All's Fair in Love and Quidditch

All's Fair in Love and Quidditch

By: Lance Walker

Chapter 1

Sex and Post-Its

It is a life, it takes over your life. If you want to play Quidditch, you better [bleep]ing well prepare to be Quidditch.

~Harry Potter on the game for the Quidditch season kickoff edition of Quidditch magazine.

The world was quaking at the eminent start to the next Quidditch season, only weeks away. In a lonely pub in a dark corner of London, however, young Reid Parker was nursing a pint after a long day of practice. He was not a Quidditch star...yet. He wore an orange band around his left bicep, and had "Cannons" tattooed across his lower forearm, but he wasn't playing for the now famous Cannon, but rather, that was his goal, his dream. He was playing for what American baseball fanatics would have called a "farm" team. He played for the team in the second division of Quidditch where, if he were needed, he would be called to the first division to play in the big leagues. He felt it...this year would be the year his dreams would come true, and the world would see how amazing he was.

Staring at the TV monitor in the London pub, he caught the latest scores from a Football game. Fulham sweeping Manchester United. One day he would be in the news, the wizard news of course, and his name would be a star among Quidditch players worldwide. He'd be playing in the next World Cup.

Downing the last quarter of his pint, he slipped a five-pound note onto the bar top and headed out of the Muggle pub. As he stepped out into the London night, he watched suspiciously at the passersby. As a Muggle born, he often suspected how many of the ordinary people huddling under their cloaks for protection from the rain and cold were actually his kind; wizards and witches. He walked down the block for a ways, found an entrance to the Tube, and descended into the damp, cold, fluorescent lit, concrete tunnels. Waiting in line, he boarded the train that made a stop near his home in Holloway, and sat down, hoping that a bit of the buzz from his ale would wear off before he got to his stop.

Staring out the window, he caught a reflection in the glass of a gorgeous woman sitting in the bench across the aisle from him. Cautiously, he turned around in his seat, placed an arm on the back of the plastic bench, and nonchalantly passed a glance over her, as if he were going to scratch his back. She was stunning, if he had to describer her. Long black hair, bright, intelligent green eyes, and a sexy, almost tempting smile. She wore classy Muggle style clothing, but in this neighborhood, that said nothing about who she was or wasn't. Her designer top, a pink number like a single cloth wrapped around to cover her breasts and clasped at the side with what looked like a belt buckle, formed two Vs; one for cleavage, and the other to flash her pierced belly button. She wore a black skirt, one side coming just past the knee and then, in a ruffled cut, dropped at an angle to half way up her calf on the other leg. Under the skirt was a pair of silver, polyester looking pants, flare cut over a pair of black, strappy shoes.

Although she was staring straight ahead, a smile formed on her lips and widened when she saw him out of her peripheral vision. Scruffy was her best descriptor, but in a Muggle movie, leading man type of way. His hair, although short and messy, was in a manner that looked designer, almost too perfectly messy. His face was shadowed by a thin, three-day growth of beard, which brought out the deep gray in his eyes. He was dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a long sleeve shirt from some college age outlet store. The train was slowing in on its stop at Leicester Square, and the nymph-like beauty stood and made to get off.

Reid followed.

He almost lost her in the crowd of people mulling around the station, but once they had made their way out of the Tube station and back up into the London air, she turned to face him and quickly shot out, "Like what you see?"

Reid was shocked, but didn't let it show. "Very much, love."

Her voice was upper-middle class, no Cockney detectable. Her smile spread over a set of gleaming, perfect teeth. "Don't you know it's dodgy behavior to chat someone getting off of the Tube?"

Reid laughed, his hands plunging deep into the pockets of his low rise jeans. "I suppose so, but for one such as yourself, I think I'll break etiquette. And we technically aren't on the Underground anymore, love."

She started to walk away. "Stop calling me love, the closest you'll get to that is a whiff of my perfume."

Reid fell in stride with her. "What, dear, you don't find me handsome?"

She stopped, gave him a sly smile, and thrust out her reply. Hearing it would have sounded harsh, but her tone and sly smile showed that she was playing the flirting game at the highest level. "Oh no, I make it a point to flirt with every handsome rogue I meet. This blowing you off, that should give you an indication of exactly how beautiful I think you are." She started moving again, and then added, "But I see you, like most men, chat up anything on two legs...or maybe even four in your case."

He flippantly replied, trying to keep the light, quippish, humorous atmosphere alive. "Oh, I find myself conversing with the odd stranger. Now, what is a West End priss act like you doing in Leicester Square?" It was a question that would wipe away some of the foggy mystery clouding the window of their conversation, but it wasn't enough to make Reid seem prying. They were, after all, walking down one of the more pub-infested streets in the area. They walked by a Hog's Head pub, the Muggle chain, but Reid still did a double take at the sight. He'd been to the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade once before.

She starred ahead, her strappy shoes clacking against the pavement in a steady rhythm. Reid thought for a moment that her earlier quips had actually been intended to drive him away, but suddenly her smile returned and she asked, "Would you like to get a drink?" She immediately turned on her heel and threw the door of a pub open and walked in.

Reid stood outside the entrance to the pub for a moment. Checking his watch he saw that he had been away from his home in Holloway for almost twenty-four hours. His owl would be able to find food, but he wasn't so sure that his dog would. Making a snap decision, he followed in her lavender scented wake. Screw Holloway.

She smiled. "Since I asked, I buy." After she noticed the look on his face, she added, "Just one of those things, I'm sure you'll understand."

Reid suddenly found himself conversing with her. The words, which had earlier been little, came pouring from her mouth. The content of their conversation, however, seemed trivial and base, each evading anything more personal than had already been discussed. No names were exchanged, no numbers, no addresses, and no bodily fluids. The two hit it off, and carried on their pseudo conversation in the smoke filled pub.

Suddenly, she stood up, slammed twenty quid down on the table, grabbed Reid's hand, and pulled him out of the pub and, once again, into the London air. She pulled him along, obviously knowing her way around, and calmly stepped through the crowds meandering up and down the road. Turning quickly, she made her way, Reid in tow, into yet another pub that Reid would have missed had he just been walking by.

The moment he stepped in, he knew that she was far more than she appeared to be. The long room that the pub occupied was filled with smoke. The smell of alcohol and sweat mixed with the smoke for an acrid, but somehow homely stench. She made her way to what seemed a familiar booth, and signaled to the bartender. He immediately brought out two drinks. She took a sip of hers. "This is my usual. I thought that since I'm buying I might as well order."

It was bold, but he liked it. Sipping on the tangy cocktail of vodka and something he couldn't quite place, Reid looked about the pub. "So, you're not a Muggle I presume?"

She looked at him sharply, but her gaze softened. "Is it that obvious?"

He slowly turned his gaze back to her, her face a blurry glow through the cloud of cigarette smoke. He didn't want to admit to his birth...not yet. "Not obvious at all, I just...deal with a lot of Muggles." It wasn't really an answer, but more like the begging for another question.

She sipped quietly on her own cocktail, watching a group of young wizards dressed in Muggle clothing playing a game of pool. "Do you like it here?"

He wasn't quite sure what she meant. London, England, this pub, or in her company. He went for the answer to all the possible questions. "Yes, very much so. Charming place." The back door to the pub opened, and in walked the first indication that this was a wizarding pub. Three young wizards and witches had walked in wearing robes, quickly discarded them, and underneath were wearing Muggle clothing.

She continued to nurse her cocktail, and suddenly her air was completely alluring, as if she had forcibly changed the way Reid perceived her. "I come here often. It's a nice getaway for wizards and witches of the younger generation. All the old haunts hold too much of the past...too many memories of wars and politics. This place is free."

Again, he wasn't sure where she was referring, but by now he assumed it was the pub. "That's understandable." After a brief silence, he asked an offhand question. "Where did you go to school?"

Her gaze, which had been watching the pool players up until now, turned back to him. "Hogwarts. Graduated three years after the great Harry Potter." Same year as Reid, but somehow, he didn't remember Charlie's name at all. His head had been in the clouds for the whole final part of his Seventh Year, when he, as lead chaser and captain for Hufflepuff had led them on to win the Hogwarts cup (in a thrilling 250-50 point game against Ravenclaw). Harry Potter. When she said his name, some look seemed to overtake her, as if her nonchalant statement had meant more.

Reid shrugged it off as just general girly-reactions to Harry in general. He raised his glass amusingly. "To Harry Potter...the greatest fucking wizard in the world." It was almost bitter, but Reid really couldn't help it. He wanted Harry's job...Seeker of the Cannons. It didn't help that Reid played as a Chaser and a damn good one at that, but he couldn't help knowing that he was a born to Seek.

When their glasses chinked, she quickly turned away, motioned to the bar tender again, and when he turned back her countenance had completely changed. "So, what do you do...um, I don't think I've got your name."

Reid sighed; he supposed he could give it out. Chances were she wouldn't even know who he was. "Reid...um...Reid Parker."

Her eyes were dull, but soon they brightened. "Reid fucking Parker! You're a player for the Rifles!" She said it loud enough that a few heads turned to look towards their booth. Whispers began to spread around the pub. The Chudley Rifles, although a second division team, were not all that bad. They were a favorite to win the Division II English Cup this year. She looked around, and then spoke in a softer voice. "Sorry. I thought I recognized you on the train." After a few moments, as the thought of drinking with a sub-par Quidditch star began to sink in, she repeated. "Reid fucking Parker. That's bloody amazing."

The conversation, much like it had for most of the night, continued from there no more or less than it had from the time they arrived at the pub. As midnight approached, she checked her watch more frequently, and finally as her second hand closed in the day, she spoke. "Well, I really must be off. This has been quite a smashing night."

She got up to leave and pulled out her wallet. Reid raised his hand. "I've got it."

He threw a shining gold Galleon onto the table with a light clink, and stood to walk her out, but she rushed to the door. "Sorry to be off in such a hurry, but I really am late. I was supposed to meet my...someone an hour ago."

Before the door closed, Reid caught her attention. "What's your name?"

She made to leave without telling him, but then pulled back, leaning against the door, the sounds of Lancaster were quieter than before, but they still drifted through the pub's entrance and pierced the hazy atmosphere. "Charlie. My name is Charlie Biel."

Charlie walked out the door, and Reid was sure that was the last time he would ever see her. Suddenly, however, the door swung open again, and she charged in, leapt into his arms, and planted a kiss directly on his nose. She laughed. "Oh, sorry." She then moved down, and finished the night with a proper kiss.

When she finally turned to leave, she smiled back at Reid and said, "You're a wizard, you'll know how to find me if you really want to." Backing up, her back hit the frame of the door. A titter of laughter escaped her mouth, she turned, and with that, she was gone.

Through the smoke, sweat, and alcohol, Reid was sure he caught a whiff of her perfume. Lavender. Standing for a moment, he shook the thought of Charlie out of his head, and walked out the door. The London sky had clouded since they had arrived, and the moon was a dull glow in behind the blanket of churning clouds rather than a clear, crisp disc as it had been. Rain would be expected soon, but Reid decided to walk for a bit before hailing a cab.

As he walked, the first drizzles began to drift into his hair, matting it to his forehead. Soon, he was drenched, and called a cab. When the Indian driver asked for a destination, he returned to thoughts of the Underground and his original stop. "Holloway." His home.

***

The cab, which turned out to be far more expensive than Reid had thought, pulled away from the front of his house with the majority of the wad of Muggle money he had in his wallet. Half-jogging up the short walk to his front stoop, Reid heard the loose jangle of Wizarding money in his pocket, and was thankful that payday was the next day. Fumbling with his keys, he mumbled. "Living a life of luxury when you aren't quite making that 10000 Galleons a year yet...very smart Reid." At least he had been smart enough not to try and apparate while tipsy. The last time he had gotten pissed and tried to apparate home, he'd ended up in the space between walls in some London flat where two love birds were apparently doing their best to jack-hammer the wall down with the headboard of their bed. He hadn't known how to get out of there, and he didn't want to attempt another apparition, so he waited the night (and his hangover) out in cramped agony.

He inserted the key in the lock, but had the urge to test the knob. It twisted freely in his hand and his front door began to swing open slightly. He pushed it all the way open, and he found himself staring into the darkness of his foyer. A dim glow of light was splashing onto the wall from the slightly closed kitchen door, and quiet music pervaded the air between the front door and the kitchen door.

Reid quietly walked in, attempting to hang his keys on a hook next to the door. The hook, however, wasn't there as he'd never put one there, so the keys clattered to the ground. Reid winced at the alcohol amplified sound, and decided to leave the bloody things where they lie. He walked away, leaving the door wide open, but then realized his mistake and walked back to close and lock the door. Creeping quietly down the hallway, he prayed to his Firebolt 2004 that this was not a crazed fan or a mood-music loving burglar. "But then who else is it going to be, eh?" He mumbled as he reached the door.

Placing a trembling hand against it, a slash of light made a bar across his wrist as it shot from the crack between the door and its frame. Pushing gently, it swung freely open, the shot of light widening to cover him in luminescence.

"Well hello, love." Her voice, like cool velvet, wrapped him up and pulled him into the room. Sitting at his table, sipping his tea (with his lemon and cream) out of his favorite cup was Charlie.

He walked silently across the room as she stood up to meet his body with her own. His lips fell on hers in a puzzle-perfection kiss, and their embrace lasted long. When Reid pulled away for air, he smiled. "I do believe that is my line, dear."

Suddenly, they found themselves in his bedroom, his small bed rising to meet their falling bodies. Clothes began to fly off, and Reid got his first look at Charlie Biel without the glam. She was still beautiful. He melted in her kisses as she slowly moved onto his neck, shoulders, and chest, her fingers running playfully through his hair.

He reached out with his hand as they slipped under his soft covers, knocking his lamp over. Instead of picking it up, he reached between the shade and the lamp and turned it off, plunging their decadence into darkness.

***

The light from his window slammed all too harshly into Reid's eyes as he awoke the next morning. Blinking against the glare, he swore at the open blinds, which he was sure had been closed the night before...but then, his mind was foggy from drink and from pleasure.

Smiling, he rolled over, hoping to catch Charlie sleeping, in the moments before her angelic form grew tempting, and all too alluring horns, but she wasn't there. The side of the bed that her warm, small body had occupied in the night before was as empty and clean as if he had formulated the whole affair in one, mighty, drunken fell-swoop. Rolling back over, he checked the side table to find the open condom package to be the only indicator that anything more than sleep and wet dreams had occurred in the night.

Pulling himself out of the bed and a pair of jeans on, Reid slowly made his way into the kitchen for some morning tea to bring him out of his slight hangover funk. The kitchen was spotless. No dirty mugs or tea pots and not a single chair in the cheap dinette set was out of place. Shaking his head, Reid began to realize that everything had been a dream. "What a horrible, cruel reality." He muttered as the he filled his tea pot up with water. Placing it on the stove he retired to his bathroom to take care of his necessary actions, then returned at the beckoning from the pots whistle.

Cursing continuously under his breath, he removed it from the burner, took a tea bag out of a container next to the stove, and opened the cabinet to pull out a tea cup. There, amidst a collection of identical tea cups bought for him as a bachelor pad present from his mother, was his favorite cup. A simple, decorative mug he'd bought during his one and only trip to America. The city was New Orleans. A short walk down Canal Street from his hotel, a continuously delayed shanty down Bourbon Street, up along St. Ann to Jackson Square, and on to the French Market. He had meandered--drunkenly--into a shop selling Mardi Gras beads, masks, and all manner of souvenirs, and Reid, fat with his first pay check from the Rifles, bought a mug, a nasty T-shirt, and as many beads as he could hold.

He pulled the mug out of the cabinet, "Big Easy" painted on the side in mass market fashion, and smiled when he looked inside. There, on the glossy interior of the ceramic cup, was a bright, neon yellow Post-It. Reaching tentatively inside, he grasped the thin paper, and pulled it gently out. There, in Charlie's careful scrawl, was the most beautiful thing Reid had ever read.

Reid,

Thank you for an amazing night...sorry to shag and run.

Yours, Charlie

Reid sat back in his seat, staring at the Post-It. When he closed his eyes, the bright neon had left a square imprint in his vision, and he read the black inscription in his mind. Lifting the paper to his nose, he took in a giant whiff, and was relieved to find that she had left even more for his imagination.

Lavender.

Standing up, Reid quickly made himself his tea, muttering under his breath all the time. "Dammit...Post-Its now take on a whole new meaning."

But the question pervaded his mind: She shagged and ran, but left no number at all. Would he ever see her again?

Suddenly, her words from the night before came slamming back into the tender mush of his brain and Reid couldn't help but smile.

"You're a wizard. You'll know how to find me if you really want to."

And Reid, quite honestly, had never wanted anything more in all his life.

It's a damn shame that Quidditch isn't any bigger than it is. If it were, I'd be the wife of a man who owns the souls of the fucking gods.

~ Ginny Malfoy, commenting on her husband Draco Malfoy, the famous manager of Harry Potter, Cho Chang, and other famous names in the sport, in her interview for Witch Weekly, her original quote...edited--of course--for the press.

...to be continued in Chapter 2

Legends, Gods, and Hangovers