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All's Fair	By : sarcastrow Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 4263 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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The Match

Katie Bell watched as Seamus and Pansy entered the room. She’d been watching Seamus Finnigan for a long time. From his first year at Hogwarts to the tense moments of the final battle, she had been enthralled by the handsome Irishman. She’d thought him cute and cuddly as he sat on the stool with the sorting hat on his head debating which house to put him in. He’d told her much later, in a quiet moment in April of ‘98 while they waited in the Room of Requirement, that the hat had been torn between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Now she could see why: he moved in tandem with Parkinson, smiling at the appropriate times and laughing at her jokes with a polite restraint that seemed to have eluded him at school. She was a year his senior but that didn’t matter now as they were both over twenty and far from those days of thinking that a year’s difference made any difference at all. Now he was a grown man, and an extraordinarily handsome one. His sandy hair was just a bit longer than the norm, probably from long weeks of neglect while he was on assignment, she thought, and he carried himself with a confidence born of hard experience.

She had been there for a few of those experiences; she had been there at Hogwarts, visiting her cousin, when he had been tortured by the Carrows for cheering about Harry’s triumph at the Ministry and his eluding of the Death Eaters yet again. After Neville had rescued him she had stayed in the Room of Requirement with Lavender, tending his wounds. She had been there as Neville had pulled Seamus’ wand from his hand and said, “Enough,” the Death Eater who’d killed Colin a bloody mass at Seamus’s feet; she had yearned to hold him as he wept by Lavender’s bedside, the pretty blonde girl a mass of bandages and foul smelling potions. Katie knew he wasn’t in love with Parkinson and she was fairly certain Parkinson knew that too, because anyone who really knew Seamus knew he belonged heart and soul to Lavender Brown. That was okay though, because obviously he wasn’t waiting around moping over her, and that was just fine with Katie. She liked Lavender well enough, but all’s fair, she thought to herself. If Lavender was going to be self-indulgent, self-pitying and dense enough to let him go, then there were plenty of other girls who would stand in her place. Katie waved to him as they approached.

“Chaser Bell, as I live and breathe,” Seamus said as he walked up. “Pansy, you remember Katie Bell?” he asked the dark haired witch on his arm.

“Of course,” Pansy said, extending her hand. Katie took it and Pansy continued, “Ginny Potter wouldn’t play unless she had you by her side. I’ve been to several of your matches, and I understand why.”

“Pansy’s a bit of a Quidditch fan,” Seamus said, “It’s a sad thing that only the hardcore fans know how important you are to the Harpies’ stats. You have more assists than anyone, man or woman, in the league.”

“Oh, well thank you both,” Katie said, “I just do my job. If it gets noticed that’s great, but frankly I’m not concerned about recognition. It seems a bit of a pain in the arse to be honest, especially for Ginny. First she’s hounded by the press for marrying ‘The Chosen One,’ and then she’s top scoring chaser in the league. Bloody press wouldn’t leave her alone all last year. They camped out just beyond the boundary at the Burrow for the better part of two weeks until George Weasley took matters into his own hands.”

Pansy laughed. “That was George Weasley? I should have known.”

“What happened?” Seamus asked.

“What, do you live under a rock?” Katie asked with a laugh. “It was in the Prophet, buried in the back but it was there, and it was front page on the Quibbler. People talked about it for weeks.”

“Aye, well I must have been out of touch. I am you know, from time to time,” Seamus said with a sly smile.

“Come to think of it, I think it was during one of your… absences,” Pansy said.

“Will one of you lovely lasses tell me what happened, then?” Seamus said, slightly exasperated.

Pansy looked at Katie with a go right ahead expression.

Katie took a sip from her water, she never drank alcohol before a match, and began the tale. “Well you see, after the wedding they were having a bit of trouble with privacy, and they finally went down to the Burrow to get away from the creeps sneaking through the wards of their flat and ambushing them for pictures and interviews. You know, one would think after Ginny hexed the living shit out of a few of them that they’d have given it up as a bad idea, but no, they just kept on. Worse than the Muggle press sometimes, ours is,” she rolled her eyes, “Anyway, they were at the Burrow and the press had set up a kind of tent town just outside the wards. They couldn’t get through Molly, Arthur and Bill Weasley’s work, but it was becoming a right troublesome time to go to the market to shop, so George took matters into his own hands.”

“Yeah, well what the feck did he do?” Seamus asked, maddened and smiling.

“Keep your trousers on, Seamus, I’m getting there.” She smirked and blushed a little at the thought of a trouser-less Seamus. “George made his way into the camp and set off one of the Wheezes’ experimental products, a kind of a sex bomb.” She broke into giggles and then full-on laughter, and Pansy joined in heartily. When they had composed themselves, Katie continued, “It’s a derivative of Cornish pixie dust gathered during their mating season.”

Seamus nodded. Pixie dust was a renowned aphrodisiac.

“So he sets off this little bomb in the middle of the night and all the reporters and paparazzi rush out to see what’s happening,” and Katie had another laughing fit, “Then they got the full effect from the bomb. It sort of dissolved into an on-the-spot orgy, and George was there at the ready.”

“What, did he get in on it?” Seamus asked.

“Oh no, no,” and Katie smiled wickedly. “He was there with a camera of his own, got some great shots.” Pansy was silently shaking at Seamus’ side. She’d had her fair share of run-ins with the press after the war. “George got the goods on every one of them. I dated Lee Jordan for a while, and one night when I was at their flat they showed me the pictures. All those wankers with superiority complexes were taking it any way they could. The best bit was Skeeter, though.”

Pansy’s eyes shot up. “What about Skeeter?” she asked viciously. She hated Rita Skeeter for publishing the smear job that landed her parents in prison for two years.

Katie smirked. “Not a fan, Pansy?” she laughed, “I suppose not. Well, it turned out that Rita was… how shall I say… the belle of the ball. She’ll not be troubling anyone we care about ever again. You see, George has a whole series of pictures devoted to her. He somehow got hold of a really great invisibility cloak, and he was right in the thick of the action. He got pictures of Rita giving the editor of the prophet a blow job, then fucking him while she blew another reporter. There’s a set of her with two of the paparazzi; one’s in her arse and the other is the right way round.” Katie suddenly realized where she was and to whom she was talking. “Oh, I shouldn’t get so graphic here; it’s just so good, though.”

“’S okay,” Seamus said. “I cast muffliato when you started.” He twirled his wand in his fingers. Katie hadn’t even seen him draw it.

“You’re good,” she said, impressed.

He shrugged his shoulders. “So they tell me. Go on.”

“Well, it basically continued the whole night, and George has pictures of it all. As there were more men than women in the camp, he got some fairly embarrassing shots of some of the more macho members of the press doing things that might cast doubt on their… manliness.” She actually cackled. “And then the next morning, George waltzes into the camp and calls a meeting. He spreads these photos all over a table and announces that they will be moving on and never darkening their door again. Worked beautifully.”

“I never heard the whole story,” Pansy said, “I knew something had gone down. The Quibbler said there was some sort of very embarrassing event for the press corps and that the press had backed off because of some kind of threat. The rumors were everything from dark magic to prostitutes, but I never knew the true genius of what Weasley had done. I’ll have to drop by his shop and congratulate him, and thank him, too.” A conspiratorial smile lit her face. “Maybe for the right price I can get him to part with one or two of Skeeter’s photos. Those could be handy.”

“That brain of yours never stops, does it?” Seamus asked her, grinning.

Pansy looked at him, an expression of confidence on her face. “Never,” she said, “Oh and speaking of that, there’s Thomas Greymartin. Hmm.” She looked thoughtful. Seamus knew that look. It meant her brain was in overdrive, working out the machinations of some intricate plot. “Change of plan, Seamus, I think I’ll start working on Greymartin now. Would you be a dear and escort me to him?”

“Why of course, me lady,” Seamus said in full brogue, and turned to Katie. “I’ll be handing Pansy off to Mr. Greymartin over there. D’you mind if I come back and we chat some more?”

Katie looked puzzled for a moment then shrugged her shoulders. “Okay,” she said.

Seamus led Pansy across the dance floor to where her mark for the evening stood talking to Oliver Wood. The two Gryffindors greeted each other warmly. Oliver introduced Pansy and Seamus to Mr. Greymartin, who was obviously immediately enchanted by Pansy. Katie was impressed. Pansy worked the man with a subtle precision that only a woman could spot: a coy laugh, a slight touch on the arm, a self-deprecating motion at her dress, a fluff of the breasts, and then a twirl that revealed a great deal of leg. Style, she thought to herself, that one’s always had style. Seamus laughed at some joke of Pansy’s, and as Katie watched he shook Mr. Greymartin’s hand and deftly gave him Pansy’s arm.

A few moments later the handsome Irishman was back at her table. “Well, I suppose I’m set free for the rest of the evening. Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m just holding a table for the rest of the team,” she told him.

“Ah, well what I meant was are you here with someone, or can I offer you an arm for the after-party?” he asked.

Katie beamed at him. “Why Mr. Finnigan, I’d love to, and we’ll be celebrating a win, I’ll wager.”

The Irish in Seamus pounced on the word ‘wager.’ “A gambling woman, are you? What would you be willing bet, then?” he asked.

An evil light shone in her eyes. Let’s just see how open you are. “Well, I never bet money. I always like to wager something more… personal.” She pondered for a moment. “I know: knickers. We win, I get yours. They win, you get mine.”

Seamus roared with laughter. “Done and done,” he said, and shook her hand.

“So what’s with you and Parkinson?” she asked.

“Oh, Pansy and I are really good friends,” he told her, “She really changed… Well, not really changed, ‘tis more that people got to know the real her after the war. She weren’t a true believer in Riddle’s plans and philosophy; it’s just being Slytherin and a Parkinson, she was forced into being on that side.”

“What about when she wanted to turn Harry over to… him?” she said darkly.

“Let me ask you something,” Seamus said seriously, “Do you think she didn’t know that all of Gryffindor, all of Hufflepuff and most of Ravenclaw were in Dumbledore’s Army by that time?”

Katie had never considered that. “No,” she said tentatively.

“Right. So do you think she thought that we would actually turn Harry over?”

“Hmm, no.”

“Aye, look what she accomplished with that one statement,” he said, “All of Slytherin was escorted from the school and taken out of our way so we could fight without watching our backs.”

Katie was stunned. “Bloody brilliant!” she said, impressed. “Why doesn’t everybody know that?”

Seamus shrugged. “We’ve moved on,” he said simply, “People want to get on with life and heal the wounds from the war. When her parents got sent to prison, she had to take over the running of the family and the family business, however obviously she was sorted into Slytherin for a reason. She’s wicked smart, especially when it comes to manipulating people to do what she wants, and she has a real head for how to run a business. That’s what makes her so good at this charity thing.” He plucked a champagne flute from a passing tray.

“Do enjoy your drink, sir,” the little elf under it said.

“I will, thanks,” Seamus said. “You remember Padma Patil?” he asked Katie.

“Yes.”

“She’s Pansy’s partner.” At Katie’s questioning look he laughed, “Business partner, handles the day to day while Pansy raises the money. Pansy likes men, trust me, and Padma’s marrying Anthony Goldstein in a few months.” He chuckled. “Anyway, Pan and I are friends. Neither one of us is looking for anything serious. I’m away too much to make any woman happy, and she, well, she just likes… variety.” He smirked and took a sip from the champagne.

Katie considered this for a moment. It seemed a reasonable relationship. She herself hadn’t gotten involved seriously for just those reasons. “And you don’t mind her…” she looked toward the stage where Pansy was cunningly drawing Greymartin into her trap.

Seamus smiled broadly. “She’s a player, and this is her game. No, I don’t mind, and neither does she.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Katie’s mind drifted to thoughts of what she would like to do to the well-dressed, confident, fine specimen of a man before her, and her knickers became suddenly damp. “Um, yes, well I, uh, oh look, there’s the rest of the team. Do you mind? I think they’ll want to talk strategy.” She leaned into him and let her breath tickle his ear. “Can you find me at the after party and we’ll settle our bet?” she asked in a whisper.

“Absolutely, Miss Bell,” he said, and with a flourish he kissed her hand.

You are in for it tonight, Mr. Finnigan, she thought. “I’ll be looking for you,” she said, and waved to her teammates.

As Ginny Potter, Nicole Konos, Gwenog Jones and the rest of the team gathered around the table, Seamus bade them hello and farewell and wandered off toward where he had just seen Minister Shacklebolt.

*

“Thomas, this is my partner Padma Patil and her fiancé, Anthony Goldstein. Padma, Anthony, this is Thomas Greymartin,” Pansy said.

Thomas took Padma’s hand. “A pleasure, Pansy says you can fill me in on the particulars of how the Muggle Born Restoration Fund spends its money.”

“That I can, Mr. Greymartin,” Padma replied, “We make very sure no monies are wasted, and every knut goes to help those most damaged by the war. We’ve done a great deal but there’s still a long road ahead.”

“Excellent, and call me Thomas, please. Mr. Greymartin makes me feel so old.” He laughed and turned to Anthony. “Goldstein’s Fine Magical Jewelry?” he asked.

Anthony nodded. “Greymartin Cauldrons?”

Thomas nodded, and the two men shared a moment of understanding. They had both been born to a certain class, and a certain destiny. Both were bound to their families business, and it was a shared curse and blessing.

Pansy placed her hand on Thomas’s arm and turned him to her. “Could I leave you with Padma for a bit? She can answer any questions you might have, and I need to give a pep talk to the ladies’ team.”

He smiled and kissed her hand. “Of course.”

“Good, I’ll just be a few minutes, and then we’ll head up to the pitch for the opening ceremony and the match.” She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek.

God, you’re good, Padma thought and gave her partner a wink.

Pansy smiled at them all and strode away toward the women’s team.

As she approached, Pansy heard the end of story Gwenog Jones was telling. “And so I’m flying all over the pitch making these incredible shots, and my knickers are swinging in the breeze off the brush end of my broom. Bloody team didn’t even tell me till practice was over. Bitches, all of you,” and the table erupted in laughter.

Pansy joined in their levity and then got their attention. “Ladies… ladies, I’d like to have a word with you before the game. Shall we adjourn to the locker room?”

The women grabbed the snacks and drinks from the table, and made their way toward the locker entrance. “What’s up, Pansy?” Michelle Ombagi, a tall black woman asked.

“Oh, just a little strategy session. You girls don’t play together regularly so I thought we’d discuss tactics a little,” and Pansy lowered her voice to a whisper, “Plus I’ve got a little something to give us an edge.”

Nicole’s eyebrows rose. “Just wait for it,” Pansy said, “You’ll love it.”

The locker room looked like a sultan’s seraglio; the lockers themselves were steamer trunks and large puffs sat before them. The shower area was opulently tiled in a mosaic depicting naked witches aboard their brooms, and was curtained by red and gold silks. The floor of the rest of room was carpeted in hand woven rugs, and the ceiling was a mass of silks in a riot of colors. The women were impressed, and told Pansy so.

“Beautiful,” a Russian voice said from her side.

Pansy turned to the woman. “Yes, it’s perfect isn’t it, Yelena? The decorators followed my instructions to the letter. Thank you for coming from Saint Petersburg by the way, I was thrilled when you accepted.”

“I had to vatch from the stands last year,” she said, “I vas not going to do that this year. The margin of the men’s victory was so slim, I knew we could defeat them this year vith my help.”

Pansy laughed. “Well I’ve got a little something to give us a bit of an edge. Gather round ladies, gather round.” She produced a perfume bottle from her dress. “This, ladies is some very special perfume. Now, I’ve been through the rule book ten times, and this is perfectly legal.”

“What is it?” Ginny Potter asked.

“Hermione didn’t tell you? Gods, she can keep a secret!” Pansy held the little atomizer up so the rest could see it. “Mrs. Potter’s sister-in-law is a right dab hand at potions, and I enlisted her help in creating this. You see, she and I have lunch from time to time to discuss what the charity should do next, and one day not so long ago our discussion drifted away from the charity, as it often does.” She laughed to herself, and then continued, “Well, it drifted into Muggle science, and she told me about this research they are doing into the chemistry of attraction. They’ve discovered this thing called pheromones. They’re a kind of chemical that living things make to attract mates. We make them too and this,” she twirled the bottle in her fingertips and the faceted surface glinted in the light, “is concentrated essence of woman. It’d give a dead man a hard-on.”

There was a chorus of oohs and ahhs, some skeptical looks and giggles from the women.

Pansy let them digest the information and continued, “Now I know you’re thinking that this might be a bit unfair, but really, aren’t you going to be a bit distracted flying around the pitch with Victor Krum, Oliver Wood, and Jacques Elley? I think it’ll serve them right if they have to deal with… arousal issues,” and the women laughed. “It won’t trigger the foul wards, either. It’s not a potion, it’s simply a perfume. The only magic involved was in gathering and concentrating the pheromones. Just be sure to shower well after the match because it really works. Hermione reports that her husband – ”

“You can stop right there, Pansy,” Ginny interrupted.

“Fair enough,” she chuckled. “Suffice to say, it works.”

“How’s it smell?” Koni Yoshida asked from the back.

“The base is a nice, neutral flower scent. Here, try it out.” She handed the bottle to the young Japanese woman and backed away. At Koni’s bemused look Pansy said, “I have to go out among the public in a bit, and I don’t want a bunch of men following me around like dogs.”

Koni gave the bulb a small squeeze and a fine mist of perfume sprayed from the nozzle. “Hai, yes, very nice,” she said, and misted her hair.

The rest of the women sniffed the air. There was a flurry of activity as the bottle was passed from hand to hand, and soon the whole team was scented with the perfume.

Pansy grinned from the doorway. “Have a good match ladies, I’ll be cheering you on from the VIP box,” and laughing, she closed the door.

*

“Witches and wizards, welcome to the fifth annual International All Star Men versus Women Quidditch Match,” Pansy’s voice boomed throughout the pitch. “I am your host, Pansy Parkinson, and it’s my pleasure to introduce Sarah Mullet, former chaser for the Irish national team, who will call the game for us, and Arnold Armstrong, Keeper for the Philadelphia Phoenix, who will provide commentary.” The man and woman standing next to Pansy waved and bowed to the cheers of the crowd. “We at United Wizarding Charities thank you for your generous support, and bid you enjoy the match. Every galleon raised today will help those in need! Thank you again, and now on to the match!”

A great roar erupted from the crowd. Sarah Mullet’s soft brogue resounded around the pitch. “Introducing the international all-star men’s team; at chaser Sean Troy, all Ireland, Jacques Elley, French national, and Enrique Sandoval, Brazil.” Another huge roar went through the stands as three men on brooms zoomed from the tunnel-like entrance of the men’s locker room and into the air. They were trailing multicolored smoke from their brooms, and wove a great braided pattern across the pitch. “At beater, Sven Langstrom, Sweden, and Mustafa Kalil, Kashmir.” The two men were preceded from the locker entrance by two bright balls of light. They sped out onto the pitch and batted the balls back and forth between them until with two great blows the balls exploded into a glittering shower of silver sparks. The two men then soared into position next to their teammates. “At keeper, Oliver Wood, England.” Wood shot from the entrance and three great balls of light were on his tail. As he swooped in front of the goals, the balls attempted to zoom through the hoops. One, two, three, he swatted them away and they burst in a shower of sparks. “And at seeker,” Ms. Mullet continued, “playing his final game before becoming coach of the Bulgarian national team, Victor Krum!”

A flock of yellow-gold birds flew from the locker room entrance, then nothing happened for several seconds and a hushed whisper went through the crowd. Suddenly a black streak exploded from the mouth of the tunnel. He was everywhere at once, twisting and turning around the pitch, snatching the little birds as they spun and wove, trying to elude him. In less than a minute he had gathered every one into a small bag. With a flourish he tossed the bag into the air and it burst into thousands of small sparkling golden packets that fell into the crowd, who quickly discovered they were individually wrapped caramels from his native Bulgaria.

“Now that’s what I call an entrance,” Thomas said from Pansy’s side. “I’ve met Victor Krum, he can barely walk without tripping over his own feet, but on a broom he’s an artist.” He laughed. “Your girls are going to have to do something really special to top that.”

Pansy smiled confidently up at him. “Yes, they will,” she said.

“And now, please welcome the international all star women’s team,” Ms. Mullet called. The lights dimmed and Fleur Weasley strode onto the pitch and walked to the center ring. Light, symphonic music lilted through the air, and she began to sing.

“We love, we live, we fight, we play for you.

We fly to reach the highest stars,

And wrap you in our loving arms

We soar on gilded clouds to win for you.”

The crowd had gone completely silent. Fleur’s voice had entranced them, and as Pansy looked around she could see tears shining in the eyes of the women around her.

“At chaser,” Mullets voice softly said, “Gwenog Jones, Wales, Kathrin Bell and Ginevra Potter, England.”

There was a sudden crescendo in the music, and with a thunderclap the three women appeared in a flash hovering on their brooms a hundred feet over the center of the pitch. There was a second’s pause as the crowd realized they were there and then they soared off in different directions, streaking around the pitch, a glittering silver mist in their wake.

The music swelled and took on a faster tempo. Fleur continued.

“To ride the wind in moonlit bliss

To save for you a lover’s kiss

Let troubles fly, let them fly.”

As Fleur sang the three women shot around the pitch clockwise, skimming just over the heads of the crowd as they rose from the turf side to the top of the stands. When they cleared the top of the stands they wheeled and dove toward Fleur. They converged just over her head and tucked into a tight formation barely a foot apart and shot straight up. They rose in a tight spiral leaving a sparkling silver rope of mist behind. At the pinnacle they peeled apart in a flower formation and dove back to hover just behind Fleur. A huge roar went up from the stands.

“We found our calling long ago for you

To strike a resounding blow,

To smite the wicked foe,

To guard our precious tribe and win for you.”

“At beater,” the smile was obvious in Ms. Mullet’s voice. “Michelle Ombagi, Nairobi, and Nicole Konos, Greece.” The same thunderclap sounded through the stadium as the two women burst into reality in the same spot as the chasers had.

“Defend the tribe, our woman’s pride

On brooms we ride, bats by our side.

Let troubles fly, let them fly.”

At the words, “tribe” and “pride”, Fleur pointed her wand at each end of the pitch in turn and conjured a huge dragon made of fire over the hoops. As she finished the verse the flaming serpents took off after the beaters, shooting flaming balls at them. The two women deftly batted the fire balls away while swooping through the hoops and over the stands. At last they turned and dove straight at the dragons. Each one shot a final fire ball at the two beaters who, with tremendous swats, knocked the flaming balls back down the dragons throats and they exploded in red, green, and blue sparks. The roar from the crowd was deafening as the two beaters joined their teammates.

“Our hearth and home kept warm and safe for you

I keep our home safe from the world

Our refuge from the spin and whirl

I bar the door and save the win for you.”

“At keeper, Yelena Fatalovitch, Russia,” Ms. Mullet’s voice said quietly.

Yelena apparated with a thunderclap and flash directly in front of the goal hoops. At almost the same instant a dozen balls of light swooped over the opposite end of the stadium and sped toward the woman keeper. She flew out from the goals to meet them and in a blur of motion she swatted, kicked, and caught the balls. None made it through. The cheers from the crowd were constant and Fleur ramped up the volume of her singing to match.

“I search the sky to catch the win for you

I’ll find the prize, and claim victory

Tonight we let our hair fly free

We soar on gilded clouds to win for you.”

“At seeker, Koni Yoshida, Japan.” Ms. Mullet announced, and a red and black blur streaked over the top of the stands and into the stadium. The six women hovering on their brooms released six golden balls that spun up into the air and began racing around the pitch.

As Koni sped around the stadium, deftly gathering up the little golden balls, Victor Krum leaned over and spoke to Oliver Wood. “I think ve may be in trouble,” he said.

The music swelled to a finish and Fleur took a bow, then gestured to the women hovering on their brooms. The seven women shot forward once more. They closed on the spot just above the center of the pitch then shot straight up in a tight, circular formation, spiraling skyward and leaving a trail of silver sparks behind them.

“Oh yeah, we’re in trouble,” Wood said.

The women’s team peeled away at the apex of the pillar of silver sparks, leaving another huge flower pattern in the sky. The crowd was thundering in cheers and applause as they reformed at the far goal hoops and waited for the referee.

“Our teams are in place,” Arnold Armstrong said, “now let’s meet tonight’s officials.”

Two men in referee uniforms emerged from the sidelines and mounted brooms.

“From Italy,” Armstrong continued, “the star beater for the Rome Centurions, Lino Tortalia, and from Mexico, Captain of the Yucatan Quetzal, Edwardo Tampas.”

There were polite cheers for the officials from the crowd as the two men flew up to hover over the center of the pitch and motioned for the two teams to join them. The men flew up, and formed a half circle on their side and the women followed suit.

The Italian referee addressed the two teams, “Alright, Signors, Signoras. I would like to see the same kind of game we had last year. I will allow a full-on game, but at the first sign of rough play I will warn the party involved, after that penalties will be assessed. Are we clear?”

“We promise to be perfect gentlemen,” Oliver Wood said.

Ginny flew forward so that her broom was tip to tip with Wood’s. “And we promise to be ladylike… ish,” she said with a smile, and held out her hand to Wood. They shook hands, and a breath of breeze wafted her scent to the men. Ginny smiled as she noticed them squirm slightly on their brooms. This certainly will be interesting, she thought.

The players assumed their starting positions, the chasers hovering forty feet above the center ring of the pitch, the beaters halfway to the goals, the keepers at their goals, and the two seekers flying freely around the pitch.

“Referee Tampas descends to the chest,” Mullet announced to the crowd. “The snitch and bludgers are released, and Tampas lofts the quaffle into play.” A roar went up as Sean Troy got to the ball first. “Troy down the pitch, near snatch by Jones, Troy pitches to Elley, to Sandoval, back to Elley. SNATCHED BY POTTER!” A huge cheer sounded through the stands. “Potter! Potter to Jones, Jones down the pitch. Wood takes position. Ellison cut by Bell!” Katie flew directly between Oliver Wood and Ginny, temporarily blocking his view. “Potter to Bell, backhand toss to Potter, Goal!!!”

“A classic maneuver, Sarah,” Arnold Armstrong said. “You young league players out there, take note. That was a perfect execution, and just like that the women are up by ten.”

“Yes, Arnold, and the men reform. Sandoval with the quaffle, down the pitch. Sandoval… Sandoval to Elley,” Elley brought his broom to a dead stop and pitched the quaffle straight up to Troy , then leaned all the way down on his broom and shot forward like an arrow. “Elley up-ends and pitches to Troy, Troy back to Elley. Elley takes a shot at goal. Save by Fatalovitch!”

“What a save! I thought the men had a sure ten there.”

“Well Arnold, these are the best women players in the world. I’d take nothing for granted if I were you.”

“Very good advice Sarah, looks like the men are setting the Bulgarian defense up for the women’s next run at goal. So far the beaters have been out of play, haven’t seen a bludger get near the chasers. Krum and Yoshida seem to be just flying around the pitch. I’m sure the chase will be on soon, though.”

Yelena flew a bit out from her goal to meet the women chasers circling back to her. The men had set two chasers on either side on the hoops halfway to center pitch, and one almost at turf level. The two beaters circled above center pitch sending the bludgers at the women as they came back up the pitch with the quaffle.

“Bell in the lead this time, bludgers nicely deflected by Ombagi and Konos,” Sarah called. “Up pitch in the standard… Bell to potter, Potter drops the quaffle! Caught by Jones in a Taylor spiral.” The pass had been intentionally mishandled to distract the oncoming men’s chasers. Gwenog shot forward just before the pass, and as the men’s chasers dove for the falling ball she appeared from nowhere at full speed, plucked the quaffle out of the air, and spiraled up through the oncoming men before they knew what was happening. The girls were starting to sweat from the exertion, and the perfume they had almost forgotten began to vaporize and pervade the air immediately around them. As Jacques Elley bore down on Gwenog from behind, he slipped into her draft and was immersed in her scent. His mind wandered almost immediately. Gwenog was almost forty and at the height of her sexuality. All the women had chosen to let their hair free this evening, Katie had shown them a charm that made it stay clear of their eyes and arms while floating in an almost underwater way around them. Jacques stared at Gwenog’s arse. His mind filled with a vision of her on her knees and him driving his cock into her, her muscled thighs squeezing his cock until he came with a shout. He flew straight by the goal and almost into the stands before he regained his senses.

“Jones down the pitch, Elley on her tail,” Sarah announced. “Jones pulls up short and passes to Bell, Bell to Potter, Potter to Jones. Elley has flown off the pitch. Jones tries for… Goal!”

“I don’t know what Jacques was thinking, Sarah,” Arnold said. “He seemed totally lost, almost took a seat with the fans there.”

The men weren’t completely at a loss though, and their next possession saw them come back up the pitch in a flurry of bludgers and passes to score on Yelena.

“Twenty to ten in favor of the women,” Sarah said proudly. “This is turning into one of the great games I’ve seen, Arnold.”

Arnold laughed. “I was a bit concerned at the miss by Elley earlier but the men seem to have shaken that off and are back with a passion.”

They were, but the perfume was starting to really have an effect on their concentration, and their ability to ride. Every man on the pitch was struggling with unwanted wood. Even Krum with his stoic nature was having trouble. Koni Yoshida was a vision. At barely nine stone dripping wet, she was small, tight-bodied, and stunningly pretty. Whenever she passed him as they searched for the snitch he caught a flowery scent and he thought of deeply wrong things. The fact that she rode her broom in an almost sensual way didn’t help. Victor swooped in behind her as she feinted and a scene of carnal debauchery formed in his mind.

Koni swayed before him, ivory skinned with jet black hair. The dark curls above her pussy were trimmed but not shaven, and she slowly rotated her hips in a way that made his cock ache. Victor was undone, he had to take her, then and there. He pushed her to the bed and dove into her warm, wet center, tasting her, reveling in her scent. Then he rose, crawled up her body, and pressed the head of his cock at her entrance.

Suddenly he was back in flight, diving straight at the ground. He pulled up just in time and brought a few bits of turf on his toes back up into the air with him. “Vat the fuck?’ he said to himself, and shook his head.

“Krum almost got plowed there,” Arnold said. “Very unusual for Victor to lose his focus like that. The men must be struggling with all these beautiful women on the pitch.”

“No different than the women having to deal with all those staggeringly handsome men, Arnold,” Sarah said with a note of chastisement.

Armstrong laughed. “Point to Mullet,” he said.

The game got intense. The men, for the most part, found a way to ignore the unwanted fantasies that would enter their mind whenever they got within ten feet of the women, but the physical reaction they were having to the perfume they couldn’t ignore. The women scored again and then the men went on a thirty to naught run, and the score was men ten up. Katie circled back to Ginny when the action paused as the men regrouped.

“Ellison cut again?” Katie asked as Gwenog flew up.

“Yeah,” Gwenog replied a bit breathless. “I’ll snatch,” and she flew off down the pitch toward the oncoming men.

Katie and Ginny took up wedge positions behind her. As they reached the quarter pitch markers Gwenog pulled up slightly as Katie and Ginny bore down on their brooms for maximum speed.

“We call this chicken in the States,” Armstrong said as he watched the two women head straight at the men.

The two women shot through the men’s formation and Gwenog was right behind them. The front end of her broom connected with the quaffle in Enrique Sandoval’s arms so hard it shot fifty feet into the air. Katie had executed an impossibly tight turn and was there before anyone else. The quaffle was in her hands for three seconds and she passed to Ginny.

“I’ve never seen a woman do the Stanoslave steal,” Mullet said in wonder. “It’s one of the most dangerous moves in Quidditch. That, however, was a perfect execution. Unbelievable.”

Armstrong’s voice held equal admiration. “And here come the women again, Sarah.”

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