LANCASTER / H. POTTER

ELEVEN

"Copeland, can we speak with you for a moment?"

Copeland gulped hard, knowing immediately what they wished to speak about.

"Um, no."

"Copeland," George urged, not trying at all to be discreet. Fred stayed eerily silent by his side. Not wanting to attract any more attention to herself, Copeland slowly stood to her feet, following reluctantly after the two boys as they walked through the Great Hall. The stopped abruptly just outside of the doors, and Copeland had to dig her heels into the ground to stop herself from ramming into Fred. The twins simultaneously whirled on her, looking frantic.

"What the hell happened to you?" Fred fussed. "We thought you were dead!"

Expecting just as much, Copeland leaned against the corridor wall; having already grown tired of this day.

"Well, I'm not. So that's what matters right? So let's get back to those sausages in there and just forget about the whole mess?" Copeland said, looking hopeful. Fred and George didn't look amused. Fred opened his mouth to say something before Oliver appeared from the doorway to the Great Hall.

"Hey, Lancaster! Was thinking I could get you out of class for a little to play some Quidditch? Want t'see my star in action," Oliver suggested with a giddy smile on his face. George's eyebrows knitted together, clearly about to protest before Copeland shouted over him, catching the attention of a few students wandering around the halls.

"Ah! Of course! Sure!"

Oliver raised an eyebrow at her very loud reply before grinning.

"Enthusiasm! I love it! Y'ready?"

Copeland nodded, shooting a look at the Twins before following after Oliver, a little too excited to spend alone time with the Keeper.

The staggeringly attractive Keeper.

On the Quidditch Pitch, the fresh smell of newly cut grass bombarded her nostrils, and she breathed in heavily, letting out a satisfied sigh. If anything were to distract her from all that was happening to her, it would be this.

"Here ya go, champ! McGongall has had it ordered special for you and Potter," Oliver informed her, pulling out a large, broomstick-shaped parcel from behind one of the benches. Copeland's heart jumped in her chest as her tiny hands scrambled to get it open. After a few moments of struggling, she had torn the package open, revealing a Nimbus Two-Thousand, the same exact broomstick Ron had been fussing over for months. She made a mental note to brag about it later.

"Have you taught Harry anything yet?" Copeland wondered out loud.

"Nope. Wanted to teach you first, seems like it'd be easier ya know? You are like, oozing natural talent."

"Oozing? Funny. Fred and George said you picked me 'cause you thought I was fit for a first year," Copeland joked, hoping she didn't take the banter to any awkward levels. Oliver glanced at her for a second before smirking playfully, leading her out of the pit.

"Well , that too," He snorted, rolling his eyes. Even though he was obviously joking, Copeland heart did a little skip and a jump. But before she could have any time to faint or cry or owl home to her mother, he got right down to business, gesturing to a large wooden case in the middle of the pitch.

"I'm just going to teach you the rules, then I'll teach Potter later on. Then the both of you will be joining practice three times a week. Sound fair?" Oliver started. Copeland nodded, still at a loss for words. She rubbed her face frantically, in an attempt to remove the blush from her cheeks. But to no avail, she still looked like as red as the Blood Pops Harry had gotten from the cart a few months ago on the Hogwarts Express.