May 25th, 2002
To say the mood in the room was electric was a gross understatement. In four years of professional Quidditch, Katie Bell had never experienced anything quite like this. Nearly two hundred witches and wizards had packed into the brightly decorated offices of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. It was absolute chaos—Katie could barely move without elbowing another body, and sheer volume of the crowd nearly put a stadium to shame. The radio hummed with mindless chatter, magically amplified to echo throughout the cramped offices. Firewhisky flowed freely. It seemed every ten minutes there was a new call for toasts, celebrating various witches and wizards who had worked to make everything possible and, of course, their glorious team.
Katie squeezed through the crowd, flashing her teeth in tight smiles as she maneuvered the clusterfuck. A renewed call for whisky echoed throughout the cramped quarters. Katie watched with some interest as Ragmar Dorkins went arse over teakettle over a table attempting to fetch a bottle. She set off again, a bounce in her step. It didn’t quite make up for the ’99 Match of Which We Do Not Speak, but it helped.
“Alicia!” She called out, finally catching sight of her quarry. The dark haired witch turned and brightened immediately, waving and nearly smacking a bloke in the face. Katie’s grin widened as she began pushing her way over to the slight witch, capturing her in a tight hug. She laughed breathlessly, dropping her arm around the shorter woman’s shoulder and shouting to be heard above the racket,
“This is mental!”
“I know! It’s happening!” Alicia looked about ready to implode with excitement, ‘woo’ing as another cry of delight spread through the office. “Merlin’s tits, I almost didn’t think we’d pull it off, but we got all the goddamned pitches squared away and just, ahh! It’s happening! It’s real! KATIE!”
Katie laughed again, stumbling as her rather sloshed friend threw her arms in the air in excitement.
“Did you ever think, back at Hogwarts, that one day you’d be playing for goddamn ENGLAND?”
Truthfully, no she hadn’t, but Katie only grinned and intercepted the shot glass being passed towards her childhood friend. She threw it back, cherishing the bite and the burn.
“Never doubted it—“
“It’s time!” Someone shouted, and the office exploded into a series of shouts. Alicia let loose her most impressive woo yet. Katie surveyed the crowd, practically bouncing in place. For two years, she had trained and fought and played and while she’d never given it anything less than her all, she’d had the strangest feeling that it was all a dream. They’d triumphed in their group, against all odds, and managed to earn their place at a chance for that glorious cup, but even then it hadn’t seemed real. Being here, in the Ministry, surrounded by the men and women who were making it all happen, her teammates scattered throughout the office… for the first time, it felt tangible. The World Cup was only a month away from starting and somehow, she was starting. It was pure madness.
The radio blared to life, and Katie couldn’t help but grin when she recognized Lee Jordan’s voice.
”Greetings Quidditch fans! I’m Lee Jordan with the WWN, currently at a super-secret squirrel facility off the coast of a large island that rhymes with Shmiceland,. The IQA officials are just about ready to begin the draw for the knockout round for the 2002 Quidditch World Cup!”
Lee’s next words were drowned up by an uproar in the office, hearty applause and cheers nearly deafening Katie. Alicia squealed in delight, throwing her arms around Katie even tighter. Katie couldn’t hear anything the tiny witch was saying, but she grinned nonetheless. Someone managed to shush the crowd.
”…secrecy is, of course, paramount to help safeguard against tampering of the draw… ah, ladies and gentleman, it looks like the first draw is ready to begin! We’ve got the IQA official—Merlin’s beard that’s one hell of a mustache—and it’s Brazil! Brazil versus… Norway!”
Katie watched as Dennis Creevey directed his wand to a large board. Two large flags blossomed on its surface, billowing in an imaginary wind, forming the first bracket. She could scarcely breathe. Merlin, it was happening.
”…looks a tough match there…alright, next we have…. IRELAND! Ireland will be facing off against…. Oh, looks like, yes, Ireland versus China!”
It continued. Argentina and Moldova promised a monstrosity of a match. Bulgaria and Japan, Poland and New Zealand…
”Jamaica will be going toe to toe with… IT’S OFFICIAL, JAMAICA VERSUS ENGLAND!”
Anything else Lee said was drowned out in a pure roar from the office. Alicia dragged Katie into a hug that she feared might actually crack her ribs. All pretense of listening to the WWN dropped. Creevey called for order, looking beleaguered, but no one could bother listening. Katie was swept up in the crowd, buoyed towards the team by the mass of people. She collided roughly into Indira Choudry, but then they were hugging and cheering.
“We’re all going to the Three Broomsticks after,” she barely heard Indira over the crowd, even standing right next to each other. Katie ignored the way her stomach clenched at the mention of the pub and, in a fit of stupidity, ‘woo’ed herself as a form of assent.
It took nearly two and a half hours to escape the offices. There were more toasts and the matter of the press. Katie thought she might never see properly again after the blinding flashes of twelve million cameras. Positioned between the team manager and Indira, Katie managed to avoid causing any trouble for the entirety of the mob. She was rather impressed with herself. She hadn’t even hexed the reporter who’d asked about the Montrose Incident.
Katie had never been gladder to be free of cameramen. Releasing a whoop of exhilaration, she leapt onto Denison’s back. He staggered under her for a moment, before caving to her mad impulses and hitching her up. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, her grin already half-manic. She wanted to run until her muscles gave in, drink until she couldn’t see straight, start a fight, stumble into someone’s bed, anything that would sate the itch crawling along her spine.
“You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you Bell?” Denison deadpanned. Katie placed a hand to her chest in mock offence. She noticed that he had yet to drop her. And was that a grin she spied? Oh yes. Katie looked forward to seeing their ever so straight laced Keeper let loose a little. They’d only been playing together for the past two years, on and off as players competed for those coveted starting positions. In all that time, she had yet to see Denison anything less than composed and focused. She meant to change that. The rest of the team was finally joining them, escaping the clusterfuck of reporters and cameras.
“Frisby! I just… I can’t believe you even have to ask. Of course I’m going to do something stupid.”
To say the mood in the room was electric was a gross understatement. In four years of professional Quidditch, Katie Bell had never experienced anything quite like this. Nearly two hundred witches and wizards had packed into the brightly decorated offices of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. It was absolute chaos—Katie could barely move without elbowing another body, and sheer volume of the crowd nearly put a stadium to shame. The radio hummed with mindless chatter, magically amplified to echo throughout the cramped offices. Firewhisky flowed freely. It seemed every ten minutes there was a new call for toasts, celebrating various witches and wizards who had worked to make everything possible and, of course, their glorious team.
Katie squeezed through the crowd, flashing her teeth in tight smiles as she maneuvered the clusterfuck. A renewed call for whisky echoed throughout the cramped quarters. Katie watched with some interest as Ragmar Dorkins went arse over teakettle over a table attempting to fetch a bottle. She set off again, a bounce in her step. It didn’t quite make up for the ’99 Match of Which We Do Not Speak, but it helped.
“Alicia!” She called out, finally catching sight of her quarry. The dark haired witch turned and brightened immediately, waving and nearly smacking a bloke in the face. Katie’s grin widened as she began pushing her way over to the slight witch, capturing her in a tight hug. She laughed breathlessly, dropping her arm around the shorter woman’s shoulder and shouting to be heard above the racket,
“This is mental!”
“I know! It’s happening!” Alicia looked about ready to implode with excitement, ‘woo’ing as another cry of delight spread through the office. “Merlin’s tits, I almost didn’t think we’d pull it off, but we got all the goddamned pitches squared away and just, ahh! It’s happening! It’s real! KATIE!”
Katie laughed again, stumbling as her rather sloshed friend threw her arms in the air in excitement.
“Did you ever think, back at Hogwarts, that one day you’d be playing for goddamn ENGLAND?”
Truthfully, no she hadn’t, but Katie only grinned and intercepted the shot glass being passed towards her childhood friend. She threw it back, cherishing the bite and the burn.
“Never doubted it—“
“It’s time!” Someone shouted, and the office exploded into a series of shouts. Alicia let loose her most impressive woo yet. Katie surveyed the crowd, practically bouncing in place. For two years, she had trained and fought and played and while she’d never given it anything less than her all, she’d had the strangest feeling that it was all a dream. They’d triumphed in their group, against all odds, and managed to earn their place at a chance for that glorious cup, but even then it hadn’t seemed real. Being here, in the Ministry, surrounded by the men and women who were making it all happen, her teammates scattered throughout the office… for the first time, it felt tangible. The World Cup was only a month away from starting and somehow, she was starting. It was pure madness.
The radio blared to life, and Katie couldn’t help but grin when she recognized Lee Jordan’s voice.
”Greetings Quidditch fans! I’m Lee Jordan with the WWN, currently at a super-secret squirrel facility off the coast of a large island that rhymes with Shmiceland,. The IQA officials are just about ready to begin the draw for the knockout round for the 2002 Quidditch World Cup!”
Lee’s next words were drowned up by an uproar in the office, hearty applause and cheers nearly deafening Katie. Alicia squealed in delight, throwing her arms around Katie even tighter. Katie couldn’t hear anything the tiny witch was saying, but she grinned nonetheless. Someone managed to shush the crowd.
”…secrecy is, of course, paramount to help safeguard against tampering of the draw… ah, ladies and gentleman, it looks like the first draw is ready to begin! We’ve got the IQA official—Merlin’s beard that’s one hell of a mustache—and it’s Brazil! Brazil versus… Norway!”
Katie watched as Dennis Creevey directed his wand to a large board. Two large flags blossomed on its surface, billowing in an imaginary wind, forming the first bracket. She could scarcely breathe. Merlin, it was happening.
”…looks a tough match there…alright, next we have…. IRELAND! Ireland will be facing off against…. Oh, looks like, yes, Ireland versus China!”
It continued. Argentina and Moldova promised a monstrosity of a match. Bulgaria and Japan, Poland and New Zealand…
”Jamaica will be going toe to toe with… IT’S OFFICIAL, JAMAICA VERSUS ENGLAND!”
Anything else Lee said was drowned out in a pure roar from the office. Alicia dragged Katie into a hug that she feared might actually crack her ribs. All pretense of listening to the WWN dropped. Creevey called for order, looking beleaguered, but no one could bother listening. Katie was swept up in the crowd, buoyed towards the team by the mass of people. She collided roughly into Indira Choudry, but then they were hugging and cheering.
“We’re all going to the Three Broomsticks after,” she barely heard Indira over the crowd, even standing right next to each other. Katie ignored the way her stomach clenched at the mention of the pub and, in a fit of stupidity, ‘woo’ed herself as a form of assent.
It took nearly two and a half hours to escape the offices. There were more toasts and the matter of the press. Katie thought she might never see properly again after the blinding flashes of twelve million cameras. Positioned between the team manager and Indira, Katie managed to avoid causing any trouble for the entirety of the mob. She was rather impressed with herself. She hadn’t even hexed the reporter who’d asked about the Montrose Incident.
Katie had never been gladder to be free of cameramen. Releasing a whoop of exhilaration, she leapt onto Denison’s back. He staggered under her for a moment, before caving to her mad impulses and hitching her up. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, her grin already half-manic. She wanted to run until her muscles gave in, drink until she couldn’t see straight, start a fight, stumble into someone’s bed, anything that would sate the itch crawling along her spine.
“You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you Bell?” Denison deadpanned. Katie placed a hand to her chest in mock offence. She noticed that he had yet to drop her. And was that a grin she spied? Oh yes. Katie looked forward to seeing their ever so straight laced Keeper let loose a little. They’d only been playing together for the past two years, on and off as players competed for those coveted starting positions. In all that time, she had yet to see Denison anything less than composed and focused. She meant to change that. The rest of the team was finally joining them, escaping the clusterfuck of reporters and cameras.
“Frisby! I just… I can’t believe you even have to ask. Of course I’m going to do something stupid.”