Shrieks rang throughout the stadium as terrified players scattered, trying to get away from the large figure now blocking out the sunlight.

Gwenog Jones, Captain and Beater of the Holyhead Harpies, veered off to the side of the stadium, where she landed hard in front of the changing room entrance. She pointed her wand at her throat. "Sonorous!" She cleared her throat. "Harpies! To me!" The spell amplified her voice, allowing her to be heard over the roars of the silver dragon soaring above her teammates.

One by one, the Harpies landed in front of Gwenog and ran into the changing room hallway. Gwenog waited until the last lady had gotten to safety before sprinting after them, one hand covering her head and the other clutching her broomstick.

A scorching fireball hit right at the entrance of the hallway. Gwenog could feel its heat licking at her back, and she ran even harder as the ceiling collapsed behind her.

Still dressed in her singed Quidditch robes, Gwenog dropped to her knees in front of the fireplace in her living room. She tossed a handful of Floo Powder into the orange embers. "Professor Slughorn's office," she said, thrusting her head into the flames.

Slughorn was sitting at his desk, but he jumped up when her head appeared in his fireplace. "Is that Gwenog Jones?"

"It's me, Professor."

"Gwenog!" Slughorn maneuvered his body to the floor. "How nice to see you again."

"Professor Slughorn, I hope I haven't bothered you by just popping in unexpectedly."

"Nonsense. You're always welcome."

"Thank you." Gwenog felt ash tickle the back of her throat, and she fought the urge to cough. "Our stadium was attacked by a dragon today."

Slughorn's eyebrows shot up. "Was anyone injured?"

"Just startled. But it completely destroyed our arena, and now we have nowhere to practice. And I know you've got connections in high places—you know, being the illustrious man you are—and I wondered whether you knew a place we could practice."

"What about right here at Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts? Oh, no, sir, that's too much trouble."

"Not at all!" Slughorn clapped his hands. "Dumbledore owes me a favor."

"Oh, thank you, Professor!" Gwenog couldn't prevent the grin spreading over her face.

Slughorn winked. "Anything for one of my favorite students."

The news about the Harpies spread like wildfire.

"They practice on Wednesdays, I heard," Ron said at dinner. The Great Hall was packed, and he was nearly shouting to be heard above the din. "In the evenings, after dinner."

"I heard it's during dinner." Seamus leaned across the table to grab a dinner roll. "So there are fewer students around to distract them."

"I'd skip dinner to watch that," Ron said through a mouthful of potatoes.

From beside him, Harry raised his eyebrows. "You? Skip dinner?"

Seamus and Dean laughed loudly, but Ron waved the comment away with his hand. "For the Harpies?" Ron swallowed loudly. "Have you seen them, mate? Girl Quidditch players are incredible to look—"

"Ron!" Harry looked around. "Keep your voice down."

"Why? Hermione's in the library. She can't tell me off."

"Not because of Hermione." Harry glanced at the other end of the Gryffindor table, where Lavender Brown was sitting with Parvati and giggling between glances at Ron. "You have a girlfriend."

"Who, Lavender?" Ron stabbed another potato with his fork. "She'll understand."

"Somehow, I don't think your girlfriend will appreciate you saying other girls are incredible to look at."

Ron shrugged. "If she finds out, I'll tell her I'm just watching their practices to pick up new Quidditch techniques." He loaded his plate with more potatoes. "You'll cover for me, won't you? Tell her I'm studying and don't want to be disturbed, or something." After a second of hesitation, he added a few strips of meat beside his potatoes. "Unless you're coming to watch with me?"

"Absolutely not." Harry looked down at Ron's plate, an expression of mild disgust on his face. "I care about my girlfriend's feelings."

Ron snorted. "Please. Ginny'd probably want to join you."

Seamus laughed again. "I'll come watch with you, Ron."

"Excellent." Ron took a long swig of pumpkin juice and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Meet in the Common Room on Wednesday before dinner, then?"

Seamus nodded eagerly. Harry looked pointedly at Lavender but said nothing.

"Good throw, Morgan!" Gwenog said from her position on the ground. The Hogwarts Quidditch pitch was significantly smaller than the stadium she was used to, but it brought back memories from her school days, and she couldn't help smiling as her star Chaser sailed through the air to score a goal. "Pick up the pace, Griffiths!"

Gwenog's Seeker looked frustrated. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted something. Gwenog frowned. "What?"

Griffiths guided her broom toward the ground and touched down just in front of Gwenog. "Can you do something about them?" She pointed to the stands.

Gwenog turned to see a crowd of about twenty boys sitting in the stands, all cheering and hollering while pointing up at the players. "Teenagers," Gwenog said under her breath as she mounted her broom. She flew toward the boys, Griffiths on her tail. The rest of the Harpies had stopped playing. They hovered in the air, eyes on their Captain.

Gwenog came to a stop just in front of the students. "This is a closed practice," she said. Griffiths pulled up beside her. "You lot are supposed to be at dinner."

"We're just picking up pointers," said a boy with red hair. "I'm the Gryffindor Keeper."

"Well, like I said, this practice is closed, so—"

"Can I have your autograph?" asked a boy with an Irish lilt to his voice.

Gwenog sighed. "No autographs during practices, sorry. And no—"

A flash nearly blinded her as a short boy jumped to his feet and snapped a photograph."

"—pictures."

The boy with the camera sat down quickly, looking guilty.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!"

Gwenog pivoted in midair and watched a girl with blonde braids climb into the stands.

"Shit," said the red-haired boy, sinking into his seat.

"What are you doing here?" The girl sounded as if she were on the brink of tears. "You weren't at dinner. I thought you'd died."

"Look, Lavender, I can explain—"

"And then Harry told me you were in the library, but of course, I knew better than to believe that." Lavender blinked rapidly. "And now I see you're out here watching the Harpies? Ron, how could you?"

"Pointers!" Ron said. "I, erm, I'm getting pointers."

"Hard to get pointers when our Keeper isn't even playing right now," Gwenog said. "This is a closed practice, gentlemen."

"All right, all right." Ron got to his feet. He stood a head taller than Lavender, who had tears streaming freely down her face.

"Are you cheating on me?" she asked, darting forward to clutch his robes. Gwenog rolled her eyes. "Just tell me honestly."

"What? No! I could never land a professional Quidditch player."

Griffiths nudged Gwenog. "There's another one," she said, pointing. A bushy-haired girl was climbing the steps up to the stands, a furious expression on her face.

Gwenog clapped her hands twice. "Okay! I need all of you to clear out. We've got to finish our practice before we lose the sun, and—"

"Ronald Weasley, you insensitive git!"

Ron's eyes widened. "Hermione," he whispered.

Lavender's face crumpled. "You're meeting Granger here, too?"

"No, I—"

Hermione stepped around Lavender as if she weren't there. "Honestly, Ron, you're a Prefect. You know these practices are off-limits for students."

"I'm getting pointers from professional Quidditch players." But Ron looked defeated. "When else am I going to have this opportunity?"

Hermione heaved a sigh. "You have no respect for anyone's privacy, do you? I can't believe you made Harry try to cover for you." She glared around at the other boys. "All of you, back to dinner, or I'll start handing out detentions."

Grumbling, the boys got to their feet and began to shuffle toward the exits. A sobbing Lavender had both arms wrapped around Ron. Gwenog tried to avert her eyes.

"I'm so sorry about all of them," Hermione said when the boys were gone. "Especially Ron. He's . . . he's indescribable."

Gwenog laughed. "I'm just glad to see Hogwarts is still producing women strong enough to keep them in line." She extended her hand. "Gwenog Jones, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies."

Hermione leaned out to take the hand. "Hermione Granger. Gryffindor Prefect."

"Granger." Gwenog grinned. "Good name. Any relation to Hector Dagwood-Granger?"

Hermione shook her head. "Professor Slughorn asked me that, once. But I'm Muggleborn."

"Professor Slughorn is a good man." Gwenog glanced up at the sky. "I've got to finish up this practice before the sun sets. But maybe you'd like to have a chat afterward?"

Hermione's face turned pink. "Of course! I'd be honored."

Gwenog smiled. "I'll meet you in the Great Hall at nine, then." She turned on her broom to face the rest of her team, who had gone back to tossing the Quaffle back and forth now that the boys were gone. "Anticipate the Quaffle, Gordon! Excellent!"

From the corner of her eye, Gwenog saw Hermione racing up to the castle while Ron and Lavender embraced down by the Black Lake.

It was six weeks before the Harpies stadium was restored to its former glory. During their six practices at Hogwarts, Gwenog and the Harpies witnessed six shouting matches between Ron and Lavender, twelve detentions handed out to boys who had snuck into the practices, four interruptions by dangerous magical creatures who had escaped Hagrid's hut (though none as destructive as a dragon), and one extremely awkward confrontation between Hermione and a boy called Draco Malfoy, which had sounded suspiciously like flirting to Gwenog.

The first practice back at the Holyhead stadium was gloriously freeing. With the knowledge that no teenage boys were ogling them, the Harpies focused harder and achieved more progress than they had in the past six weeks.

"Excellent job, ladies," Gwenog said as her teammates filed into the changing room at the end of the night. "Really good form."

Griffiths brought up the rear. "I must say," she said as she and Gwenog walked inside together, "I didn't think I would miss Hogwarts, but I do."

"I know what you mean."

"I was quite invested in that Ron boy. I almost looked forward to his fights with his girlfriend every week."

Gwenog smirked. "For me, it was Hermione Granger. She's a bright young witch. It's no wonder Slughorn has his eye on her. I'll miss her."

Griffiths pulled off her helmet and pushed a hand through her sweat-dampened hair. "Good to be home, though."

Gwenog looked around her changing room with a satisfied smile. "Good to be home."

A/N - Quidditch League Fanfiction Contest

Season 4, Round 3, Word Restricted Team Pride

Holyhead Harpies, Keeper

Prompt: Holyhead Harp(ies)/y, 1,751-2,000 words

Word Count (Google Docs/Pages): 1,794

Special thanks to my amazing betas, Lizzie (TheNextFolchart), Melody (MelodyPond77), and Ever (HP-Forever-XX).