the death grip the other team's captain was giving Oliver.

Their team scanned over yours, matching up who would go with who. Who would be gaurding the different players.

The game hadn't even started yet, but it really reminded you of the Slytherin games you used to play back at Hogwarts. Their left chaser stared at you, checking you up and down. HE WINKED! What a jerk.

This game was on.

Okay, so this game was not on. You were down, but not by much. The score was 50-80. Three goals would be easy.

Pele passed you the quaffle. You zoomed up the pitch, but the creep who was checking you out earlier stole it from you.

"Oh, how could you do that?" you asked, flirtaciously.

He stopped and flew around you in a circle. "Well, baby, that's just what kind of a man I am."

"But I like holding balls" you said, fluttering your eyelashes.

His mouth dropped.

"SUCKA!" you screamed and stole the quaffle from him, zooming back down the field. You faked a pass to Pele, then threw it up to Marcus, who scored.

Two more goals to go to tie it. Paul sure as hell better catch the snitch.

Their keeper threw out the quaffle to the guy Marcus was gaurding.

The guy caught it and went all the way down the field, Marcus close on his tail. Just as he shot, Marcus hit the tail of his broom, weakening his throw. Oliver caught it, and you screamed out "HAIL MARY!"

No one would know this pass unless they knew muggle sports, which most wizards don't.

But your team did.

Practiced it a thousand times.

You and Marcus stood right near Oliver, and Pele snuck back. No one thought this play would make it.

But it did.

Score was now 70-80.

Their seeker spotted the snitch.

"PAUL! FOLLOW HIM!" you screamed.

A bludger came flying at you, but you managed to dodge it.

You ignored the current play that was going on, and intently watched the seekers.

Their team had gotten to bludger, and kept firing it at Paul.

If they play dirty, so will we.

You flew over to Paul and the two players that were trying to knock him off his broom.

"HEY! OVER HERE!" you screamed.

Both of them stopped what they were doing and looked at you. Stanley now had the bludger and chucked it at them. The chaser flew off his broom and hit the beater.

"Two birds with one stone." he said.

Paul took that opportunity to dive down to get the snitch. It was neck and neck. Then, the two dove into the ground. A huge cloud of dust arose.

When it cleared away, their seeker was standing tall, jumping up and down with his fist closed.

Your whole team looked pretty depressed...

until he opened his hand. His face fell. Sitting there on the ground, Paul wore a smirk. He opened up his fist and out flew the little golden snitch.

You landed and went up to hug him.

"You sneaky little bastard!" you muttered.

The rest of the team wound around and raised him up on their shoulders, deep into the locker room.

"Good game, guys. Now, tomorrow, 8 am, practice."

Everyone filed out of the locker room. Oliver grabbed your arm as you're about to leave.

"Remember our deal?" he asked.

"What deal?"

"The one from last night!"

"I was a bit wasted last night, Oliver, how am I supposed to remember?"

"Well... you owe me a date--"

"A date? I agreed to that?"

"Yes. Meet me at my place at 8."

"Fine." you said. You really weren't in the mood for another date with Oliver.

At 8:00 sharp, you apparated to his apartment. You wore a rad and black lacy dress.

"Oliver?" you knocked on the door frame.

You heard a pop, and Oliver came out looking a little roughed up. His shirt was al ittle astray. His hair was all over the place. He only had one sock on. His pants were undone.

Any idiot could tell what he'd been doing.

You weren't even going to bother going to look for the tramp.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked.

You paused for a second. Then cleared your throat. "Yeah. You might want to... look in a mirror first... or something."

Why did this hurt so much? Do I have feelings for Oliver?

He came back and snapped you from your thoughts.

He was taking you to some french restaurant.

"Hello, I'll be your waiter tonight. My name is Ryan. What can I start you off with tonight?"

"We'll have a bottle of Pinot Grigio, please."

"Okay, I will bring that for you shortly."

Sure enough, he brought it for you right away.

"So, excuse me for asking, but are you two dating?"

"Well--" Oliver started.

"No, we're just here to discuss business."

"Really?" he asked while pouring the wine into your glass. "You know, the tabloids really don't do you justice."

"Oh, you are so sweet!" you said. He sloshed Oliver's wine a little.

"We'll call you when we're ready to order," Oliver told him off.

Oliver was getting jealous. Time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

When the waiter came back, Oliver ordered whatever he wanted.

"Umm... what's this?" you asked.

The waiter leanded down to look at your menu.

"Well, that's mainly bread with different herbs on it. It is served with chicken in our famous gold sauce."

"Is it sweet? I really want something sweet right now."

"Y-yeah. I think you'll like it." he replied.

"I'll take that then."

Oliver rolled his eyes as the server walked away.

"So..." you started.

"So..." he repeated.

"Oliver. I think we need to stop doing this."

"Stop doing what?"

"Stop going on stupid dates and having meaningless sex."

"Wow. Way to blunt about it." He breathed out slowly. "What brought this about?"

"Well... it's not very proffessional," you argued.

"Come on, we're hiding it from the team."

"I know. But, it just can't keep going on like this."

"What is it? The wedding? Do you just want something more serious?"

"No, Oliver. I--"

"Was it last night? Was there something wrong with it?"

"No, Oliver. Quiet down, people are starting to look over."

"What is it then?"

You looked down at your lap. "Who was she tonight?"

"What? I don't know what you're talking about."

"It doesn't matter, I'm leaving. I'll see you tomorrow at practice."

You walked out. On your way out, you saw the waiter.

"Hey, are you leaving?"

"Yeah... something came up."

"Well, I was thinking, maybe you'd like to go out sometime."

You saw Oliver watching.

"Do you have a pen?" you asked.

He pulled one out of his jacket pocket. You pulled up his sleeve and wrote down a number. A phone number.

Sure it wasn't yours, but neither Oliver nor the waiter would know. Hell, Oliver didn't even know what a phone was.

"Sweet." he said. "Is this a phone number?"

"Yeah. Call me anytime."

"Sure thing, babe." he said.

"Oh, and cancel my dinner."

You walked out, leaving that bloody restaurant and Oliver behind.

The big game was a week away. Sunday practice was pretty easy, since it was after a game.

Monday was pretty grueling on the beaters. Strategy practice too.

Tuesday was primarily Chaser practice. Throwing quaffles and dodging bludgers.

Wednesday Oliver invited everyone over to your apartment to watch videos on the team you were to be playing.

Thursday you practiced with the dummies.

Friday was just putting everything together and going over all of the plays that were going to be used.

Saturday was the big day.