Playing For Keeps

*~*~*~* A Lifelong Love Affair with Quidditch *~*~*~*

"So, do we know who´s the new Chaser for the Harpies yet?"

"For the 312^th time, Oliver, NO!" Byron Carvallo, the team manager of Puddlemere United, rolled his eyes at the Captain of the team, "They aren´t saying a word."

"Is there any possible way for us to find out?" Oliver Wood, pacing restlessly in front of his teammates, asked, a harried expression on his face.

Blank looks and faint shakes of heads greeted him. Harry Potter shrugged, "I asked Angelina last time I was at the Burrow. She wouldn´t tell me a thing. And out of them, you know she´s the one closest to us..."

Oliver scowled, "Bloody team loyalty..." Angelina Johnson-Weasley, a Harpies Chaser, had once played under him as a Chaser while they were at Hogwarts.

One of Oliver´s teammates, by far the most troublesome in Oliver´s venerated opinion, smirked, "Exactly. She´s loyal to her team. She´s not going to spill who their new Chaser is, even to you, Wood."

Oliver ignored the jibe, and continued to pace, "I bloody want to know who it is, if we´ve heard of her before, and whether or not she is a threat to our current victory streak!" He once again looked at his team, and stopped on the Chaser who had spoken last with the quip about Angelina, and groaned at his expression.

"Dare I ask what sort of depravity are you considering now, Warrington?" Oliver sighed. How exactly the former Slytherin Chaser had gotten on his team, and managed to stay for the past three years without either of them having bludgeoned the other to death with a broomstick was still something of a mystery.

"Actually, by my standards, nothing depraved at all," Carl Warrington said blandly.

"Then what heinous, underhanded, most likely illegal maneuver are you contemplating?" Oliver rolled his eyes at the Chaser.

"Well, you could always invite Dustyn Carter to dinner. That woman wants to shag you... you invite her, shag her, imbibe her drinks with Veritaserum, and your problems are all solved! Well, assuming that you and your noble hotheaded Gryffindorishness don´t get caught, and you´re willing to shag her for this information..." Warrington was obviously enjoying himself hugely, and at Oliver´s expense. Not that this was anything particularly unusual. Dustyn Carter was thirty-nine, and the publicity agent for the Holyhead Harpies that Puddlemere would be facing on the Quidditch pitch in the very near future. She was rather loquacious of temperament and yellow of teeth. She also had a serious, acute case of Desiris Wooditis. All these facts were common knowledge among the team, and several players stifled guilty laughs. Oliver, however, looked properly horrified.

"...NO."

"Oh, why not? Even for the good of the team?" Warrington laughed, raising an eyebrow.

Oliver shook his head like a baby rattle, "That... that woman is scary."

"I´ve seen worse..." Warrington shrugged, "I was in the same year and house as Hortensia Bulstrode."

"B-but... I´m not going to be a... male floozy, even for this type of information!" Oliver blanched, "Besides, Veritaserum is illegal!"

"You´re no fun," Warrington snickered.

"Well, where your idea of fun might constitute being incarcerated for spiking the drink of someone nearly old enough to be my mother with highly-controlled truth potion... mine isn´t." Oliver shot back, "And I don´t want to be in a relationship with anyone right now, much less Carter! She´s thirteen years my senior!"

"Who said I would be incarcerated?" Warrington chortled impertinently, "Only if I were caught."

Oliver glared, "You´re not helping."

"I know."

"Bloody smarmy Slytherin."

"Thank you."

"If you were so bent on that plan, why don´t you do it?" Oliver glowered at the younger man. Warrington laughed.

"Carter doesn´t want to shag me. So... it´s incumbent upon you, our esteemed and revered captain, to take this task upon yourself for the betterment of our collective future." Warrington and his sententious oratorical pseudo-pomposity could give that of Wood´s old roommate, Percy Weasley, a run for its money when he saw fit, except Percy, unlike the Slytherin, didn´t smirk, making his portentousness less infuriating.

"You´re still not helping."

"Ah well," Warrington did not seem too disturbed by Oliver´s increasing ire, and shrugged expansively, "I tried."

"No, you didn´t."

"True... but you can pretend that I did."

Beater Seamus Finnegan, sitting next to friend and former roommate Harry Potter, glanced at their increasingly irritated captain and the Slytherin who was quite deliberately causing this irritation, and whispered, "So how long d´you think this will go on before Wood will storm off and we can go home, since we knew that we weren´t going to find out anything about the Harpies´ new Chaser anyway?"

Harry shrugged and rolled his eyes, before whispering back, "Well, Warrington seems to be up to his usual standard. Give him another five or so minutes."

Seamus nodded and grimaced slightly, "It´s rather unsettling that we´re going to owe Warrington one for... mm... `expediting this meeting´... so we can go home."

"Oh, I´m sure he´s enjoying himself," Harry said dryly, "Although... I do wonder who the new Chaser is... there aren´t that many girls of a reasonable age who play Quidditch professionally... I can´t seem to recall anyone from Hogwarts who could fit the position. I mean... the female Chasers I know of... either they´re already playing professionally and we know it, or they´re doing something else entirely."

"Yes... curious." Seamus looked thoughtful, then grinned, "Oh well... I guess we´ll see." He glanced at his watch. "Hmm... a few seconds more should do it."

As if on cue, Wood threw his hands up in the air in frustration, made an unintelligible noise between a sigh and a groan, and stalked out. The rest of the team watched his retreating back for a few moments, before shaking their heads wryly and leaving as well.

* * *

Although Harry had been used to Oliver Wood and his overzealous fervor in regards to imminent-game-practices since the very beginning of his Quidditch career, even he was rather bowled over by the final pre-game practice.

Oliver Wood was a meticulous planner. He always, always knew exactly what the strengths and weaknesses of his own team were, and most of the hours not spent on figuring out how to minimize the weaknesses of his own team, were spent coming up with how to play up the weaknesses of the opponent team.

Unfortunately, when there was a big unknown as far as who the third Chaser of the opponent team would be, this became rather difficult.

It was especially bad that the unknown person in question was a Chaser. That meant that he, Oliver Wood, as the Keeper, would have to play in opposition of her. And that he would be going into the game with no idea of her strengths and weaknesses, her favorite moves, how she interacted with the other Harpies, or even her flying style.

Needless to say, this made Oliver Wood, conscientious, ardent Quidditch captain that he was, very uncomfortable.

Also needless to say, this discomfort was transferred onto the rest of the team.

Finally, after five straight hours of going over every Quidditch maneuver known to experts, and several known to no one until that day, an exhausted Puddlemere team went to the locker rooms to take showers and go home for bed.

"Whoever it is bloody better be as good as Oliver thinks she might be," Seamus groaned as he rubbed healing potion on the blisters that had developed on his hands after gripping a Beater´s club for five hours without cessation. "This is nutters," he said to Harry, "Was he this bad when you played under him at Hogwarts?"

"Not quite," Harry replied, "You´d almost think that he were trying to impress her or something."

Seamus sniggered, "If it were any other bloke but Oliver, I´d think that. But with his lifelong love affair with Quidditch, it´s rather doubtful."

"True enough," Harry shrugged, "Unfortunate, that. Oliver deserves someone... he´s really a good bloke underneath the fanaticism."

"Yes... and some unbridled shagging would do him a world of good... but who deserves Oliver? Does there exist someone like that?"

"Perhaps... anything is possible," Harry said with an air of optimism. "Well... I´m off. See you in the morning."

"Bye, Harry."

* * *

The Holyhead Harpies, led by Captain and Seeker Cho Chang, had one last team huddle in the locker room before they were due to fly out.

"All right, ladies," Cho smiled at the six other faces. "I know that we´ll all try our best. Chasers, watch out for Finnegan; he´s brutal with the bludgers."

One Chaser, dark hair framing a somewhat pale, intense face, smirked and rolled her eyes slightly, "Don´t worry, Chang. I´m sure that we can handle them."

Angelina Johnson-Weasley gave her fellow Chaser a slightly quelling look, as if to say `listen and don´t talk´. The first sneered slightly, but quieted. Cho cleared her throat, and continued her speech, reiterating to Beaters Skyler Zabini and Alice Brocklehurst the importance of the Doppelbeater Defense; in a game against blokes, they would have to win by means other than simple physical strength. Finally, after wishing each and every young woman the best, the green-clad women strode towards the door that would lead them to the Quidditch pitch.

The stadium was filling with people, and a loud, jovial voice boomed out over the din of the crowd. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome! I am your Commentator, Henry Partridge. Today, we have Puddlemere United versus the Holyhead Harpies facing off in the air! Let´s give a round of applause for both teams!"

The crowds cheered loudly, and on cue, the players of both teams flew out onto the pitch. Partridge´ voice bellowed out over the applause, "For Puddlemere, we have Corner! Entwhistle! Finnegan! Turpin! Warrington! Wood! Aaannd... POTTER!"

The Puddlemere team flew a lap around the stadium, and then Oliver Wood landed and dismounted in the center of the pitch, just as the commentator began to announce the names of the Harpies.

"For the Harpies, we have Brocklehurst! Fawcett! Flint! Montague! Weasley! Zabini! Aaannd... CHANG!"

As the Harpies flew out, Oliver Wood stared up, in shock. Flint? Flint?! His eyes scanned the air as the women took their positions. All right... the one at the goalposts was Montague. Obviously, the dark-haired Beater was Zabini, while the fair-haired one was Brocklehurst. Fawcett, and of course Angelina he knew from school. Flint?

And then, his eyes met those of a dark-haired, lithe, scowling young woman perched on her broomstick. She glared at him, as if daring him and his team to try to beat them. Oliver´s eyes widened, then he shook his head wryly. Yes... a Flint all right. How many times had he seen that scowl directed at him before, albeit on a more masculine face? Now... how come it was that he had no recollection of seeing her anywhere at all while in school?

Cho Chang dismounted across from him, and, smiling, held out a small hand for him to shake. Oliver turned his attention from the disturbing young woman who was evidently the Harpies´ secret weapon, and waited for the cue to begin the game.

A handshake, and then, Oliver and Cho were both in the air once again. The bludgers and snitch were released, and Skyler Zabini, Beater club raised, followed the trajectory of one black ball with her eyes. All of the sudden, she found herself looking at a Puddlemere Chaser as the bludger flew right over his head. Carl Warrington saw the Harpies´ Beater looking at him a moment later, and stared unabashedly back. She gave him a quizzical look, an unspoken `what are you doing?´, and he gave her a very deliberate, "if I try hard enough I can see through your robes" smirk. She merely quirked an eyebrow, and a moment later, with the release of the Quaffle, the exchange of glances was temporarily forgotten.

The dark-haired Chaser Flint captured the Quaffle immediately, shooting off for the goal hoops in a frenzied, completely single-minded fashion. Dodging Entwhistle´s attempts to capture the Quaffle from her arms, she pressed on, barely swerving out of the way of a bludger pelted by Seamus Finnegan. However, the swerve gave Warrington the opportunity to steal the Quaffle out of her arms, with a curious, almost apologetic grin, and fly the opposite direction. Flint glared at his back and followed.

Warrington passed the Quaffle to Zachary Turpin, who shot off towards the goals, and Flint, unheeding of the bludger hit her way by Michael Corner, followed. Turpin scored the first shot against Harpies´ Keeper Montague, and Flint practically snatched the Quaffle on the rebound.

The game continued, and though Puddlemere had always trained very strenuously and did very well, the new Harpies Chaser was merciless. The same sort of "win, or die trying" playing philosophy that had characterized Marcus Flint was present in her as well, in double doses. She got hit on the back with a bludger, and merely gritted her teeth and kept going, despite the obvious pain on her face. Within the first six hours, the score was 120:80, Harpies, and half of those goals had been scored by Flint.

Then, it was time for refreshments, and the teams took a brief break from the game to eat some food and take in some very badly wanted water. Ten minutes later, they were back in the game, and Warrington, in possession of the Quaffle, streaked off towards the goals.

He managed to score a shot, making the score 120:90, and was about to attempt to capture the Quaffle from the possession of Angelina Johnson-Weasley, when Skyler Zabini, evidently holding a grudge for the insolent smirk he´d given her at the beginning of the game, smashed a bludger towards him with deadly accuracy. He missed getting hit in the head and knocked out of the air by mere centimeters, and escaped with only a bruise on his arm where the bludger had grazed him when he swerved. Glancing back for a brief moment before continuing after Angelina to get the Quaffle, he saw the dark-haired female Beater give him a beatific, ridiculously innocent smile.

At that moment, Commentator Partridge gave an exclamation of surprise when Harry Potter, Cho Chang at his heels, started diving. Potter had seen the snitch, and was now chasing it frantically across the Quidditch pitch, ducking a bludger from Brocklehurst and zooming towards the Harpies´ goal hoops. About seven inches away from the center goal hoop and a foot away from the ground, the snitch flitted like an elusive firefly in the summery lawn of the pitch. And Harry, having learnt over the years to put civility aside when necessary, brushed Cho´s arm out of the way, and leaned forward, his hand closing around the golden prize.

"And Puddlemere wins the game, 240:120! Potter captures the snitch after six hours and seventeen minutes of play! Well done, both teams!" Henry Partridge was crowing into the magical megaphone, and still in the air, Oliver Wood gave an uneasy smile. That game... his team had played well, even Warrington, snarky bastard that he was. But indeed... the new Harpies Chaser, Flint-of-the-venomous-scowls, was quite skilled. How was it that Marcus, whatever relation he was to her, had not allowed her to play at school? She could have been a real asset to their team... did Marcus Flint´s chauvinism really extend so far as that? In any case, he, Oliver Wood, would make sure to seek her out, and ascertain her playing habits, where and how she learnt, and other vital information. A simple policy of `know thy enemy´, of course.

With these thoughts in mind, Oliver landed on the ground, giving a half-hearted, rather preoccupied smile and wave to the wildly cheering crowds, and headed for the locker room to shower before paying the other team a visit. A girl who played Quidditch. All right, probably a Slytherin, what with that scowl and that name, but... a girl who played Quidditch. How bad could it be?

He obviously never lost his Gryffindor idealism.