A/N: Well hello there, it's been a while. I realise I left you with a bit of a cliff hanger there but if you're still here then congratulations. You deserve what's coming to you.

Disclaimer: Still not JK, not even a little bit.

Thwack! Katie rolled over with a groan, meeting Alicia's similarly pained expression. No more portkeys. Never again. She hauled herself up and held out a hand to her friend who took it, pulling a stray leaf from her dark hair.

'Maybe it's time for a ministry report on the violence of inanimate objects in our transport services.'

Katie nodded absently as she took in Holyhead. Having only ever seen one other professional stadium this was a stark contrast. The building held the same oval shape, supporting 116ft of tiered seating but unlike the dark glass and jagged edges of the Falmouth ground, Holyhead was constructed entirely of smooth criss-crossing beams designed to create a building in harmony with its surroundings. She could see why they called it 'the Nest'.

Grabbing Ali's hand she weaved through the mass of fans in green and grey, neatly dodging a couple as their portkey slammed them into the grass two feet away. As they entered the tall wooden arch that acted as a gateway and presented their tickets Katie realised the significance of the Nest's wooden exterior. The cheers of the crowd bounced back off the smooth walls creating a deafening roar of support from the fans.

'Miss Bell?'

Katie turned to the steward holding her ticket.

'If you'd like to follow me to the press office?'

Giving Ali a quick hug she scurried after her through the throngs of traders offering programmes and omnioculars to the milling fans and through a small door in the wall. The cheers were instantly muted as the door clicked shut and she found herself in a long airy corridor winding around the side of the enclosed pitch. The steward smiled.

'The Nest was constructed to be self sufficient,' she explained. 'The gap between the outer beams and the stands holds our changing rooms, press office, athletes' gym and a small museum.'

Katie did her best not to gape.

'The press office is just to our left.'

The steward steered her towards a heavy wooden door and held it ajar, ushering her inside. A series of long sofas and small tables were dotted around the room and various journalists were being guided between a mixture of seated players in green and grey. Katie thought she caught a glimpse of a head of dark cropped hair before she was left at a vacant table. A familiar figure flanked by a well groomed PR handler took the seat across from her and extended a hand over the table with a conspiratorial smile. 'A pleasure to meet you Miss Bell.'

Katie took the hand, fighting a laugh. 'And you Miss Johnson, congratulations on becoming a Harpy.'

'Thank you.'

'You played Quidditch at Hogwarts?'

'I did, I was captain in my final year.'

'And you've wanted to play for the Harpies since you were six?'

'Miss Bell, it's as if you know me!'

This time Katie failed to suppress a giggle and Angie's handler gave her a confused once over. She cleared her throat and sat a little straighter, determined to at least appear professional.

'So who would you consider the Harpies' toughest competition this season?'

'Well, if we can make it through today then realistically the Arrows are the next challenge.'

'A win today won't be easy then?'

Angie's eyes darted over the where Pucey was posing for a photo with Warrington, an overeager Witch Weekly reporter sandwiched between them. 'No.'

'And who would you say is your greatest inspiration?'

Her friend's eyebrow arched at the cheesy question and Katie gave an apologetic shrug, ' I don't write them, I just ask.'

She nodded sympathetically, 'My inspirations have been my captains, Oliver Wood and now Gwenog Jones.'

Thinking back Katie remembered their Gryffindor dorm room littered with her friend's Harpies memorabilia and the Gwenog poster that hung from the back of the door. Maybe she'd refrain from mentioning it in her article , if Ange was particularly nice up until her deadline. The well manicured attendant at Angelina's elbow cleared her throat, signalling that it was time for her to move along. After all, Holyhead's newest Harpy was in high demand.

'Perfect, well thank you Miss Johnson and good luck today. Before you go, could I trouble you for a prediction of the score this afternoon?'

'320-200.'

'To?'

Ange cast another look around at the green and grey figures in the room.

'Honestly? I couldn't tell you.'

Katie watched as Angelina followed her handler across the room and reluctantly arranged herself on the sofa next to the Witch Weekly reporter (and likely president of the Pucey fan club) then turned her attention to the rest of the room. Players chatted genially between photo ops and Katie noticed Gwenog Jones just wrapping up with another reporter from 'Quidditch Quarterly'. If she moved quickly she might just be able to get a soundbite for her story from the greatest female Quidditch star of the century...

Before she could rise from her seat a shadow fell across the table and a figure sat down across from her. Katie looked up into the dark eyes and smug smirk of Marcus Flint.

'Miss Bell.'

'Flint.'

Another pristine young woman hovered anxiously at Marcus' elbow. Katie assumed that she was his aide and judging by her horrified expression this was clearly an unscheduled stop.

'How's your day going so far? Any good gossip?'

Katie rolled her eyes. 'I think you have me confused with someone else Flint. I'm a sports journalist, different kind of snitches.'

His lip quirked. 'How's our dear friend Johnson?'

'On fighting form.'

'Glad to hear it.'

She couldn't resist. 'You won't be once you've lost.'

This earned her a solitary raised eyebrow. 'So Johnson thinks they've got this in the bag?'

Katie hesitated. Technically that wasn't exactly or even remotely what Ange had said but she certainly wasn't going to give Flint the satisfaction of knowing that. Instead she shrugged in what she hoped was a casual way.

'Interesting.'

There had to be a way out of this conversation. She could see her chance with Gwenog slipping away. Katie's eyes darted across the room looking for any opportune moment to spring away from the intent gaze of the man opposite her.

'You've been ignoring me Bell. Why is that?'

She straightened. He did not just ask her that. Indignance welled up inside her as she fought to retain the indifference in her face. How could he possibly ask her why she had chosen not to involve herself with him when he was plastered all over the tabloids with whichever girl he'd picked up that night? He was a Slytherin bully turned Quidditch playboy and that was the least of his deep pyschological flaws.

Marcus stretched and leaned forward across the table, folding his arms across the surface. 'I'll tell you what Bell, I'm a gambling man. What do you say? Let's you and I make a bet, in honour of Johnson's first game?' He held out a hand.

His aide balked and moved to intervene, probably to remind him that his feet alone were insured for somewhere around 50,000 galleons, but his eyes remained fixed on Katie.

She surveyed him suspiciously.

'Unless you don't think she's got what it takes.'

Okay, that does it! 'She's got more than you, that much is for sure.'

He nodded, 'Then this should be easy. If the Harpies win today I will watch your incredibly pert arse walk out of this room and I will not follow it. In fact, I'll never talk to you again if that's what you want.'

At this Katie let out a short bitter laugh, 'That sounds perfect.'

'Not so fast Bell. If, as I suspect, the world doesn't revolve around your whim but in fact reality and I win this match, I want a second date.'

'Fine, if it will get rid of you then we have a deal.'

Flint's face cracked in a genuine smile and he wrapped his hand around hers. For a moment Katie thought she felt her heart leap into her throat, though on reflection it could have been her gag reflex.

'Pleasure doing business with you Bell. See you after the victory lap.'

And with that Marcus Flint moved on to the next reporter leaving Katie to realise quite what she had gotten herself into.