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author's note: im so sorry i haven't updated in forever! but fret not my friends, I've written the rest of the story and now all I have to do is just update the chapters!

and im sorry, this is a bit of a history lesson, but its important. all charries/hp world to JK, except the coach, character and Michelle that I make up.

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“Michelle.”

“Uhhhhhhhg.”

“Michelle.”

“Go awaaaaaaaaaay Mike.”

“Oh come on, I made you tea!”

“Leave me alone,” I said, mumbling, as I rolled over, covering my face with my pillow. I had never had a hangover before but I was beginning to realize that this was probably what it felt like. My head was throbbing, my limbs felt sluggish and my eyes weren’t used to the light. I wished that I could just go back to sleep and spend the rest of the day in my bed, telling myself that I would never drink that much alcohol again.

“Fine, if you want to have a hangover the whole day, go ahead. I was just trying to be nice and give you a potion that cures-”

“Give me that!” I said, lurching out of my bed and grabbing the vile from Mike’s hands. It felt cold against my fingertips and I suspected that Mike had kept it in the freezer. As I clutched my head in pain, I opened the bottle’s top and downed the purple liquid, much as I had downed the shots last night. As I swished it around in my mouth, my stomach protested, thinking it was more alcohol but I forced a swallow. I could hear Mike snickering at my disgusted face. Yes, instantly, I found that my headache began to lift and I felt livelier then I had when Mike had woken me up from my deep slumber. I pushed my hair into a makeshift ponytail and looked back at my grinning brother. My demeanor soon changed.

“Oh great, what did I do last night? I don’t remember a bloody thing.”

“And you were the one giving me weird looks about my newly acquired accent,” Mike laughed. Well that I did remember. Sort of. “But from what Fred and George tell me, you challenged that Keeper on Puddlemire to a one on one shooting challenge and then threw up in the alley way before passing out.”

“In my puke?” I said, looking at my hair in disgust, regretting that I had just touched it.

“No, that Wood guy helped you home and left that by your bedside,” Mike said, laying back onto my bed and throwing his arm towards my bedside table where there was a slip of paper waiting to be opened; it had my name scrawled across the front. I climbed over Mike’s body and snatched it off the table, my heart racing. Maybe I hadn’t blacked out and had sex with him and he was now giving me a thank you note saying how wonderful I had been even though I was drunk?

What, a girl can dream, can’t she?

If you’re still up for the challenge, meet me at the Puddlemire pitch at 1 pm … that is if you’re not still hungover.
Oliver

Damn.

I looked at the clock on my bedside table and the red letters flashed 12:45.

Double damn.

“What did it say?” Mike said as I began to smile softly to myself.

“I have to go, get out,” I said, shooing him out of the room as he looked at me oddly.

“You didn’t have se-”

“No! Get out!”

Adrenaline and excitement pumped through my veins as I pulled back the covers and forced my feet to the ground. I fumbled through my drawers with shaking hands and finally found a white razor back workout shirt; the potion was still on its way to curing my completely. I reached onto my nightstand and pulled my lucky black mesh shorts and pulled them on quickly. After putting my hair in a sleek ponytail, I grabbed my broom and quaffle and put them in my sports bag. I then looked in the mirror; I looked good for having a hangover merely seconds before.

I smirked as I apparated to the field. I remembered when I had first apparated in school back in American and I chuckled. I’d been so scared that I was not going to make it in one piece. Of course, I didn’t make it, but after years of practice, I got the hang out it. However, I still preferred the broom since it was a lot safer, although slower.
When I got there, the pitch was empty and dead quiet, which was very unlike yesterday.

“All the better,” I said internally with a smirk. “I can warm up and he won’t see his competition.” After getting out my broom and quaffle, I threw my bag onto the team bench. The bench had ‘Puddlemire United’ spread out across the back and I smiled even more as I rifled through my bag. That was my team now. I stopped getting out my things; I reached out and let my fingertips graze the white lettering. My dreams were becoming reality. Sure, I wasn’t an American Quidditch star, but I was on my way to becoming one. Besides, I’m sure a lot of celebrities started out in a different country other then America.

Take that, you stars and stripes!

After taking out my precious broom, I kicked off the ground and spiraled into the air. The wind whipped through my hair and I let out a little laugh as I climbed higher and higher into the air. Maybe it was the potion or the feeling of being on a broom, but I felt like I was floating on my broom instead the reality that was the fact that I was gripping onto the broom very tightly. But soon, my hands left the shaft and my legs held on as I spread my arms towards each end of the horizon and closed my eyes. I was home. It was this feeling that had me addicted to the sport.

Before when I was younger, I had always thought that Quidditch was a silly game with enchanted balls and sticks. That was partly because when I had tried out to be a beater when I was a first year, I didn’t make it. It was for good reason; I was beyond horrible, small and frail. The next year, I tried out again, but this time for the position of seeker, like my father had advised me to. I made the reserve team this time, but I still wasn’t happy. Instead of admiring the bench, I was sitting my ass on it, watching the others play their hearts out. I’ve always been competitive and that bruised my ego; I still went to practice, however, and practiced like I was playing in a game. The sad reality was that it was the closest thing I would get to playing Seeker in a game. My third year, I didn’t even bother to try out. The only reason I went to games was because my brother, who was a seventh year at the time, was captain.

Then that summer, my father died. I still remember the shock of it all when he hit the ground and was gone.

John Dunbar was one of the most famous Quidditch chasers of the time, playing on the Lincoln Liberators. Since Mills Academy was tucked up way in the Rocky Mountains, we were isolated from most of civilization, which was the point of the school. The other schools in the New England area always seemed to have to brainwash Muggles who found them practicing magic on the grounds. And so, the news of my father’s death shocked the magical world but it didn’t reach my brother and me until a day later. He had been hit in the head by a bludger and killed instantly.

My brother stopped Quidditch all together since it was too painful for him to pick up a broom, but I didn’t. I took it on. My father had always loved it and if my brother stopped, I decided that there needed someone to play Quidditch in the family, carrying on the Dunbar name. Every day that summer, I practiced at a pitch that was near our house. I was going to be a chaser just like my Dad; no more Seeker for me, that was too easy in my eyes. I was built to be a seeker, being slim and small. Ironically, I was a horrible seeker and the administration was happy to see me play another position. When asked what I wanted to try out for, I responded that I wanted to be chaser since my father was one and my brother was one as well.
It was that summer that my sickness began. Almost once a week I would black out during my own little practice on the pitch. My brother told me that I should stop Quidditch because it was bad for my health. I reminded him that I had never had this sort of thing before and it was bound to go away sometime. He shrugged and took me to the school nurse who gave me my potions that I still take now everyday. He didn’t really care anymore; he’d been hit so hard by losing our dad.

My fourth year, I tried out and made the team at Mills. Most kids said it was because the team felt pity towards me, but that made me work even harder. I was starting Chaser and the youngest member on the team. People didn’t know what had happened over the summer; how did the shitty seeker turn into a brilliant chaser? However, the captain, a sixth year named Greg, treated me with utmost respect. He knew that my father’s death hit me hard since it had with my brother and he offered to help me with my skill work for he was a chaser also. He said it was the least he could do, for my brother had helped him with his Quidditch career.

I accepted his offer and we practiced an hour after practice was officially over. I improved so much my fourth year that when I tried out the next year, people were saying that I should have been captain. But I couldn’t take the position from Greg – he helped me and he was a 7th year and I was only a fourth! I had raw talent but he had experience. But near the end of the season, Greg was hit by a beater’s bat from one of our opponents and couldn’t play for the championship. I was the new captain by vote of the team and I lead us to victory that year in our league. We went onto the regional championships, but we lost our first game. Most people didn’t expect us to get that far because they saw that Greg was the heart and soul of the team. They thought we were toast. But I wanted to prove them wrong; I had been given the shaft all of my life and I wasn’t going to let that stop me.

Yet, one thing did. My mother, who had always been a quiet woman, suddenly cracked. Lyn Dunbar was depressed from her husband’s death but had never said anything about it until that summer. She blew up Mike for being a slob and not having a good job and she told me that I shouldn’t be even near a pitch with my ‘condition’. She cried and cried constantly until Mike and I had no choice but to send her to a home where she would grow better mentally; we couldn’t take care of her since we had our own lives to deal with. However, even while in the hospital, Lyn worsened and she ended up taking her own life.
Her death didn’t affect me as much my father’s. It was just another thing that kept fueling me to play better.

The next year I was the captain since Greg had graduated and our team looked good. The coach didn’t know if I could do it with my mother’s sudden death but the team urged me on. I was only a fifth year and I figured that I wasn’t suitable to be captain. I gave up my position to the seventh year seeker, who deserved it more then I did; next year, I would be able to take it on. Yet, my decision wasn’t a smart one and it turned out that our seeker wasn’t a good captain. We lost most of our games. I was so angry that I promised myself that I would win nationals my next year. It was my second to last year at Mills and I wanted to show everyone that I wouldn’t fail them this time. I would work my team like dogs if I had to.

And that’s exactly what I did.

We still have the nationals’ trophy at Mills along with a picture of me holding it with the team in the background. Scouts called me and told me to come and try out for their teams for I was quite the hot item on the marker. I was so happy that I had made the best out of my life and I was set for next year.

When I was a seventh year, the team was young since most had graduated. I tried making the best out of my team, but it seemed like we were never going to be as good as the year before. None the less, we still did fairly well, although I felt sick to my stomach when another team laughed and cried while holding up the trophy that could have been ours.

But there was one small problem with my plans for going professional; I never made any of the teams because of my sickness. It seemed to worsen with my mother’s death and there still was no cure out there. Medi-witches and healers always shook their heads, telling me they still had no idea what was causing it.

I checked my watch. I had been here for two hours practicing with myself and recalling my younger years. Where the hell was Oliver? Then it hit me. It was a joke. He never meant to come. He tricked me into coming and he made me look like an idiot!

“That Tory!” I exclaimed as I threw my quaffle back into my bag and apparated home. It was unbelievable; I had fallen for the stupid trap. I was so stupid! But he’d have hell to pay at practice tomorrow. Oh, I would make sure of that. No one pulled the wool over Michelle Dunbar’s eyes and got away with it.

--

The next morning, I put on my same workout clothes I did yesterday and apparated to the pitch at Puddlemire stadium. The fire in my eyes was still there but it had calmed down a bit from yesterday afternoon. I would get my revenge on him, that was for sure.

“Oy, Dunbar!” Marino called from the sky. I looked up with a closed smile. Maybe practicing and the guys would calm me down at get me over the whole situation. Maybe I was just blowing up too much and I needed to let this go. After all, Oliver and I were now teammates and it would be smart to get along with him instead of fight with him.

“Come and warm up!” Forester said waving at me. I put down my bag near the same bench as before and took out my broom, kicking off and then flying over to them. I blocked out Oliver’s smirking face and focused my attention on the chasers in front of me.

“Today should be fun,” Marino said rolling his eyes once I got there. We’d just began to spread out in a circle and throw the red ball back and forth.

“Why?” I asked as I raised a brow and threw the Quaffle to Marino.

“Because Cambert works us hard in the beginning of the season,” Forester said with a grin as he intercepted the pass and then tossed it lightly back to me. “The first training months are hell. Ever notice why we’re practicing before any other Professional team out there?”

“Oh joy,” I said rolling my eyes as I caught it. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw something that I really didn’t need to see at the moment: Oliver had just walked leisurely onto the field. “Tory,” I muttered as I turned my back to him and scowled. Practicing had got my mind off him but practicing with him wasn’t going to help me at all.

“Bad blood?” Forester asked with a raised brow of his own as I threw the ball at him with a little more force.

“Let’s just say that he’s not on the top of my friends list right now,” I answered, cracking my knuckles as I glared in his direction.

“Are we?” both the boys said in unison with those silly smiles plastered onto their face.

“Of course, why wouldn’t you be?” I said with a small smile, changing my mood one hundred and eighty degrees. Maybe I should focus on these two hooligans instead of that stupid Wood. They made me crack a smile every time they passed the ball to me and caught it when I threw it back. Screw you Wood.

“Alright you hogs, get down here,” Cambert yelled a few minutes later and I was thankful that he did because I was about to pee I was laughing so hard. Marino and Forester were doing impressions of some of the recruits that were at the tryouts. We all landed hear Cambert quickly, however, because we knew he would threaten us with laps. I did not have eye contact with Oliver. I hated him at the moment. But I knew that if I had one glimpse of his chocolate brown eyes I would be dead.

Oh how I hated rejection.

“Now here are your respective coaches,” Cambert barked, “Daniel Fields, the chaser coach, Phillip Turner, the beater coach, Jeff Carter, the keeper coach and Annabell, you’ll have the pleasure of being with me.”

“Woohoo,” Annabell, a petit, fair-skinned, brown-eyed redhead said sarcastically as she kicked off the ground and headed into the air. Cambert grinned as he waved the rest of the team away and the other coaches took over. I felt a hand on the small of my back and I realized that it was Fields, pushing me away from the others. I’d been too caught up with watching Annabell and Cambert bicker in the sky that I didn’t notice we were leaving.

“Alright chasers,” Daniel said as we stopped at the center of the pitch. I turned around to see the coach I would be working with for the rest of the season. He was a handsome, taller, older man who looked like he’d been coaching for a long time. Gray hairs were salt and peppered around his head but his blue eyes still sparkled as he spoke. I could tell that he was in love with the sport as much as I was or else he would have another job.

“Can you tell me what this is?” he said holding up a quaffle in his hand, letting his broom drop beside him.

“A quaffle Dan,” Marino said rolling his eyes and then connecting eyes with me. “You’d think that we’d already know that.”

“Wrong,” Fields said with a smile. Marino scowled as he put his arms over his chest and I suppressed a giggle.

“A red ball?” Forrester tried as Marino rolled his eyes. From what I could gather, Forester wasn’t the smartest of the bunch but he was amazing at Quidditch. It was like something turned on in his brain when he got on the field. Yet, in reality, he was often thrown to the dogs for his comments.

“Wrong, again.” Fields then looked at me like I was supposed to know. Truthfully, I had no idea since both the guys had taken my answers. Obviously he didn’t want me to talk about the ball physically.

“The key to the game?” I said, taking a stab at it. I expected my answer to be wrong.

“Correct,” Fields said smiling as he threw up the Quaffle and then caught it again. I beamed as the other two chasers playfully glared at me.

“But I thought that was the snitch coach,” Forrester said dumbly as he looked at Fields like he was stupid.

“Well the Quaffle is now because I don’t know if we can trust Annabell,” Fields said looking up at the sky where Cambert and Annabell currently were. She was arguing with him and I couldn’t help but crack a smile. They were both fiery, vertically challenged people, yelling at each other. It was a sight I’d probably never forget. Although I hated it, my eyes strayed over to where Oliver was. He was a good keeper, I must say and the sweat on his forehead told me that it wasn’t all fun and games for him either. He blocked every one of Carter’s shots. Anger burned inside me as I though of our challenge yesterday that he failed to turn up to.

“Dunbar, pay attention and get up here!”

“Sorry Fields,” I replied as I kicked off and flew up to the sky to join the others. The reserve team was starting to warm up with us for once and I felt bad for them. They practiced just as hard as we did but they never got to play. One winked at me and I scowled. Maybe I didn’t feel bad for them now.

“Looks like someone likes someone,” Marino said with a chuckle behind his hand to Forrester.

“Sod off,” I said as I narrowed my eyes and threw the Quaffle straight at his face. I had learned that bit of slang from my brother.

--

By the time practice was over, I had done every chaser position in the book about twenty times. I was exhausted and so was everyone else. But Cambert had other ideas in store for us, the bastard. Now I knew why the other chasers had warned me.

“We shall have a scrimmage or something like it!” he said joyfully as he clapped his hands together gleefully. Groans filled the air as many rolled their eyes.

“Coaches plus reserve versus starters,” Carter said, catching onto the idea and smiling. Another chorus of groans sounded off.

“Shouldn’t we have Wood practice with the chasers? No offense to you Carter, but I think he should practice with some Professionals,” Fields asked with a raised brow. I could tell that he didn’t want to get on a broom and play since he’d been sitting on one all day watching us. Plus he was getting old, or so it seemed, and maybe he wasn’t cut out for a game with young professionals. I scowled at the mention of Wood’s name however.

“Good thinking Fields!” Cambert said, loving this idea better. The beaters chuckled, hitting their bats together in victory and Annabelle took down her ponytail, shaking her hair about joyfully. The chasers and Wood, however, scowled at the coaches.

“That’s why you hired me,” Fields said with a toothy grin, leaning on his broom. I sent him a short glare, which made him grin even more. I stopped, looking down at the ground, knowing that there was something going on in that head of his. “You, Dunbar! You’ve been doing well today. Go shoot on Wood. Let’s see how well Carter trained him.”

I rolled my eyes as I kicked off into the air. I knew that I shouldn’t have glared at him. It was like my teachers always did. If you didn’t look like you wanted to be up at the board, you were the first the teacher picked to write with the chalk. Marino and Forester acted like cheerleaders for me, rubbing my shoulders and squirting water into my moth. They were being like Mike times two. I shrugged off their hands and spit the water out as Annabell threw me a quaffle before saying good luck. Wood must be really good if they were doing all this. Speaking of the devil, he was stationed at the goal post and waited for my shot. I got up, kicked off my broom and tucked the Quaffle under my arm.

“Are you ready for this Tory?” I shouted. The scowl was off my face and a smile replaced with it. Oh, I would have fun with this. He may not have showed up for the challenge, but I would show him now that he would have lost anyway.

“You’ll never make it Yank! You may have won the Revolution but you won’t win this!”

“I beg to differ Wood,” I said in a slightly sing songy voice as I pressed myself against my broom and sped towards him. As I came closer to him, I hurled the Quaffle towards the right hoop. He lunged for it but I was too smart for that; I knew that was exactly what he was going to do. I made it so the ball curved at the last second and it flew into the left hoop with ease.

“Beginners luck,” Wood growled, embarrassed that he had been scored on. “Again.”

“As you wish,” I smirked as I flew towards the ground, picking up the quaffle. Again I made the same shot, but this time just barely. He was starting to catch onto the trick, but he still couldn’t get to it.

“Again,” he ordered. Smirking as the other players were whopping and hollering for me. This time, I threw the same exact style of shot except in the lower hoop. He had caught onto pattern and blocked it with ease. The crowd laughed and cheered on Oliver.

“Beginner’s luck,” I growled back as I received the Quaffle from him. He smirked and then peeled off his shirt and under it was an absolute gold mine. Damn him, damn him, damn him! His body was perfect and his abs seemed to be as hard as rocks. Why did the one guy that I could never have, have to have a perfect Quidditch body? My mouth began to water at the sight, but I tried to keep my cool. I scrunched my eyes together as I went for the shot. He blocked it, that damn smirk still plastered onto his face.

“Fuck,” I cursed. He was doing this to throw me off my game! Well fine then, I’d do the same. I then took off my own shirt for it was getting hot and I was sweating a lot. I noticed his eyes directly go to my sports bra. Typical guy.

Ten more shots went by and he blocked a couple, I made a couple. Each time, I would make one, he would block it. Our competitive drive fueled each of us as we glared at each other. This had nothing to do with the fact that he hadn’t shown up. It was just the friction of our egos. We both knew we were good and it was just a matter of proving to everyone else that we were the best. I was pretty sure that Fields had chosen me for a reason; to see my competitive drive that I’d shown in the try-outs and the practices.

“Alright last shot and then we go home,” Cambert called as people started packing up. At first, the contest was fun to watch, but after a while, it was probably getting boring for the rest of the team. But I wasn’t done yet; no, I was willing to give the team a show and end it with a bang. Quidditch was about skill, but also, theatrics. I smirked as I let out my favorite trick. I feinted left, then right, then left again. I spiraled up then down. I circled the posts taunting Wood. “
You won’t block this one!” I smirked.

“You wait and see Yank!” he called through clenched teeth. I laughed and then circled once more around the posts. “Go on and shoot!” he called. It was all going to plan. He was becoming irate.

“Hurry up Dunbar!” Cambert called, rolling his eyes as he saw Forester and Marino going towards the water cooler, an odd glint in their eyes. However, Fields was watching me with hawk eyes. It was almost like he knew my exact plan.

Then when Wood couldn’t stand it anymore, I sped towards the right goal post. He went to block it and I smirked. Perfect. At the last moment, I leapt off my broom to the left and while in the air, made it into the left hoop. Like I was diving into water doing a swan dive, I dove through the air for a couple seconds until I caught my broom again, which had sped downwards to catch me. The crowd went berserk and everyone stopped packing up their stuff to run over to the center of the field where I was going to land.

“Told you Tory,” I smirked at Wood with a wink. “You lost the contest.” He scowled back as he sulked over to pick up the Quaffle that had fallen through the hoop.

“Teach me your ways Master!” one of the reserve team chasers yelled.

“Yeah Swifty," Marino grinned as he wrapped his arms around me.

"We now dub you Swifty!" Forrester said lifting me onto his shoulders. I let out a scream of delight as he carried me around the pitch in a victory lap. Fields was still where he was standing before, watching my every move. I sent him a smirk of satisfaction. Wood sulked to the locker rooms while Carter told him that there was no way that he could have blocked that shot. I could tell he was boiling with anger.

--

a/n:
hope you liked it!
carly.

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