Kjærlighet Verbrennt

IV.

Oliver Wood was shaking his head as he walked out to the Quidditch field one autumn morning, his younger sister in tow. There was three years age difference between them, and for each of his long, seventeen-year-old strides, she had to take two smaller, slightly more feminine, fourteen-year-old ones. They shared the same tawny hair, the same expressive eyes (though his were a kindly brown and hers a severe icy blue), and both had their brooms slung over their shoulders in the exact same manner.

"I still can't imagine how you wound up in Hufflepuff," he was muttering, eyeing his short sister as she fought to keep up with him. "If ever I thought the Sorting Hat made a mistake. . . "

"Just because I'll be playing for their team instead of yours is no reason to be jealous, Ol." She jogged a few paces, the Quidditch field coming quickly into view. "Maybe now you'll have some decent competition."

He looked back at her and smiled. "I suppose you're right, Rotis. But imagine what we could've done on the same team!" He eyed the clouds wistfully. "I had such plans, Ro! We would've been invincible! If only that damned hat - "

She punched him in the arm, harder than he would have liked.

"Fine, fine, I'll hush." He smelled the air, the scent of the Forbidden Forest's changing leaves, the tiny seedling pumpkins growing behind Hagrid's hut, leftover whiffs of lunch. "Ah," he said, breathing deeply as they approached the field. "Smells like Quidditch."

Rotis gave her a brother a questioning look, but he obviously had found no oddity in his statement.

"Can you really smell a sport?" she asked him as they retrieved the equipment trunk from the storage closet under the stands.

"Course I can," he said matter-of-factly. "And someday you will too, Rotis, when you're a champion Quidditch master like me. You'll live and breathe it, so of course you'll smell it," he said, getting the excited, pre-match jump in his voice Rotis was so accustomed to from years of backyard scrimmages. Rotis politely tuned him out, turning her attention to unlocking the trunk and extracting the Quaffle as he told of the glories of the wizarding world's trademark game, the majestic moment that came when a match was won, the quiet joy of being a Captain, almost like a father to all the younger players, having that feeling of dependence, of need, of accomplishment--

"And all for another House," he finished sadly, feeling a sudden mournful anger at the yellow and black Hufflepuff crest his sister wore on her robes. "That damned hat - "

"Are we going to play, Oliver, or am I going to have to listen to you go on all day?"

Drawn back into reality, Oliver gave her a puzzled look, then saw the Quaffle at her feet. "Oh! Yes, yes, we'll play, no worries." He watched her lift up the Beater club deftly, tossing it in the air and testing its weight. Remembering their rather violent (in a friendly, brother and sister wrestling and beating the snot out of each other sort of way) childhood, he asked, "Are you sure you want to be a Beater?"

She grinned wickedly at him. "It's the best chance I've got. Dale and Doug are both gone, trying to start a more bellicose line of Bludger producing, I think, so both the positions are open."

"You're not intimidated by those?" he asked, pointing to the struggling Bludgers still chained in the trunk, trying to imagine his savage but still small sister attacking one.

She shook her head bravely. "Not intimidated by anything, you know that."

"Ah, no, that's the Gryffindor motto, you can't - "

"We already covered this, I know, 'that damned hat'," she cried, her face harried.

He laughed and lifted the Quaffle. "No use using this, is there, when we haven't got Chasers," he muttered, tossing the red ball from one hand to the other. "This is your practice, not mine."

She nodded, eyeing the rattling chains barely containing the Bludgers.

"So we'll just release one, then, and I'll fly about and you can try and stop it from killing me." He eyed the increasingly noisier chains alongside his sister. "And really, you've got to stop the thing, I know I'm your brother, but - "

"Why one?" she asked, the worried expression on her face now replaced by a mischievous one. "Why not both?"

"Look, Ro, you can't kill me, I'm already on a bit of ice for helping you out in the first place, it'd do no good to return my corpse to the team and say sorry, the Bludger went a bit mad - "

"No, no," she said, smoothing her hair, her robes falling and revealing the brown armbands all Quidditch players wore. "Just, you know, for better practice. . . "

He watched her plant her broom more resolutely in the ground, her grip twisting on the club as she studied the trapped Bludgers, a familiar gleam appearing in her eyes, the same one Oliver saw in his team's eyes during a pre-game talk.

"All right," he finally said, and she beamed at him. "But you've got to swear you'll at least try not to let them kill me. You'll have a very upset pair of Weasley boys to deal with if I'm dead, not to mention the rest of the team."

Rotis nodded eagerly, thinking of Fred and George Weasley, the infamous Gryffindor Beaters, wondering if she'd make it so far as to compete against them on this very field.

"Are you ready then?" he asked. Even though the pair had played countless matches at home and she had shown skill in all positions, he still felt a hint of anxiety at her trying out the real thing, especially when he was on the other end. "You fly off, I'll set them out and go myself in a moment."

She nodded and mounted her broom, kicking off forcefully and launching into the sky.

"And Rotis!" he shouted. She swerved mid-air to face him. "Good luck!"

She flashed him the thumbs-up and waited for the release.

Truth be told, Rotis was fairly terrified of the idea of taking on both of the Bludgers, the fact that if she let Oliver get hurt she'd be twice as injured as soon as he'd recuperated only adding to her apprehension. But at least she was in the air, she thought, scanning the distant mountains, feeling the crisp autumn air as it flowed past her. She was in her element, and perhaps that would give her the best advantage.

Suddenly she heard a cannonball fly past her, barely missing taking her entire head off. Her heart leapt to her throat, and she heard her brother asking if she was all right from the ground. Swallowing hard, she waved to him and scanned the horizon for the Bludger, her knuckles whitening on the club.

It swooped back with twice as much speed, and she swung like the time her brother had convinced her that baseball, a Muggle sport they particularly raved about over in America, was fun, and forced her into playing it. But the Bludger, unlike the dinky baseball, had an attitude, and she was on a broom, not anchored on the earth, so she completely missed and instead spun about like a top.

Furious with herself, she saw the second Bludger approach out of the corner of her eye, and making sure Oliver, busy dodging the first one, was far away, she flew towards him, ducking at the last moment so it went after Oliver instead of her. Only now Ol was the one in trouble. Realizing this, Rotis kicked her broom into top gear and darted up between her brother and the monsters, catching them off guard and slamming both of them to the goal posts with one powerful swing.

"Good!" she heard Oliver shout. "Very good!"

She felt her performance had been much better than a 'very good,' but said nothing as the Bludgers soon returned to the field, hovering and rotating like they were trying to find their prey before darting off in opposite directions. Calculating quickly, wishing she had more than two eyes, she clobbered the oncoming Bludger with the might of a rampaging Hippogriff, crossing her fingers as it sped off to the left, and if it went like she planned, then yes! It rammed into its companion, sending them both into the stands.

"Excellent!" shouted Oliver, looping between the goal posts. Pushing a lock of stray hair out of her eyes, she glared only mildly at her brother, too busy catching her breath and searching. This was much, much harder than it seemed.

Having only two people on the field wasn't helping either. The Bludgers only had so many options: attack both the players separately, or join up and try to overwhelm one. Thus, they knew what they were doing. She'd read once that Bludgers were easily befuddled by masses of people, like at a match, which infuriated them even more but confused them as to who to go at first. She looked forward to being around confused Bludgers, if she ever made it that far, which, coming from her brother's tepid appraisals, wasn't looking very likely.

But the problem of only a duo in play was soon solved - another player had approached the field. Only he was completely oblivious to the Wood siblings in the air; he carried a mass of books and a broom, and keeping them in his arms seemed to be occupying most of his mind at the moment.

The Bludgers, desperate for a new victim, saw the boy, and were fast-moving blots of color as they zoomed towards him, intent to kill.

High above the field, Rotis saw this, and immediately began to dive, knowing her brother's screams of 'watch out!' would do no good. The world blurred around her, but she'd have to do what she did before and get between the killer pair and the soon-to-be invalid. Only they Bludgers were coming awful fast, and she wasn't so sure she'd have time to swing her club before the dreadful impact -

"Look out!" she screeched, and the timing was anything but perfect. The Bludgers and Rotis (just the girl, not her club) collided at the same moment as she was flung into the boy's already over-filled arms, sending the whole disastrous group to the ground in a mess of papers, books, brooms, and violent thrashings (all from the Bludgers, of course, or so Rotis liked to think).

She hurriedly gathered her wits and wrestled a Bludger to the ground, shouting to her brother, who was already landed, to ensnare the other one, which was busy crashing into the mystery boy's face repeatedly. Once the pair was chained, she slammed the trunk lid shut and locked it, ignoring as it quaked slightly with the still raging Bludgers inside. Why the hell do Dale and Doug want to make a more ferocious line of those things? she thought, panting. They can have our set.

Oliver was busy helping the wounded lad gather his things, apologizing profusely.

"No," Rotis said, interrupting her brother, who looked like he was about to faint. "It was all my fault, I apologize, I was supposed to be beating and I shouldn't have - "

But the boy wasn't screaming bloody murder or forgiving them. In fact, he was smiling as he stood and surveyed Rotis.

The smile was the first thing she noticed, not only since it was so out of place but also due to its unnaturally dazzling quality. The second thing she noticed was what a specimen was standing before her - he was tall, even compared to Rotis' petite stature, and his eyes were a mirthful gray. His hair was brown, and a lock in front kept flying up, as though trying to escape the rest of his head (why would it want to? she thought stupidly), giving him a young, almost boyish look, though he must have been Oliver's age.

And then she saw he was wearing a yellow and black scarf around his neck, and that his robes were Quidditch ones, and above the yellow crest she too bore the word 'Captain' had been embroidered in fine yellow thread, so that it glowed (much like his smile, Rotis again thought stupidly), and distracted her as to what it actually meant.

And then she realized who she'd just toppled into.

"You're the Captain!" she suddenly exclaimed. Oliver slyly punched her in the arm, and she winced, already bruising from the crash she'd taken. "I'm so. . . sorry!" she exclaimed, though it came out not quite sincerely, since she was still in shock that she had pulverized the very person she was, in the end, trying to impress.

He smiled and nodded at her, looking over at Oliver with those gray, almost storm colored eyes.

"Oh, right," he said, rubbing his arm in the same spot Rotis had punched him before. "Rotis, this is Cedric Diggory, Seeker and Captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team." Cedric smiled again and Rotis felt a small slice of her inherited brutal nature slowly break off and melt. "Your house team, I might add," he hissed. "Cedric, this is my sister, Rotis Wood."

"Pleasure to meet you," she stammered, partially aghast at what she'd done and partially aghast at how very good-looking this Captain was.

"The pleasure is mine," he said politely (earnestly, Rotis liked to think), pumping her hand and nearly squashing it. "Does your firm handshake help you on the field any?" he asked, and Rotis could see the cheerful mockery in his eyes.

Oliver scoffed and she shot him a glare, quickly returning her attention to this Cedric person. "I mean, yes, of course it helps her. . . " he said. "Or rather hinders," he murmured, eyeing the continuing handshake.

"I really am sorry," she said, but no matter how she tried, she couldn't get any sincerity in her voice, all her mind focused on Cedric's hand as it shook hers.

"No, no, it's all right," he said, finally dropping her hand, and was it the resurgence of blood that made it tingle, or something else altogether? "That was quite a display," he said.

And she felt all the blood that had just entered her hand, as well as the rest from every other appendage, rush up to her face, turning her the shade of her friend Gaiter's hair, then suddenly drain as she realized, yet again, that it had not been a good display at all, and that her chances of getting on the team were now as thin as Snape's skin.

"Oh, no," she said, "I'll be better before try-outs, I swear, I just got ambitious ("more like stark raving mad," muttered Oliver) and asked Ol to release both the Bludgers, I had no idea they'd get bored and attack you like that, really," she babbled. "It was acci - "

"What are you doing Thursday night?" he asked, interrupting her. Both Oliver and Rotis gaped at him.

"What?" they chorused.

"Practice," Cedric said, a devilish grin creeping onto his face.

Rotis felt her stomach lurch and her heart flutter and her jaw drop.

"Welcome to the team," he said.

And then the most wonderful feeling in the world, like she was soaring on a broom over Egypt and was tall and beautiful and rich and had Cedric right behind her, came over her, and she leapt into Cedric's arms, wild with appreciation, nearly stifling him. And when she had choked the life of Cedric out, she turned on her brother, ignoring the pain in her bruises as she hugged him, thanking him over and over for the years of 'training' and for taking her out today and for being born and being a captain.

And after stepping back and beaming at them both, she grabbed her broom and ran towards the castle, practically exploding with joy.

Oliver and Cedric watched her prance away.

"Don't you think that's a bit hasty?" Oliver said once her leaping figure had bounded out of view.

Cedric shook his head. "I haven't seen anyone take a Bludger like that since my second year here, when Gregory Maximums dove in front of one to protect the Seeker right as he was about to take the Snitch. I should know," he added, glancing sidelong at Oliver, who was still unconvinced. "I was the Seeker."

He grinned, and Oliver felt a little of the anxiety he'd been harboring since she took to the air subside. "Well," he stammered, scratching his head, still trying to imagine his sister as a Beater, "you just be good to her."

"Oh, don't worry," said Cedric, looking off to where she'd disappeared, as though he could see her as she did her celebratory cartwheels. "I will."

He looked at Oliver again, whose face was still drawn.

"Too bad she's not on your team, huh?" he said, elbowing Oliver in the side and walking towards the storage closet.

Oliver watched him go and smarted, muttering, "damned, bloody, stupid hat" all the way back to the castle.