and who, may you ask, is this delicious hunk-o'-luuuuurve?
folks, meet logan lerman (aka al potter) :D
seriously. back off.
I squeaked. Literally squeaked. Like a mouse.
And then they all stared at me like I was utterly insane for a bit, so I decided that it was time to unleash the Diarrhea.
Er…Word Diarrhea, that is.
“Hi.” I said in a nervous voice. “I’m…er…your new Seeker. Yeah. That’s me. Um…wow, how come there’s no girls on this team apart from me? I mean, sexist much? What is this? This team is so chauvinistic! Every other team has at least two girl players on it! I’m the only girl here! What’s wrong with you people? What do you have against girls? Wha –”
“Sorry guys,” Hugo said, covering my mouth with his hand. I glared at him as he smirked slightly. “She talks a lot when she gets nervous.”
“I do not!” I protested, removing his hand from my face. “I am merely stating the blatant truth. There’s only blokes on this team!”
“That’s because they were the best players.” Al shrugged. “I mean, you’re on the team, aren’t you? Doesn’t that prove that anything?”
“So, Chase.” The Burly One spoke up, looking at me with a calculating expression. “You ready for practice?”
Practice? We have to practice? NOW?
I balked. “Erm – practice?”
“That’s right, love. Practice.” Hugo said in a voice similar to what one could use on a small child.
I am not a small child. Do not speak to me like I’m a freak. That’s what my whole family’s done to me for my whole life. I’m not a freak, okay?
I bristled angrily. “I am not an idiot, Hugo Bilius Weasley, and I would prefer if you didn’t speak to me in that tone.”
Slow, identical smirks spread over the faces of the team members, and Al Potter sighed loudly.
“She’s a feisty one.” Blue Eyes said, grinning widely. “Oh, this’ll be fun.”
Should I be scared? I think I should.
You have got to be kidding me.
“What do you mean, Wronski Feint?” I asked blankly, staring at Al. “What the bloody hell is a Wronski Feint in the first place?”
“You don’t know what a Wronski Feint is?” Blondie asked me incredulously.
“No. Should I?”
“And you call yourself a Seeker?” Hugo asked me. I glared at him.
“Technically, not really, since I can’t even –”
“You need to learn how to perform one.” Al Potter cut off with authority. “Our last Seeker mastered the move; that’s what won us every game.”
His eyes are literally sparkling right now. Oh my god, I can just lose myself in their emerald depths…
“Okay.” I breathed, looking at him adoringly.
I mean, come on. It can’t be that hard, can it?
…and that’s when Al Potter pulled down The Diagram and my jaw unhinged itself from my face and landed on the ground.
“You’re kidding.” I said faintly, looking at the chart. “You’re bloody kidding.”
I looked desperately back at the team, just waiting for someone to jump up and yell ‘April Fool!’ or…something. Spontaneously combust, maybe?
No such luck. I was met with grim expressions.
“You’ll have to train hard for it, obviously –” Al Potter rambled. I gazed blankly at him.
Does he want to kill me? I mean, sure, I may be a little…er…exuberant at times. A tad creepy, maybe. But, gods, that doesn’t mean he should kill me! I’m not a bad person! WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS?
“…start off with twenty laps around the pitch, yeah?” He finished, looking at us for confirmation. Everyone nodded eagerly, and I was dimly aware of someone picking me up and towing me out the door to the pitch.
I’m in shock.
This cannot be happening to me. Sports? I don’t do sports! I don’t do anything that requires freaking balance! I DON’T DO BALANCE. I trip over my own feet. Hell, sometimes I even trip over thin air.
This might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and that’s saying a lot, because once I thought it would be amusing to turn Mrs. Norris into a teacup when Filch was looking right at me.
I’m still serving detentions for that little stunt. And I pulled it three years ago. Filch is threatening to have me come and finish the detentions after I’ve graduated, actually.
Basically, I’ve screwed myself over royally tons of times. But none of them have been as bad as this.
I mean, honestly, I’m not in good shape. I’m not built for strenuous activities like this. Three laps, and I’m already dead.
That’s it. I’m done here. I can’t do this. First the team full of freaking attractive males, then Hugo being an arse, then the bloody Wronski Feint, and now twenty laps, and, Merlin, how could these people actually do this for fun? Are they delusional?
“Merlin, Chase, it’s only been three laps.” The Dreamy One said in a shocked voice as the team stood around me.
“Fuck off.” I wheezed.
“She sounds like she’s going to die.” Blue Eyes said interestedly.
“Fuck off, tosser.”
“Oi, what’s going on here?” Al Potter joined the circle, and I sat up, breathing slowly to catch my breath.
“She just collapsed.” The Burly One shrugged. “After three laps, too.”
A ripple of amused snickers shot through the team, and I shot up, teeth gritted.
“Okay, that’s it. I can’t do this anymore.” I said, eyes flashing.
“Chase, you’re on the Quidditch Team. You’ve got to train.” Al Potter said in a reasonable voice. Hah. Reasonable, my arse.
“I don’t want to train.” I continued.
“But, Chase, see, that’s the thing – you want to be on the Quidditch Team, you’ve sort of got to train.” He said.
“But what if I don’t want to be on the Quidditch Team?”
“I know you want to be on the Quidditch Team.” He said confidently.
You don’t know jackshit about me, Albus Potter.” I walked up to him, and he raised his eyebrows.
“I make it a point to know everything I can about my team members, actually.” He said coolly.
“Yeah?” I shot back. “What’s my name, then?”
“Reagan Chase.” He stated smugly.
“Wrong.” I said loudly. “My name is not bloody Reagan. Reagan’s a boy’s name, you arse! My name is Ariadne. ARIADNE. Repeat after me: air – ree – ADD – nee. Ariadne Megara Chase.”
Since they are all imbecilic, they actually droned my name out, Al Potter looking decidedly shocked as he did so.
They sound like androids. How amusing.
“Secondly, I am not dating Scorpius Malfoy.” I said, and his mouth opened a bit.
“But you said –”
“I say stupid things.” I cut across calmly. “But I would never date Scorpius. He’s my cousin.”
“He’s your cousin?” Al Potter asked in disbelief. I nodded tiredly.
“Yes. And despite what his family line may tell you, he really doesn’t believe in incest.” I stated.
“Um. Wow.” Al Potter said, still looking shocked. “Why didn’t you ever try to correct me?”
“No one ever let me!” I cried, throwing my hands up. “No one ever lets me say anything. I just stumble through life, making stupid decision after stupid decision, which brings me to point three – I can’t fly. I have absolutely no bloody idea how to fly a broom, play Quidditch, or even catch a snitch.”
By this time, the whole team looked as though Voldemort had appeared and expressed his innate desire to pole dance for the world.
ACK! MENTAL IMAGES! BANISH THE MENTAL IMAGES!
I shouldn’t think. Like, ever.
“So, I’m really sorry, but I can’t be your Seeker.” I finished calmly. With that impressive display of normalness (this is a big step for me!), I turned around to leave. And that’s when Al Potter had to open his bloody trap and completely ruin my life.
“But you can’t just go! You have to stay! Please stay, Ariadne.”
Please stay, Ariadne.
Why does my name have to sound like music when it comes out of his mouth? WHY? Why me??
I sighed as my will crumbled into dust around my feet. “I bloody hate you, Albus Potter.”
“We’ll make you the best damn Seeker in the school, air-ree-ADD-nee!” The Burly One declared cheerfully, slinging an arm around my shoulders.
Yeah, okay. That’s possible.
This is just fan-bloody-tastic.
Ariadne: 4 (at least Al Potter knows all three truths, right?)
“Just take me now, Hades! Save me from this misery-fest I call life! Save me!” I moaned dramatically from my position on the ground in the middle of the Quidditch pitch.
Yes, I am aware that I am utterly pathetic; there is no need to remind me of the fact.
Seriously. Shut up.
“You’ve been running for four laps.” Blue Eyes said in a shocked voice as he bent over me.
“Go away.” I added, closing my eyes. “Just let me die in peace.”
“Four laps, Chase! FOUR! That’s barely anything.”
“Bloody what? Three laps is a lot of running, thank you very much.” I said loftily. “Who needs to run anyway? We’ll be sitting on freaking brooms in the air. That requires sitting. Why don’t we practice sitting?”
My logic is airtight.
“We need to be fast and agile, and building stamina helps with that.”
Fuck you, Blue Eyes.
“Fuck you, Blue Eyes.”
Yes, I repeat my exact thoughts many times. Yes, I know that it’s redundant. Yes, you will learn to get used to it. Yes, I will continue to do it.
“What did you call me?” He asked incredulously.
“Er…muffins.” I invented quickly.
Insert: mental slap.
What is with me and muffins? I don’t even like bloody muffins in the first place!
Well, blueberry muffins are pretty beast. I like blueberry muffins. Oh, and let’s not forget chocolate-chip muffins! How could I forget chocolate chip muffins?! Blasphemy. Outright blasphemy, that is.
Okay, I guess I do like muffins.
“Okay, I have no bloody idea what your name is, so I call you Blue Eyes, alright?” I finally said, too tired to wrack my brains and come up with an excuse of some sort.
Fact: I come up with shit cover stories. Though I bet you already knew that (let’s go back to that time when I started rambling about Al being Rose’s favorite cousin, shall we? Exactly.)
“My name is Russell. Russell Cowen.” Blue Eyes said in a slow voice.
“Don’t bother telling me. I’ll forget either way.” I mumbled, pushing myself into a sitting position.
“It’s not that hard to remember!”
“I’m shit at names.”
“Your name is bloody Ariadne.”
“So? I’m not the one who named myself.” That would be my potentially insane and rather freakish monster of a mother.
“Still. Ariadne. How can someone with a name like that not remember a name like Russell Freaking Cowen?” He asked.
“Because, remembering my own name takes up too much space in the ole’ noggin.” I wisely tapped the side of my head as I looked around. Blue Eyes was the only one who was nice enough to stay behind and try to help me. The rest of the team was currently running laps around us, occasionally sniggering at my current state of extreme pathetic-ness.
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Blue Eyes finally said.
“Your face doesn’t make any sense.” I retaliated, rubbing my shins rather regretfully.
“…that really doesn’t make any sense.”
This kid is so daft.
“It’s a good thing you’re an attractive Quidditch player, Blue.” I sighed, standing up and ruffling his hair in a demeaning manner. I winced slightly as the weight fell on my poor, poor legs.
Al Potter is a leg murderer. He’s going to hell.
Oh my god, I’m also going to hell! This means we were meant to be! I should tell him that. And then we can get married. And have three children and a dog, maybe. I think I’ll name the dog… er, I’ll come up with that someday.
I am shit at names, after all.
“It’s Russell.” He said.
“Give it up, Blue Eyes.” I sang as I stretched a little. Apparently, stretching makes you look like you know what you’re doing. Even though I clearly have no clue what I’m doing, if I stretch, it’ll make me look all athletic and stuff.
Because, you know, being on the house Quidditch team requires you to be all athletic and stuff.
I feel so athletic and stuff. How special.
“Hey.” He finally grinned. “What do you call the rest of them?”
I see he’s finally resigned to the fact that I will continue to blatantly ignore their birth names and call them by the names that my (rather scary) imagination has come up with.
Smart of him.
“The Burly One.” I pointed at The Burly One, whose muscles pumped as he sprinted down. He shot us a wary grin when he saw me pointing at him, and I smiled back innocently, waving a little.
“That one’s Blondie and the other kid’s The Dreamy One.” I motioned towards the two blondes, who seemed to be playing ‘who can run faster’. They were both currently an attractive shade of tomato red.
“Then Hugo and Al.” I shrugged, looking at the two cousins, who were running side by side without saying a word.
Ah, cousin love.
Oh, wow. Look at Al run. His hair whips away from his face in the wind, kind of like a black halo of black fire, undulating and swishing around like it has a life of its own. His green eyes are glittering from the wind as well, deep pools of everlasting emerald, just waiting for someone (read: me) to sink into them. And his legs, strong and powerful. He looks like a cheetah. An attractive cheetah with a fantastic arse that looks even more fantastic when he runs.
I think I’m drooling. Merlin, I really hope not.
“Aha.” Blue Eyes said in an all-knowing voice, a smirk growing on his face when I finally tore my eyes away from Al Potter.
“Aha…?” I asked warily.
He smirked wider. “Aha. You like Al.”
I blinked at him. And then I blinked again.
And then I turned around and started running away from him as fast as I could.
Don’t ask me why. I have no idea. At the time, it seemed like a great idea, running away from Blue Eyes. Then again, my definition of ‘great idea’ also includes trying out for a Quidditch Team when it’s clear that I can’t even play the bloody sport, so that’s not saying a lot.
Either way, I thought it was a stroke of pure brilliancy to start running away whilst looking back over my shoulder to check if Blue Eyes was running after me or not.
Did you know that humans only have eyes on the front of their face? So, if the front of their face is turned towards the back, guess what’s watching the front?
That’s right. Nothing.
And of course, judging by my level of luck, who do I crash into and then land on top of?
Of course it would be Al Potter. And of course I would elbow his family jewels right in the process.
Why should life be easy?
Idiot (me): 4
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