Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made.

Written for the Quidditch League – Season 4 Fanfiction Competition – Round 3

Prompt: Word Restricted Team Pride

I hope you're all ready for some team pride! This round is going to focus on your team – that's to say your team name is your prompt. It can be included in any way in your story but make it so your judge is aware!

In addition to this you have a word count restriction. Below are 8 word count limits – each person in the team must choose one.

Chaser 2: Wimbourne Wasp(s)

Word count restriction: 2751 – 3000

Additional prompts:

#5.(quote) 'All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us' - JRR Tolkein

#9.(emotion) surprise

#13.(word) faithful

Word count according to Open Office: 2936

This story is rated M. However, I did ask my judge if I was allowed to have a higher rating.

Chaser 2 for the Wimbourne Wasps

Misleading Colors

His lips twitched as he looked out the window and saw the lone figure standing on the nearby hilltop. He might not have been able to see who it was, but he knew. He knew with the same certainty that he knew that the sun would rise the following morning, with the same certainty that he knew that he had been right all those years ago. He had ignored it then, enthralled as he had been by those vivid colors. Still, he could not quite bring himself to regret it, even though it had ended in such a way.

Even from such a distance, he could feel those eyes boring into him. Those eyes had always seen right through him, had they not?

Was it any wonder, though, when they were so very similar?

They were similar enough that they could have taken over the world if they had so desired – and they had, once, with every fiber of their beings – but different enough that they were each still their own person. They clashed, and when they did, it was breathtaking, full of fire and passion.

Then again, they had done everything with passion, had they not?

He could not recall a single moment between them that had not been brimming with electrifying intensity. It had been exhilarating. Nothing they did together had ever been less than intoxicating, be it their fights or their lovemaking.

Lovemaking… he shook his head. Could they even call it that? Had love ever been a factor? There had been fire and passion and desire. But love? He was not sure either of them even knew what love was.

Breathless moans sounded like the most beautiful melody. He leaned down, mapping the pale expanse of skin stretched in front of him with his lips. The grip on his hand tightened, fingers interlacing while he was urged to do more, to taste more, to kiss more, to bite more, simply more. He complied, playing the body beneath him like an instrument.

Had they fooled themselves into thinking it was more? They must have. Men like them… men like them did not love. Men liked them obsessed. Men like them charmed and enthralled, and were charmed and enthralled in return. They were possessive and relentless in their pursuit. They were predators, and quite proud of that fact. But love… love had never been part of their vocabulary.

He would not deny the fascination he had felt when he had come across a mind as brilliant as his own and a soul as dark as his. Of course, while he proudly displayed his own colors, his counterpart had been happy to mask them, happy to pretend to be something he was clearly not.

Even then, he had not been fooled. He had coaxed his lover into revealing his true self. He would not allow the first equal he had ever encountered to hide behind such a benign facade. And for a while… for a while, it had worked. Apart, they had been great, but together, they had been extraordinary.

They had pushed each other to their limits, and then they broke those limits, doing magic that ordinary wizards could not even begin to comprehend.

He did not believe that others would ever know the exhilaration of having their magic mingle with another's as theirs had done. It had been one of the most wondrous things he had ever felt, better than sex, even. It had been addictive, and he knew he had not been the only one thinking that. After that first time, they had sought out any and all opportunities they had to let their magic do as it pleased. Of course, those moments, more often than not, led to them joining in a completely different way.

Had that been why it had been so hard to break away? Why they had felt that deep-seated connection? As if their very souls had been yearning for their proximity. Had their whole relationship been nothing more than an addiction to the feelings their magic had invoked in them?

Glazed, bright blue eyes gazed up at him. He felt his heart hammer away in his chest, his breath catching in his throat. He groaned as blunt nails bit into his shoulder blades, making him arch into the body beneath him. Nimble fingers tangled into his blond locks, pulling him down, and tongues met in a battle for dominance that he would always win.

Addiction would explain it, would it not? It would explain the ecstasy that they had felt every single time.

He should have suspected then, but he had never known such feelings before; he had never cared for anything but magic before his great aunt had gone and introduced them.

That had been the turning point; that had been when everything changed. He had put aside his quest for knowledge and surrendered to feelings that had been alien to him before. If he did not know any better, he would have thought that he had been drugged or cursed, but he knew better. He had let himself be enchanted by those bright blue eyes and ardent temperament the moment they had met, and that was no-one's fault but his own.

He had been such a fool.

He looked at the silhouette contrasting against the bright moon.

They had both been such fools.

He bit his lip, refusing to release the moan that had been building. He looked down into twinkling blue eyes, his hands fastening into the fiery hair. He could feel the smirk stretching those soft lips, and knew that this was a battle that his lover would win. He closed his eyes, his head falling back as a groan escaped his throat. This was a battle he did not mind losing.

He had known that it would not last, even then. They had been far too similar; they had been far too different. He had not been blind to the reluctance that had peeked behind those intelligent eyes; he had chosen to ignore it, which was a completely different matter. He had pushed a little more every day. He had been slightly disappointed when it had not created more friction between them. He had expected more of a fight; the quick surrender had taken him by surprise. He had wondered, then, what it meant. Had he been wrong? Had the reluctance been about something else? Even then, he had not wanted to entertain the thought that the fierce mind he had come to know over time would have submitted so quickly. Time showed him the truth, however.

It had not been a surrender at all.

It still galled him that it had taken him so long to realize what the true intent behind the surrender had been. His plans were changed with subtle probing, steered so that before he knew it, he no longer thought that all Muggles should be killed – Muggles could be useful when used in the right way – and a political approach had slowly been nurtured. The way he had been manipulated had been beautiful – the work of a true master.

He shook his head, a mirthless smile stretching his lips. How twisted must he be to feel proud of the person that had manipulated him so? Even now, when everything had come to an end in such a calamitous way, he could not bring himself to feel anything but pride at that accomplishment. He had done it. He had brought that side to the forefront. How could he not be proud of something he had done everything in his power to see come to fruition?

Lean, strong legs wrapped around him, and he took hold of one slender thigh. His other hand was still holding onto the fiery locks, pulling them and exposing that long neck. He nipped at the pale column, delighted with the decadent moan that graced his ears.

Even though he had known it would end, he had decided to take the time they had been given not only to further their plans – and what magnificent plans those had been – but also to live, for once. Since the moment he understood what knowledge was, and that it was the true power in the world, he had done little else than study magic and sharpen his skills, leaving no branch of magic unexplored. He had been content with that.

That changed, of course. He did not believe he could ever be satisfied with contentment again.

Instead of resenting it and seeing it as wasted time, he had decided to see that time as a blessing, a gift from Magic, as it was.

In retrospect, that might have been a mistake.

He sighed, eyes still firmly locked on the person on the hilltop.

He had known it would end.

Although, he would never have predicted that it would end the way it did.

He let his head rest against the cool wall, keeping his eyes on the figure on the hilltop. Why was he there? They had said everything they needed to say to each other. Had they not hurt each other enough?

His breath caught in his throat, eyes widening in surprise as he was flipped, and the slender body he had been worshipping straddled him. He looked up into lust-blown blue eyes, dark, auburn hair plastered to sweat soaked pale skin, and he knew he had never seen anything as mesmerizing as this in his life.

He closed his eyes, bowing his head as sorrow washed over him. No matter how many years passed, there was always this aching pain in his chest when those memories assaulted his mind.

Her death had been nothing but a tragedy.

He had mourned her almost as much as the brothers had. She had been innocent; there had not been a malicious bone in her body, a pure soul – one of the very few he had ever met; the other being his own mother. Perhaps that had been why he had become attached to her. She had reminded him of his mother; just as kind and gentle, even though the world had dealt them such a harsh hand.

His mother had been beaten into submission by the society she had grown up in, never allowed to truly shine. As soon as she came of age she had been married off to a man who had a different mistress in his bed every other night. She had been treated as nothing more than a broodmare for her husband's ancient bloodline, and the same man later blamed her for only giving him one child. Add to that how frail he had been when he was born... Suffice to say his father had not been pleased; and his mother had suffered for it, crushing her even more.

And then there was her, their little sister, nothing more than an innocent child. Someone who never had the chance to become the powerful witch he knew she should have become.

She had been a constant reminder of the threat the Muggles presented. A reminder that not even children were safe from the Muggles. A reminder of what they were trying to protect.

She had united them even more.

Was it any wonder that her death had torn them apart?

His grip on those auburn locks tightened, pulling his lover down. Their lips met, and he lost no time in tasting every inch of his lover's mouth, owning it as much as he owned every other inch of that body. He thrust up and their kiss was broken by a breathless moan from his partner. He was riveted by that silky flesh as the spine curved in a delectable arch.

He had fled after her death. He was sure the brothers had viewed him as a coward. Truthfully, he had thought the same about himself. However, he had been unable to handle the pain, the guilt, the uncertainty.

The only thing they knew for sure about that night was that she had died.

Everything else…

Had he been a coward for fleeing from the truth? Maybe. Certainly. Would he have done things differently if he could have gone back? No. No, he would not have. He would have gone to live with his great-aunt; he would have been enthralled by a brilliant mind; he would have spent hours, days on end, tangled together with his lover in rumpled sheets; he would have spent lazy mornings whispering about his dreams and hopes; he would have lived with just as much passion and fought with just as much fire. He would have fled… like a coward.

Cowards lived longer, and he, no matter what might have happened, still had had a lot to live for, a lot to accomplish.

He surged up, wrapping his arms around his lover, mouthing at the heaving chest. He held on as his lover writhed on his lap, pleasure-filled moans flowing out of that gasping mouth. He ignored the soundless pleas for more, harder, faster. He wanted it to last, to wring every blissful sigh from those lips, to push that slender body beyond its limits, and watch it drown in inexplicable pleasure.

He lifted his hand, tracing the raindrops that were starting to splatter against the bleak windowpane. The lone figure on the hilltop was still there, and he shook his head. He did not understand what he was doing there.

They had chosen their paths a long time ago, so why was he standing there in the rain as if he were a ghost sent by Magic to haunt him?

He did not regret the choices he had made, and no ghost would change his mind.

They might have been apart, but their plans had still been valid, and he had had every intention of seeing them through.

He had started his campaign; it had been political, just as they had planned. He had remained faithful to the plans they had traced. It had not been the only thing he had remained faithful to. How pathetic must it have looked to remain faithful to a man who must have hated him the moment he had left?

However, none had been able to compare. No one else had been able to make his heart race, no mind had been able to match his, no magic had made his own sing.

He had remained faithful; at least, he had for a while.

He had tried, he had argued and debated. However, it was impossible to show people the truth when they were willingly blind. They saw the Muggles as a lower species – and they were – as something that could never put them in danger; Muggles, they had said, were completely harmless. He had sneered at their ignorance and naivety; images of an innocent little girl, robbed of any chance she had of ever truly knowing the joys of magic by those 'harmless' Muggles, flashing in his mind.

They had not wanted to listen; so he had forced them to act.

He pushed forward, splaying the body on his lap on the rumpled sheets. He loomed over the slightly shorter body, taking in the glistening skin, the disheveled hair and darkened blue eyes. He took hold of the long legs and wrapped them around his body. He leaned down, sealing their mouths together as he thrust forward, swallowing the blissful shout that was ripped from the body beneath him.

He shook his head, chuckling; bitterness, hopelessness, anger, disappointment, and an amalgamation of so many other emotions tainting the sound beyond recognition.

Fools. Such fools. Both of them, and everyone else as well. Him for forgetting that those colors had been nothing but a mask; his once-lover for forcing them into the situation they had ended up in, and everyone else for believing that the electrifying intensity between them had been nothing but animosity.

He confessed that he had forgotten, but on that day when they faced each other with curses on their lips, he had clearly been reminded that his once-lover was like a wasp. He might have donned the colors of a bee, but he was as vicious as a wasp. Just like those ferocious, little insects, his former lover had been relentless in his attacks. For one brief, heart-stopping moment, it had felt as if they were back in the garden of his great-aunt, dueling and honing their skills.

That thought had had him fighting back just as viciously – not that it had done him any good. One look into those blue eyes and he knew he would lose, no matter who won the battle.

Still, when all was said and done, and those heavy doors slammed shut behind him, locking him away from the rest of humanity until he took his last breath, he had been surprised. He had never known that his once-lover could be so cruel.

He would have preferred death over this, over slowly withering away, never to breathe fresh air or feel the wind on his skin, slowly losing his mind with every breath he took.

He kept his eyes locked on the figure below him, drinking in every movement, every moan. They were close, so close, and he did not want to miss a moment. He sped up, complying with the breathless demands, and then they were tumbling over ecstasy, the most beautiful sound gracing his ears, "Gellert!"

He looked down, shaking his head. The hand he had splayed on the windowpane closed into a fist. The figure on the hilltop was gone.

Men like them… men like them did not love.

"Albus."

A.N.: Thank you to the wonderful agentmopped, kefalion, and 3cheersforidiots, my amazing teammates, for beta'ing. You guys are amazing. Go, Wasps!