A/N: If you didn't read the previous chapter titled "Author's Note" (this is a no brainer) please go back and do so because there might be something of interest to you back there. Thanx.
Disclaimer: Yeahh, shove it you legalistic bastard.
Epilogue: Hey Little Girl
"Go, go, go, go, GO!"
The little boy, not more than five, bouncing on the stadium seat shot upwards and scrambled to the ledge of the balcony. He was dressed in navy blue robes embroidered with golden bulrushes and was sporting an insanely large Puddlemere United memorabilia pennant in his hand; it was twice his size.
"Mum! Mum, did you see that?" He turned his ecstatic face towards his mother.
"And a spectacular save by Wood! The crowd is on its feet! Best bloody Keeper in a century!" The announcer boomed.
"Did you hear that? Did you hear it! Dad's the best bloody Keeper in the century!" He exploded with glee, his banner flopping behind him as he jumped up excitedly.
"Damn fine Keeper!" The announcer roared.
"Damn fine Keeper!" The boy parroted.
"Andrew William Wood!" The boy, Andrew, smiled meekly at his sputtering mother. His blue eyes danced with mischief as he said, "But he said it, Mum! He said it!"
"Just because he's a potty-mouth doesn't mean you have to be," she said matter-of-factly.
Just then, a Falmouth Falcon Beater committed a nasty foul, slamming a Bludger right at Wood. It caught him in the shoulder and sent him spinning on his broom.
Andrew's mother erupted in indignation as she leapt from her seat screaming. "That was a bloody foul right there! That bastard, nowhere near the goalposts! Foul!"
"Katie?" Someone gasped from behind.
Andrew watched as his mother turned around to gasp and then hug a spunky-looking witch with faded blonde hair and shimmering blue eyes. The two women squealed, hugged, squealed, and hugged again.
"I haven't seen you in ages!" The blonde woman his mother had called Angelina beamed.
"It's because of Oliver's schedule, rough with traveling," his mother sighed.
"Oh, Katie, you look as gorgeous as you ever did. And who's this? Hello, Andrew, remember me?" The pretty, blonde witch had turned to him and was waving her hand in front of his face. He blinked at her and shook his head.
"Got your mother's eyes, anyone ever told you that? I held you when you were born. I was there. And so much like your father already, lookit you, grin and all! Exactly alike!" Angelina fawned before kissing him on the forehead and releasing him from a quick hug.
Andrew turned back to the game and watched his father enthusiastically, half-listening to his mother.
"Katie, you must come visit me and Fred sometime during Oliver's Christmas holidays. We've been dying to get together and it'd be nice for Andrew to meet the triplets."
"How are those demons anyway?"
"Oh, the terrible twos, I left them at home with Fred today. I told him I absolutely needed a break from their howling and I Apparated, well, here."
"Wait 'til they hit their threes."
"Don't tell me it gets worse."
"Angel dear, it gets much worse."
"I just can't believe Fred and I are going to celebrate our fourth anniversary next week…"
"I know what you mean. I wake up sometimes and still can't believe I've been married to Ollie for six."
"Oh, by the way, did you get the Owl last Wednesday with your gift?"
"Yes, thank you! It was lovely. Tell Fred I said thanks, too."
"Well, we can't let one of our best friends turn twenty-seven without batting an eye. We're getting on, Bell."
Andrew had started screaming again because the Falcon Chasers had triple-fouled over the Keeper line. He'd been shouting at the referee when someone to his right said, "I don't see the problem. Rierdan released the Quaffle way before Everdeen and Talckum crossed the line!"
"What!" Andrew shouted.
He turned and found himself face-to-face with a girl not much older than him. She sniffed snootily at him and crossed her arms across her chest. She was pretty with sandy-colored hair and gold-colored eyes. Andrew hated her on sight.
"I've been listening to your screaming," she snapped.
"Well, you're wrong! They fouled my dad," Andrew argued. He felt a swell of anger at her cold, indifferent attitude.
"I can't be wrong if the ref agrees with me," she said irately.
"Well, that's my dad out there and he's the best bloody Keeper in a century," Andrew said, sticking out his tongue.
"Well, my mum's a Chaser for the Harpies and she'll take them to the Cup," she tiffed.
"Don't be stupid! Girls can't play Quidditch. And that's all you are, a little girl."
Katie and Angelina had stopped their conversation at the sound of Andrew's argument breaking out in the box. Angelina clasped a hand over her mouth at Andrew's ridiculous statement before shooting Katie a look of utter disbelief. Katie shook her head but couldn't help but smile. Give it another ten years and her son would be eating that for the rest of his life.
She looked across the field at Oliver weaving back-and-forth by the goalposts.
Yes, indeed. For the rest of his life…
"Girls can't play Quidditch"? Ironic, wasn't it? Those were the same words Wood had thrown at her in front of the Icarus 100 display when they were ten.
"Better get her name down now," Angelina whispered with a wink.