Corrie doth protest too much (contrariwise) wrote in feinted, @ 2012-02-26 03:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | chase-harper, corrie-pye |
Who: Corrie Pye and Chase Harper
What: BOOM.
Where: On the pitch
When: Sunday morning
Rating: PG-13 at least, for language
Status: Complete
Diana never sat down for very long. She was vocal and vibrant in her personality and since he didn’t play quidditch, and he didn’t feel like finding Penelope, she had followed him to practice. Her tiny hat had been adhered to her head with a spell so that if she took it off and threw it, it would always fly back to her. The first few times, she’d been bewildered. But after that it turned into a game. A delightful one. Her giggles warmed some awkward part of him that the didn’t know he possessed. And it became a reality that some day he would have children.
And he would love them with all of his heart.
Even though he knew Diana was a doll and that she wouldn’t always be around and that she wouldn’t grow into a toddler or a child or a teenager, he still treated her like she might. His studies, somehow, got done much quicker with her around. His intense studying with the playbook was ignored in favor of peekaboo and reading bedtime stories. She fascinated him and the more time he spent with her, the more he started to soften. He didn’t drink to get to sleep. He just...slept. And smiled. And the minute she was gone--off for class or at night or with Penny, he wanted her back.
So he’d brought her to quidditch practice. She was terribly distracted with a bunch of different things that all bounced back when she wanted them, so she just sat on the bench--supported by a chair spell that made sure she didn’t fall over. Any fussing meant he spent a moment making sure she was happy and at some point, he picked her up, her little arms wrapped around his neck like he was the best thing in the entire world. Until her hands gripped what hair he had and pulled.
“Merlin, kid, you’ve got some arm strength,” he grumbled, detangling her fingers from his hair as he reached behind him, her grubby fingers landing on either side of his face. He spent a moment staring into her impossibly blue eyes before smiling, which in turn elicited a shriek of delight from Diana. McCormack shot him a warning glare and he quickly returned her to her seat, where she went back to throwing her hat or her ball or snuggling with a stuffed giraffe.
The first Quidditch practice after Corrie snapped at Chase had been awkward, to say the least. She hadn’t known whether to apologize to him or cuss him out again, and her opinion on which he deserved and what she really wanted to do changed so frequently that she’d ended up just ignoring him. She had enough things to worry about and to feel guilty for. She could let that one wait -- after all, it wasn’t like they were friends or anything. He wasn’t even important.
After that, of course, they’d all been forced into the idiotic childminding project, adding yet another few worries and responsibilities to her steadily-growing pile. It would be nice to say that her sudden unprovoked hatred of Chase disappeared in the face of more immediate concerns. It would have been very mature of her to examine her feelings, realize that they had nothing to do with Chase himself and that she was just lashing out, like she’d been lashing out at so many people all year. And the rage of her attack on him had for a while worried Corrie, because she’d never hated him like that. He’d just been part of the Gryffindor team, like James or any of the others she hadn’t been close to, a rival of sorts but not one she really thought about often. And even this year with the Hogwarts team and him being manager, she’d had her concerns about him staring at her mum, and some issues with the few things her mum had actually let him do, but there was nothing that could have told anyone that she would so quickly and without warning turn him into her emotional scapegoat.
Despite that, and despite her being so worried about Quidditch, she had looked forward to practice again after getting the babies when she realized they’d be deactivated then. It was still hard to drag herself out of bed for early-morning training, so much harder than it used to be, and she was still spending her broomtime worrying that someone would notice a difference in her flying and confront her, but at least she didn’t have to hear any bloody screeching from any bloody fake magic babies.
Well, theoretically.
She cringed as she heard Harper’s doll squeal, wobbling slightly in midair. Why had he brought that thing to practice? The only other one there was Corrie and James’ own Aimee, and that was just because there was no point making anyone watch it/her when she/it was just going to be turned off for practice anyway. But Harper had brought his on purpose, and he was acting like he actually liked its company. That was worrying enough in the girls around the school, but at least it made sort of sense for them - they had that maternal instinct, they’d been born with or taught it or something. Chase was a boy, and it wasn’t natural.
Was he doing it to piss her off? He would stoop to shit like that, she thought, gritting her teeth and gripping her broom. It was just going to keep shrieking and shrieking all practice, and he was doing it just to throw her off. He’d said she shouldn’t be on the team anymore, and now he was resorting to fucking sabotage to try and make it happen. Well, she wasn’t going to let him win, she thought angrily -- but as she thought that, she missed a fast pass from Eddie and swearing, dove for the Quaffle. That bastard. He was laughing at her down there now, she was bloody sure of it.
The dive wasn’t beyond his focus. McCormack swore under her breath, something he assumed was because of him, and he cast a quick silencing spell on Diana--just in case she decided to get loud again. He doubted he’d get in trouble for taking the assignment seriously, but it didn’t hurt to make sure that he didn’t have to hand her over to Penelope on the offchance of his earning himself detention for the squealing baby.
“Sorry,” he muttered, his attention returning to his notes and the sky, as he painfully watched his peers play. It was bad enough that he wasn’t picked for the team, but to work so hard to make everyone happy and then have Corrie come at him like she had not that long ago? Some part of him agreed with her--it felt worthless in this position. He couldn’t help it. That it was wrong to be a cast off. Bexton was revered by his team. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons adored Vasili and Anais. But he felt like he was still barely noticeable for Hogwarts. Unneeded. Unnecessary.
So her words hit in the chink of his armor. They were the sword in the ribcage.
“Again!” he heard the shout, the expectation for the play to be done again and done right. He cast another glance at Diana--who was inches away from toppling off the chair. He sidestepped toward her, righting her before she fell, his attention torn. But if he wasn’t really that important, why was he even there at all? Couldn’t he be playing with Diana? Was McCormack just...agreeing to let him follow the team around because she felt sorry for him? He shot a glance to Coach, who seemed to have everything under control, like she always did, and took the bench himself, pulling the baby into his lap again, where she distractingly grabbed his cheeks and began to slap them, though much more gently than she’d pulled his hair. He couldn’t help the laugh that rocketed out of his mouth and practically echoed across the pitch. Before she could silently giggle, she was back in her chair, Chase, bolting to a stand, where he tried to look innocent as he surveyed his playbook, albeit upside down.
This time Corrie swore loud enough for anyone to hear, and her mum’s even louder curse -- the same word, the same tone -- sounded almost like an echo. Corrie’s mind was screaming even louder as she dove for the quaffle again, this time so low she was nearly scooping it off the ground. “Fucking house-elf,” she spat as she climbed back into the air, not even bothering to say it under her breath. “What is this, a fucking nursery?” What the hell did he think he was doing? Despite everything she’d been through, all the stress of tryouts and of being compared to the other teams, and to her mum, and to Eddie worst of all, all the pain of sucking and of losing and of failing because she was focusing on Quidditch and not her classes, and all the worrying and worrying and worrying about how to do Quidditch and classes and take care of her friends and her stupid baby she’d been stuck with, she was part of the team. She’d stuck it through all of this. Did he really think she’d be so weak, so pathetic as to quit now? Did he think she couldn’t do this? Well she bloody well could, she was Corrie fucking Pye, she was a fucking McCormack, and she could do whatever she put her Godricdamned mind to. He couldn’t stop her.
Broom back in position, she flung the Quaffle back to Eddie and got ready. Third time’s the charm.
The swearing was enough of a deterrent for him to spend the rest of the practice doing nothing but paying attention to the game. His face was already bright red after Corrie had been loud enough to hiss out her insult that he’d heard. And even more so, now he felt guilty for not dropping off Diana with Penny. Which, really, was silly. Considering he had laughed and it hadn’t been the baby and people would undoubtedly be screaming and swearing and laughing during the matches, so why did it matter if he laughed at all right then? How did a laugh mean that she couldn’t catch the quaffle? He wanted to say so, but he refused to ask her mother. If nothing else, it would earn him laps and he didn’t want to leave Diana to her own devices while he ran. So he kept his mouth shut and his expression steeled.
But he didn’t expect her to topple out of her chair, her face screwing up in shock and pain. He didn’t notice for almost a full minute because he was trying so hard to pay attention. But his lack of focus on the game was the only reason that he managed to see her and the ball fell to the ground after her, smacking with a rough plastic sound followed by the giraffe--which squeaked. Chase scooped her up, panic written all over his face as he walked away from the Coach and over toward the edge of the bleachers, doing his best to calm Diana down, though her silent screaming was at least, well, silent. But her tears refused to quit and he was instantly worried that she had hurt something. She kept reaching toward her head and he kept trying to press kisses to her fluffy hair but nothing seemed to help and before long, he wanted to cry, because he just could not leave practice after he had brought Diana on purpose. This was not supposed to happen.
After a good four minutes of rocking and shushing and tear wiping, he managed to calm her down. But her arms stayed wrapped around his neck and he wasn’t about to let her go. He had lost practically all of his resolve and this time, he stayed seated with her in his arms, the playbook in his hand, and his steeled expression stating very clearly that he was taking both quidditch and fatherhood very seriously--even if the two weren’t exactly meant to tangle.
Corrie had made it through the pass this time, blessedly without problems. She even made it through the next play, and the one after that - in fact, she went through several minutes without fumbling or missing, playing solid Quidditch, if a bit mechanical. It wasn’t until a loud squeak echoed across the pitch that Corrie started, caught off-guard, and was hit in the cheek by one of the balls they were using instead of proper bludgers. She clung to her broom, and once she’d shook her head and her vision cleared and she saw Chase fussing over his stupid baby doll like it was a real child that could actually hurt itself, she made an inarticulate sound of rage that was so sharp and shrill she sounded like some kind of bird of prey, or like Kenny Leitch diving for the Snitch.
But it was near the end of their mock game, and though Corrie spent the last few minutes seething and wishing she was a beater just so she could commit a bumphing foul, they got through it without any more issues. Soon they were all being shouted back to the ground to face the coach and receive their orders and criticism and what slim praise Meaghan offered, and though in a way Corrie knew what was coming and was prepared for it, it still made her angry when amid the “Not bad Goldstein, but watch that list, blah blah blah,” and “You’re leaving yourself open from the low left, Weasley, yadda yadda yadda,” there was a short, “Corrie, keep focused.”
“I am focused,” she shot back. Her mum looked surprised, and for good reason -- she’d never talked back at her during a practice, she’d rarely even done it all through her childhood. “I want to be here, I’m not trying to do double duty like some people.”
“If that comment is aimed at me,” he started, unwrapping the baby’s arms from around his neck to settle her in the chair with her squeaky giraffe, Henry, “then you need to get a grip, Corrie. When these stands are full of people screaming and yelling and laughing during a game, are you going to drop the quaffle? Why did my having D--the baby cause you so much trouble?” His expression didn’t change from its previous determination. He didn’t really mind so much what McCormack had to say. He cared what was about to pop out of her daughter’s mouth. Since she was the one who seemed to have a problem with him.
“So?”
“It’s not a baby,” Corrie said loudly. Why didn’t anyone but her realize that? It wasn’t a baby. None of them were babies. They wouldn’t die if you didn’t feed them! They wouldn’t get nappy rash if you didn’t change them. It was totally possible that if you ignored their crying and kept them silencioed all bloody day, they’d just shut themselves off, and some Ravenclaw somewhere who didn’t care about getting in trouble should try it out as an experiment. “It’s not a baby, it’s not real, it doesn’t have a name and it’s not yours. You’re just fucking using it to throw me off and I don’t have to put up with it!”
He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he watched her with growing disbelief. “I didn’t bring her to practice to throw you off. I brought her to practice because I didn’t feel like finding Penny and she’s pretty good for the most part. Secondly, they’re charmed to be real so that we take care of them like we’re supposed to. I don’t know what you think I did to you, but bringing my school assignment to practice wasn’t an aim to wreck your focus.” Chase had had quite enough of her tantrums, but here, with her mother? He wasn’t about to really argue. “And she does have a name. It’s Diana.”
He had already gathered most of his things, because it seemed weird to have them scattered after practice was over. But as the baby knocked over her giraffe again, he quickly used a spell to charm it back into her hands. “I still don’t understand how having a baby here wrecked your focus at all--since you’re used to screaming fans, like I mentioned before. I’ve heard Longbottom scream louder in the Great Hall than she did in the bleachers,” he admitted, gesturing toward Eddie.
“She’s not doing it to set me off!” Nothing could convince Corrie that wasn’t his aim. Hadn’t he wanted to go pro until his accident? Hadn’t he tried to make the team this year and failed because he wasn’t healed properly? It wasn’t a secret. And then he’d been made manager, which was perfect for any little plots he might have in mind or that would pop up, and they had hadn’t they, because he’d told her just a week ago that she had no business being on the team. Just a week ago. Did he think she’d forgotten?
Someone put their hand on her arm, but she shook it off. She wasn’t done. Shaking her finger right in Chase’s face, she said, “Just cause you didn’t get on the team doesn’t mean you can take it out on me. Just cause you killed your future doesn’t mean I don’t get one.” This was all she had. It was all she’d ever been good for, and she needed to be good for something, she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t let her mum down even if she never slept another hour this whole year, even if she was so worn down she had to take Pepper-up Potion every hour. She was a fucking McCormack and no one could break her. Even if her own mum wouldn’t stand up for her, she would do it herself. She was the only person she could depend on anyway. “I don’t care who else knows what a creep you are, I don’t care how sorry she feels for you, I have a future and you can’t stop it.”
The words bounced around, echoing off of the people who were standing there watching the exchange, bouncing and echoing and digging into him until he couldn’t stand it anymore. Hollowly, he pushed her finger out of his face. “Stop it, Corrie,” he growled, feeling both full of rage and empty of power at the same time. If it were Garrett or Charles or Danny or James or anyone else but a girl, they’d have had a fist in their jaw so fast they’d see colors. But it was Corrie. And her mother was right there. And what was he supposed to say? What could he say?
“Maybe you have a future, but not any kind of good one if you keep acting like an irresponsible prat,” he snarled. “Just because you can’t catch the Quaffle like Eddie or keep hold of it like Flint doesn’t mean you have to take out your inadequacies on me. I’m only here to help you.” But he didn’t do much of that either, did he? He bet Cody didn’t have issues. If Anais had heard one of her teammates say something like this to her, she’d cry. And the rest of them would cry with her. Vasili and Durmstrang would drink. And what did Chase have? Nothing but a mixed bag of friends and enemies, Hogwarts students who could barely work together, let alone hold loyalty to their ‘team manager’, something they had never had in the past. And it hurt. Those words. Because Cody’s numbers weren’t better, but his were. And sure, maybe he’d be on pain potions for the rest of his life, but they weren’t illegal. So what? His not making the team wasn’t his decision. It was Corrie’s mother’s. And for all he knew, the spot could’ve been his--and she gave it to Corrie because of their relationship.
But never once had the words popped out of his mouth. Not in jest, not on accident, not as an insult. Because Chase would never aim for the throat. “So either get your shit together, Pye, or take it up with the Coach. Because I’m tried of the constant scrutiny.”
His restraint was wasted, because all the I’m trying to help in the world would have been swept away by the whirlpool of Corrie’s emotions. She’d been spinning around and around for so long, so fast, so tired and scrambling to keep her balance on top of the towering heap of everything that all she could hear was the negative, all she knew was what she was doing wrong and even when she was doing right it seemed so small, so insignificant next to all her faults and weaknesses and the things she just didn’t understand, getting larger and more exaggerated all the time. And so with all he’d said, it was no surprise that all she’d heard was inadequacies and irresponsible and you can’t catch the Quaffle like Eddie or keep hold of it like Flint and get your shit together. And for once, she and Chase were on the exact same wavelength.
Her fist hit him in the jaw before she knew what was happening, fast and hard and solid. Corrie might not hit people as often as her best friend did, but she’d been taught to punch by a mum who’d been known for youthful barroom brawls, and though she was out of practice, some things stuck with you.
But she was only out of it for a moment, and once it was done, her mind was back in her body, and she stared at Chase with her hands clapped to her mouth, brain buzzing and heart pounding so loud she couldn’t hear the swearing behind her, or what, if anything, Chase was saying, and even that only lasted a few seconds because she could almost feel the everything beginning to slide and tumble down around her but the thought growing in her mind was --
Bloody hell that felt good.
And then there was nothing else for it, as she felt it slip and fall and crash, all her frantic balancing and trying to keep everything perfect and make everything right and she knew that she was off the team now, and she should be, if her mum didn’t kick her off it really was all just favouritism like she’d always been afraid of and half afraid it wouldn’t be because she didn’t really care, and which one was worse?
Corrie started to laugh, hysterical, wheezing, choking laughter at how she’d screwed things up so much but it felt so good and she wouldn’t take it back if they paid her a million and a half galleons, not even if they gave her vats of love potion, not even if some fairy godmother popped out of nowhere and offered to make everything absolutely perfect and like it’d never ever happened. Not in a zillion squidillion years.
If someone had bet Chase at breakfast that he’d be punched in the face by Corrie Pye he’d have lost. Big time. Because while she was a firecracker and a bit unstable, he’d never pegged her for violent. And they’d been trying to work things out--like when he’d offered to pretend to be her for a day. Except then she called him her mother’s house elf or something and whatever modicum of friendship they’d owned had gone out the window.
So when her fist connected with his jaw, it wasn’t so much the unexpectedness as it was the pain of having tried so hard to please everyone and having it backfire. Miserably. Cursing vibrantly, not at anyone, but in general, he reeled backward, knocking his knees into a bench, which elicited more swearing. The pain in his jaw jetted off from one spot and shattered along his face, causing pinpricks of pain from all different places, though he knew he’d only been hurt where her fist had landed.
When the shock had ended he swung out his arms, staring at McCormack with exhaustion. “That’s it. I’m done. I’m done being yelled at for doing my job--the job that I was asked to do. If any of you think I enjoy sitting on the bench watching you play when I can’t, you’re sorely mistaken.” He gathered what he’d dropped and swept Diana into his arms, her bottom lip quivering at the quick grab, her tiny hands reaching for the spot on his face which was already turning red. “I’m done being the one who gets kicked around because you have no one else to take it out on. Well, I’m no one’s bitch boy. So find yourself another puppy.”
And with that, he stormed off, Diana’s arms wrapped snugly around his neck, as he made his way through the twin doors that marked the locker rooms--and therefore the escape from the pitch.
Corrie didn’t hear Chase or see him go. She didn’t hear or see anything, as caught up in the shock and amazement of actually feeling good again, and for what? For clocking Chase Harper, who she’d never minded until this year and never hated until a week ago, and yet somehow, it had been completely and totally, utterly worth it. How did that happen?
She was laughing so hard, in fact, that she didn’t know how long she’d been laughing, doubled over in painful hilarity that brought tears to her eyes and chased them down her face. All she knew was that someone was shouting at her, and someone, maybe the same person? was shaking her, holding her by the arms and shaking her and she had no idea what they were saying but when she looked up and her vision cleared, it was her mum. And with her towering heap of everything in ruins everywhere, something else was suddenly clear, too.
“I quit,” she said. And it felt wonderful and bright and light and free. “I quit and you can’t stop me.” How was it possible for anything she said to sound that beautiful and right? “You can’t stop me,” she shouted, heart feeling like it was about to burst. And she broke free -- free -- of her mother’s hands, and it was easier than she’d ever thought, and it felt wonderful, and she turned and ran for the locker rooms and through them, radiant and clean and still in her robes, leaving behind her clothes, leaving behind her doll, leaving behind her broom -- and that was the best of all.