My Achy Breaky Quidditch Heart

“Come on girl, come on girl. Press that crap bit of twig you call a broom and I’ll buy you a new one - come onnnnnnn.... GET IN THERE!”

You’d be shocked to know that it wasn’t a pub from which all of this noise was coming from, rather a sport-centric store in the heart of Diagon Alley where one would expect a little bit of decorum and sense. Instead, what one was so generously greeted with was the roar from the Puddlemere United fans who had gathered around the main counter to watch the game between the aforementioned side and The Chudley Cannons who were being absolutely decimated. Rightly so, the Cannons fans looked more than a bit dejected. Puddlemere had used their B-Team and had looked shaky, they’d been almost certain they’d get a win. No such luck, though.

“Pay up,” Baldric Wood demanded, holding his hand out to one of the patrons. His grin was broader than that of a Cheshire cat, knowing that he’d won much more than a match from his team. He rubbed his fingers through his hair breathlessly as he began to calm and righted his tie before clicking his fingers at the stone-faced old Wizard who looked entirely put out that he’d lost a bet to a teenager who, by rights, wasn’t even old enough to bet. His wife, however, looked much more satisfied. She had a soft spot for Baldric - mostly because he thwarted her husband more often than the man would have liked.

Grumbling, Henri Elliottson’s hand went into his blazer pocket. He removed his wallet, a tatty, dark leather affair, and shook out some money - the twenty Galleons he’d confidently bet on earlier in the day as he’d bantered with the boy. Little did he know he’d actually have to forfeit it and mentally he resolved not to bet with Baldric again; though both knew he’d be back in after licking his wounds with another proposition.

“Thank you very much,” Baldric smirked, closing his fingers around the coins before Henri could grab them back. Baldric leaned over and held out half for Sandy, Henri’s wife, to take. She smiled gratefully and he winked. “Buy yourself something pretty, Sands.”

Henri leaned over and thwacked Baldric around the back of the head with a Quidditch magazine. Baldric looked over at the man, feigning a look of utter dismay and disbelief before grinning broadly. Henri leaned forward, ready to hit Baldric again for his troubles, but this time the boy ducked out of the way with ease.

“You could’ve avoided the other one, too!” The man accused.

“I could’ve.” Baldric winked in Sandy’s direction before grinning wickedly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have customers who need me.”

Baldric swept out from behind the counter and darted through the shop, trying to sober himself. As he walked he found he wasn’t really watching where he was going and before he knew what had happened, he’d bumped into someone.

Baldric’s hands shot out towards the person’s upper arms, to catch them before they fell and his cheeks coloured as his lips began to spill profusely with apologies.

“Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry. Are you alright? I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going. Did you see the game?”

Ever, your mind is on Quidditch, boy, his mother’s voice whistled through his mind.

Outfit!

Trisha had decided to take a day off of her lounging around at home with her siblings, and found that her mind directed her to Diagon Alley through the floo. They had recently been allowed to add their house to the floo system, and Tris found she was extremely grateful for it. Perhaps it was because her family couldn't go into the shopping area and she wanted the chance to spend time in her world, as her sister Hayley dubbed the Wizarding World. Tris secretly hoped she would run into someone from school, though she had very few people who would either recognize her or want to talk with her. Things at school had been rough for years, now.

The best excuse she could find for her arriving in Diagon Alley was that she simply missed the wonder and beauty of magic, which she could not see at home, nor in her daily life - unless you counted the investigations her family was known for. Coming out of the floo, she brushed herself off, seriously disliking the soot that seemed to cling to her each time she used the system.

As expected, she had not found anyone she knew from school to talk to, and instead had ended up ambling around between stores. Wasting time was something she almost never did, unlike today. It was starting to drive her mad, honestly. How long could one remain idle before they went truly mental? She was starting to think that she was about to hit that wall when she stumbled upon a Quidditch store.

Out of everything at school, Quidditch was the one she had taken the longest to understand. While she adored Muggle sports, Quidditch was different by any sense of the word, and involved quite a bit more than things like football had when she played with her siblings. This year, however, she was going to risk embarrassment (because she apparently didn't think she dealt with that enough) and try out for the Ravenclaw House Team.

Looking up at the sign, she listened to the ruckus within the shop, slightly amazed that such a store could create a wall of sound that loud. Tris pushed the door open and made her way inside, staring at the people who seemed to be shouting about a match. She was so caught up in watching their reactions to what appeared to be the end of the game that she didn't realize someone was in front of her until she ran into them.

The boy in question reached out to steady her as her head whipped towards him, hair floating around her shoulders before landing once more. "I'm fine. I wasn't looking where I was going. It's not your fault." She replied quickly, eyes wide as she watched him. He seemed just as embarrassed as she was, though she had no doubt that her cheeks were flaming. She could feel the heat of them as she glanced away briefly.

Realizing he'd asked her something, she shook her head and added hastily, "I must have come in when the game ended."

It must have been the luck of the Irish, despite his Scottish heritage, that had struck him with a rather beautiful girl. Such young ladies did not usually immerse themselves in Quidditch and for good reason - they might break a nail.

Such a thought brought a wry smile to Baldric’s lips and he snuck a look at her hands to find that there was not a broken or hangnail in sight. She clearly looked after her hands, or she didn’t play Quidditch.

His were rough with calluses, his nails cut short for masculine pride and for the sake of being sensible - he played way too much sport to have talons attached to his fingers.

“My fault entirely, Miss...?” He smirked, unable to keep the mirth from his face as he swept his eyes over her form.

She was very much a pretty girl though he’d never considered blondes to be his type before - did he even have a type? Did he even know what that meant? Not really. But she was pretty, that was the bottom line.

Baldric cleared his throat and smiled his salesman’s smile that he’d been practising in the mirror at home before bed every night. It had begun to have a real effect, his easy, broad, closed-lipped smile, and he was wondering whether it would be enough to see her purchase something but possibly, and probably, not.

“What brings you to Quality Quidditch Supplies, Miss? Apart from the atmosphere?” He asked as charmingly as he could.

She told him briefly that she had missed the game and Baldric blinked at her as though she’d told him his owl had been shot from the sky. His pain was fleeting before his enthusiasm bubbled and rose in his cheeks and he launched into a play-by-play of the game’s events.

“It was amazing! United dominated. The Cannons didn’t have a hope in heck. It was pretty dire for the first quarter of the match but ...”

He continued, unabated, and part of him allowed her credence to tune him out. He would’ve too if he’d been a Quidditch-passionless girl.

It was strange, Tris thought, that when he released her she didn't move to walk away. Maybe it was that he was still talking to her and she rather loved conversation. She rarely, if ever, spoke about the Wizarding World these days, nonetheless about Quidditch.

She nearly frowned as he looked over her - she had already been blushing before, and she didn't like that he was able to make her cheeks grow even more red. She nearly looked around to see if anyone else saw him doing this, but found herself watching him instead. He paused, waiting for her name, and though she gave it, she was rather reluctant. If he realized who she was, would he make fun of her? She didn't think he seemed the type, but then again, she'd only met him a few moments ago. "Bates." She supplied, hiding her nerves with a steady voice. "I'm Trisha Bates."

She suppressed the strange urge to extend her hand, figuring that if he'd wanted to, he would have already. He asked why she was in the store, and she wasn't surprised. She didn't exactly look the part of a Quidditch fan, did she? "Well," Tris began lightly, not sure just how much he actually cared to know, "I was doing some window shopping when I came upon this place. I'm going out for the House Team this fall, you see, so I was curious."

Of course she was curious. When was she not? The Ravenclaw in her couldn't help it. Quidditch was something she had learned later than most students at Hogwarts, and Trisha refused to be the type who, already an outcast, didn't understand the biggest school events or rivalries.

He seemed downright affronted that she had not known about the game. The boy's enthusiasm about the mach was slightly endearing, though she didn't let herself go too far down that road. Were they at school - for she though he looked about her age, if not a bit older - he likely would have realized that she was that girl. The one who received the odd looks and whom most people didn't want to befriend. This boy seemed like he would be the popular type - he was rather good looking, and obviously friendly. She couldn't decide if his charm was faked because of his job, or if he was genuinely curious.

She wondered if he was surprised that she was paying so much attention. She had actually never seen a professional game, though she wished she could, of course. Tris actually found herself smiling slightly as she listened to him give a sort of play-by-play of what had happened.

He was wrong; but only partly. She wasn’t a Quidditch-centric girl but she wasn’t entirely ignorant; or perhaps she was and was seeking some education.

Baldric knew he could help.

Grinning, he reached out to shake her hand firmly. “Baldric Wood,” He introduced himself. “It’s very nice to meet you Trish.”

The name sounded familiar but Baldric couldn’t place her. It was almost as though he already knew her but he didn’t, couldn’t, figure out where he knew her from or why he knew her - what was the relevance, he wondered. He supposed she was a Hogwarts student like himself but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t be sure of much about her, really - but her name was Trish. Trisha. Trisha Bates. Nice.

Baldric reached up and moved his fingers through his hair, moving a little bit closer to Trisha as he did so. He let his hand fall after a moment, bringing it down to rest on the top of the shelf, bringing him even closer to her; though for the life of him he couldn’t quite grasp why he was doing it or what her reaction would be.

“House Team, huh?” He queried, his interest piqued. “Are you any good, lass?”

Hogwarts wasn’t exactly the pro-leagues. It wasn’t like his much beloved Puddlemere United Youth Team. Even so, it brought quite a bit of experience to the inexperienced and he certainly couldn’t bemoan it. She wasn’t in his house, he determined from her statement. No, she had to be another house which meant she was competition.

“What position do you play?” He asked. “Chaser?”

Extending her hand to meet his, Tris nearly corrected him on the nickname he'd seemingly given her right off the bat. Nobody called her Trish - not that she disliked it. It just was unusual. She rather liked new things, even if they came in the form of a particularly enthusiastic boy working at a Quidditch Supply shop. Putting in the effort to return his hand shake with a solid one of her own, she smiled in return. Maybe he didn't know of her. Good.

His name was Baldric? She couldn't even guess what his nickname was. Then again, she was good at things like writing and crafts more than creativity with names. She just nodded, unsure if he had some nickname she was supposed to call him. Instead, she figured she'd just stick with his given name.

Tris blinked a couple times as he moved closer, not sure if he was just trying to hear more easily over the end of the chatter about the match, or if it were something else. As usual, though, she didn't let herself think much of it. It would take someone smacking her in the face with flowers to even make her consider that they were interested. Though she didn't exactly hope for such a thing to happen. She briefly wondered if an event like that would make her afraid of flowers, but he was asking her a question again.

Baldric seemed surprisingly interested by her mentioning going out for the house team. He played as well did he? He was practically asking her to bring out her competitive side - it wasn't something she was overly proud of, but she couldn't quite get rid of it. Things like classes and Quidditch definitely made her feel it. Was he asking if she played Chaser because he did? Well then, that made things far more interesting.

"Indeed," She replied, "Ravenclaw." He asked if she were any good and she laughed lightly, "I'd like to think so." She didn't want to say that she'd only ever played with her mates on free afternoons. This, she knew, would likely come back to get her, but right then she was particularly amused. Lifting her chin almost in a challenge, she had a feeling she had that glint in her eyes which showed up when she was feeling oddly bold "I do, infact. And you? What is it that you play?" She was tempted to point out that when she was with her mates, and they played small two-on-two games, she played Keeper. Tris imagined that his reaction would be extremely entertaining. Then again, when she played with those girls, they didn't exactly hit or throw hard enough to do damage.

As for any teenage boy, girls were at the forefront of Baldric Wood’s thinking - though not in any great excess. Sure, he kept his PlayWizard magazines stuffed into his mattress just in case his mother found them but that didn’t mean he was continually obsessing over things and people he couldn’t have; he certainly wasn’t his best friend. Even so, he knew a pretty girl when he saw one. Liking Quidditch was a plus - a huge one.

Baldric’s smile broadened on his face as she spoke and he found that his mind was travelling in specific avenues as though still trying to place her. She was a Ravenclaw. She wasn’t his year so she had to be the year below. She wasn’t of the same ilk as Gisele and Katarina. She was blonde - hardly telling but he did like blondes - and she was ... she was the loner that no one talked to.

Spirit Girl.

Baldric’s eyes widened a little as it all clicked into place and quickly, his expression changed to one of befuddlement. She didn’t seem weird. Not as weird as Luke had claimed her to be. Not as weird as any of his friends had said. Even Charlie had been a tad crass - though, in fairness, that was Charlie.

After a moment, Baldric realised she was still speaking to him and he buried his sudden switch in mood, electing to continue talking to her.

She wasn’t weird, he reminded himself. Some of his best friends were Werewolves; creatures of the dark. A girl who contacted spirits was no stranger than any of the murderous dogs that he so dearly loved.

“I’m a Keeper,” He announced with a proud puff of his chest. “Like my father. He played for Puddlemere United when he was younger. He works in the Department of Magical Games and Sports now, though. I’m on the Puddlemere United Youth Squad.”

She wasn’t strange.

No stranger than him, at least.

Tris, though she continued talking, could feel a change in his mood as he listened. His smile fell away, and she nearly glanced around to see if something had happened. The wizards and witches who had previously been watching the match and arguing about it had dispersed more or less, so she didn't think she could pin his change on any of them.

Brow furrowing for perhaps an instant, she regarded him as he suddenly continued like nothing had happened. Tris found that she rather liked his smile, but ignored that. If his change in mood had anything to do with who she was at school, she figured it wouldn't matter in the long run, anyways. Pretending the face had been made because her hair was in her face - it had been, sort of, the entire time, though. She ignored this realization quickly - she pushed the section on her cheek to the side. He may well have caught on to her confusion, but hoped she had somehow covered it.

He was a Keeper? Oh. Trisha felt fairly deflated for a moment, before wondering if he was on his house team. If he were, that would make the games more interesting. Or more embarrassing should she fail, or not make the team at all. Brilliant. That would be just buckets of fun. She would have to plan more practices with her mates - the few that she had these days - before tryouts.

Deciding the best plan would be to act like - even if he knew she noticed - it didn't matter to her what he thought. It, by all accounts, shouldn't anyways. "That's brilliant," She replied to his father's job as much as his position on the youth team. "I've always wanted to go to a live match like the World Cup or the like. I hear they're brilliant." Half expecting him to go off again on how they were, indeed, quite fantastic, she just lifted a shoulder, smiling, and left a pause in the conversation in case he felt like doing so.

It was almost funny; really, how far ingrained Quidditch was into the blood of the Wood family. It was safe to say that Oliver had been obsessed and even safer to say that Baldric, his son, shared his love. It had been clear from an early age, ever since Baldric had been taught how to fly, that Quidditch would end up being the boy’s chosen and much loved profession. Secretly, he’d always had a love for history and all it entailed and while he wouldn’t ever let up on his shared dream of becoming a professional Quidditch player, part of him had always wondered what it would have been like to have pursued the path of a magical historian. Occasionally, he even wondered: was Quidditch all there was to life - to his life?

Of course, that was blasphemy and if he’d queried it to his father he would have gotten a whack round the back of his head for his troubles and he’d be reminded of such folly for the rest of his days. Mute in regards to it or not, he still wondered and had often considered asking his mother, only to bite his tongue at the last minute and change his mind. Waffling about Quidditch seemed to be all he could do. He doubted his father thought he could do anything else. He loved his father, don’t misunderstand, but sometimes Baldric wondered whether Oliver really had the best intentions for his son or whether he just wanted a little mini-me.

“Keeper, yeah.” Baldric murmured with an easy smile which returned to his lips as though it had never drooped as he’d gotten consumed with his thoughts. “It’s my dad’s position too,” he confided in her, wondering if he’d already told her. “I’ve always been a fair Beater, though. I never was fond of Bludgers.”

Baldric smiled a broader grin this time and raised an eyebrow at the girl before him.

“Never been?” He inquired, curiously. How could that be?

Suddenly, Baldric’s mind was made up - he’d take her to a match. She couldn’t join the House Team without first seeing a real, live Quidditch match - now that was blasphemy.

“What’s your favourite team?” He asked suddenly. “My dad has a box in the Millennium,” he added hastily. “I’d like to take you.”

She could certainly understand his dislike of Bludgers. Those things were just menaces. Nodding to show her agreement with that bit, she nearly laughed. The look he directed at her, though, made her take pause. Tris knew it was probably because she claimed a love of Quidditch and yet had so little experience in the sport.

"Well, no," She replied, "My parents.. my parents are Muggles so I didn't learn about it until I went to school." She blushed, glancing away. He didn't seem like the type to care about if her parents could do magic, but what did she know?

Favorite team? She wasn't even sure that she knew more than two or three. Before she could reply, he had continued and she was staring at him in surprise. Why would he want to take her? She supposed they were on their way to being friends - or something like that, anyways. "Well, I don't know all that much," She began, deciding to answer the question first, "but I've been told that the Cannons bite." Tris didn't even think as she threw in slang from her older siblings, assuming he'd understand. "Besides that, I'm from Scotland so the home team is always someone I'll support, of course." She lifted a shoulder, unsure what else to say about it.

Realizing she hadn't replied to his apparent offer she nearly considered falling back into her self-depricating habits and saying something like, 'Well, I don't see why you'd want to take me, but if you're sure..'

Instead, she gave Baldric a sort of half smile and said, "I imagine you have a great view from there." It was, in this scenario, the best thing she could find to say. Rather than jumping straight into the 'yes pleases' or the like, she's let him assume she was agreeing to go. Her parents wouldn't mind, after all.