My dear prospective reader,
Welcome to my newest gem, One of the Boys! This story chronicles the life and times of Ella Levine, the only female player on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Get excited.
As always, thanks a million to everyone who's read and reviewed this story so far-- i'm beyond grateful for all the feedback this story's received. thank you thank you thank you!
****MUST READ A/N****
a note on my HAITUS (not really) June 2014
edit- a note on THE BANNER. (sept 2013)
credit where credit's due- the illo of ella in the left corner is part of a drawing of Ginny Weasley that was made by the super talented Brigid Vaughn (one of my absolute favorite artists), who you can find on deviant art as burdgebug. she's on tumblr too as burdge. her art is perfect-- i love it to bits-- and she's got some awesome harry potter stuff. go check her out. she's great.
as the story has progressed, it's come to my attention that some major edits
need to take place, e.g. i need a couple more characters, a few added scenes here and there for a number of reasons, mainly in order to deepen the story and make the plot multi-faceted without seeming too forced, along with further developing some of the established relationships between characters.
so, what this means for you
is, there will be no new chapters until i sort all of this out. ): i feel so horrible about having to say that, but it has to be done for the benefit of the story.
but never fear, for this is where you come in!
have you got any ideas, any adventures you're dying to see the gang go on, or any grammar mistakes you've dug up? tell me! leave a review!
or, if you'd like to make an even bigger impact, contact me through my tumblr (link in bio) and we can discuss beta editor/writer options.
thanks and enjoy!
“Are you sure you want to do this, Ella?” asked my best friend Dominique Weasley for the one hundredth time since breakfast as we walked down to the Quidditch pitch.
“Yes!” I cried exasperatedly. “I’ve been practicing since first year. I’m trying out for Seeker and that’s that!” To further prove my point, I straightened up my posture to fit that of a pretty little princess about to whip some major evil-stepmother butt. I was going to own that Quidditch pitch.
“Okay, okay!” Dom said, raising her hands in surrender.
Once we reached the pitch, she gave me a quick hug before climbing up into the stands to watch. “Break a broomstick!” she called.
“Fingers crossed!” I yelled back, trying to keep up a positive, butt-kicking, I-can-do-anything attitude, because on the inside I was so nervous that I was practically vibrating. I pushed being nervous out of my mind. I’d been practicing a lot and I was ready. Now all I had to do was prove it.
“Seekers, here! Other hopefuls, there! Current team members, get over here, and someone, wake Nick up already! It’s 10 am!” barked a tall, raven-haired boy I recognized as Dom’s cousin, Albus Potter. Except Albus is kind of a stupid name, so everybody calls him Al. Al’s in my year, he plays Chaser, and he’s (obviously) been made captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. That’s about all that I know about him, since we don’t actually talk aside from things like “pass the bacon.” And those don’t count.
I obediently marched over to the designated Seeker area and inconspicuously sized up my competition-- a couple of terrified first years, a surly fourth year, and a tall, menacing seventh year that I knew by sight. The first three? Piece of cake. Hmmm, I love cake. Especially of the ice cream variety. Focus, Ella, Quidditch. Right. Anyway, I eat underclassmen for breakfast. The seventh year? He might be a problem, but nothing that I, Ella Levine, Seeker extraordinaire, couldn’t handle. Besides, I like challenges.
“All right, Seekers! Let’s see what you’ve got!” challenged Al. “First we’ll do some basic flying drills and a couple of dummy snitch catches with golf balls, and then I’ll release the Snitch. Whoever catches it will most likely make the team!”
This is it, I thought. I adjusted my lucky mint green crew socks, tightened my high ponytail, and mounted my Firebolt 360.
At the blow of the whistle, the five of us kicked off into the air. My assumptions were spot on: the first years crash-landed within a few seconds, the fourth year was okay, and the seventh year was good. Nothing I couldn’t handle.
Relax, Ella. I told myself, as we flew around the pitch. Just focus on your flying. Deep breaths. You earned this. You can do this.
Al tossed golf balls into the air at a rapid pace, trying to see who’d catch the most. I got 23.
Beat that, bitches, I thought, mentally fist pumping.
Then the 7th year caught 24.
“I’m releasing the Snitch!” shouted Al.
It’s go time.
My senses sharpened as I hunted the Snitch. Look for the Snitch, check your form, look for the Snitch, check your opponent, look for the Snitch… I repeated over and over again. The fourth year had taken to circling hundreds of feet above the rest of us like a hawk. The seventh year was tailing me, mimicking my every move and taunting me as he went.
“Hey, princess! Step aside and let the real Seeker show you how it’s done!”
Hey, toerag! Shut up and let me shove my broomstick up your arrogant—
Whoa, El. Chill. Now. Let’s not transform into a crazy, ranting lunatic. Focus on the Snitch. Yes. Quidditch.
I turned, swerved, and dived, trying to throw the annoying seventh year off. But he was sticking to me like Stinksap.
Then I saw it. The little golden ball was flittering down below us, about five feet above the ground. I felt the usual adrenaline rush that comes with spotting the Snitch. All I had to do was catch it and I’d make the team! In this dreamlike, invincible state I leaned forward and eased my broom into a dive. This was too easy.
Then the seventh year rocketed past me, laughing his ass off, his victory assured.
My anger flared. I snapped out of super-dreamland and went into full out ninja-warrior-Seeker mode. Eyes narrowed, I pressed myself flat onto my broom so I was as aerodynamic as possible. I was not going to let this dumb old seventh year beat me. No way. I was Ella Levine! I’d been training for this moment for the past five years! And I would not loose my spot on this team to an obnoxious boy who called me a princess!
I was in the lead as we sped closer and closer to the Snitch.
Fifteen feet. I pulled back on my dive a little.
Ten feet. I brought my broom to a height level to the Snitch.
Five feet. I lifted my left hand off of the broom and reached for the elusive Snitch with outstretched fingers.
The Snitch was within my grasp when, all of a sudden, I felt a sharp tug at the tail-end of my broom.
I lost my balance and snatched wildly at the Snitch, my broom flying out from under me. As I somersaulted off of the broom, I snatched a glimpse of that dumb seventh year grinning triumphantly, the end of my broom clutched in his hands. That no-good, lousy, nasty, cheating skunkbag had yanked my broom out from under me!
I fell to the ground with a splat, feet first (thankfully- landing on my butt would’ve been mortifying). I barely registered the fact that I had somehow caught the Snitch mid-somersault. I shoved the walnut-sized ball into Al Potter’s hand, ignoring the incredulous look of shock etched across his face. There was only one thought on my mind—hex that pathetic excuse of a seventh year into oblivion.
“What the hell was that, you bastard?” I screamed at him, my temper snapping faster than a piece of Peppermint Candyfloss. The smug look vanished off of that idiot’s face faster than you could say ‘sabotage.’
I stormed right up to him, my wand clenched in my left hand. I curled my right hand into a fist, arched back my arm, and punched him in the nose as hard as I could. Before he had a chance to retaliate, I had Transfigured the dumbass into a teapot.
That’ll show him. I thought savagely, picking up my Firebolt 360 and the idiot-boy-turned-teapot.
Then I noticed that everyone was staring at me, marveling at my sudden outburst of aggression. One of the boys on the Quidditch team wolf-whistled in awe. A few of the others clapped. Even the one who had been snoring during my trials was wide-eyed. I bowed jokingly, handed one of them the idiot-teapot, and turned my back on the team, walking quickly over towards Dominique. She was sitting in the stands, mouth wide open in a comical ‘O’.
“But…why… teapot…?” she stammered.
“C’mon,” I hissed. “Let’s leave before they all process what happened.” I seized her wrist and started dragging her away.
We were almost at the edge of the pitch when someone shouted, “Wait!”
I spun around. Al had run over to talk to me. “Your name is…” he trailed off.
“Ella Levine.” I supplied. Not like we’ve been in all the same classes since we were 11 or anything.
“All right Ella. Our first practice is next Saturday, at 9 am sharp. Welcome to the team,” With that, he gave me a green-eyed wink, turned around, and jogged back to his teammates.
I waited until Dom and I reached Gryffindor Tower before preforming my victory dance.
“The one thing I still don’t get,” Dom said at lunch the next day, “is why you Transfigured him into a teapot of all things!”
“Shh!” I whispered half-heartedly, trying to stop the tale of my teapot Transfiguration episode from spreading throughout the whole school. It’s funny— the weirder the news, the faster it travels at Hogwarts.
“I guess I just turned him into a teapot since teapots are relatively harmless. If I had turned him into a squirrel or something living he could’ve retaliated viciously.”
“Touché, my friend,” said Dominique wisely.
We ate our grilled cheese in silence for a moment.
“So, are you excited for Quidditch practice tomorrow?” Dom asked.
“Yeah, I suppose,” I said. “I just hope that my teammates aren’t stereotypical jerky jocks who don’t care about anything besides Quidditch and girls.”
“Hey! My cousins are on that team, you know.”
“Sorry. Besides them.”
“Have you picked out what you’re wearing to practice yet?”
I snorted and nearly spit out my pumpkin juice. That was such a classic Dom thing to say. She would marry her closet if she could. That is, after she’d married all of her celebrity crushes.
“Why would I plan my outfit to wear to Quidditch practice? It’s just a sports practice, not the Yule ball!” I replied incredulously.
“Sorry if I am concerned that my best friend is going to make a worse first impression that an old warlock in a nightgown in Muggle London,” Dom said, holding up her hands in defense.
I laughed. And people wonder why we’re friends.
(in case you didn't notice... EDITSZSZZ! this chapter is officially up to the june 2014 canon standards! woo-hoo! did you like the new stuff!?!)
thanks for reading and please oh pretty please remember to leave a review!!!