A/N: This story will have 9 short parts. It is for my 7spells challenge.
1: Challenge
"Ready?" Angelina gripped her broom and looked at each of us in turn.
"Yeah," Alica said, with a determined, steady gaze.
"To kick your arse," I said, smiling to let her know I was kidding. Mostly.
"Ok, remember, first one to touch the middle goalpost wins," Angelina said. "Go!"
We took off simultaneously, speeding across the Hogwarts grounds as three red-and-gold streaks. The goalposts loomed in the distance, and we looped and weaved around each other, each of us trying to gain the upper hand. We may be best friends, but we're also naturally competitive.
There was a loud smack as Alicia zipped through the goalpost, indicating that she won. Angelina and I were just milliseconds behind her. We slowed, and circled the pitch, laughing.
"What's so funny?" Oliver called to us.
Nothing was funny, exactly. We were all just thrilled by the race. There's something amazing about flying like that. It's one of my favorite things about being a witch.
We landed beside Oliver, the twins, and Harry. Oliver gave us a warm, indulgent smile. Fred and George were busy whispering behind his back, probably plotting some trick against either the Slytherins or one of their brothers. Harry looked kind of distant, but with all the Sirius Black stuff going on this year, who could blame him?
Oliver began practice by reminding us that we had only one week until the final Quidditch game of the season; that we just had to win because it was his last year at Hogwarts; and that we needed to win by at least fifty points in order to get the House Cup. It was a speech we had all heard countless times during the year, and for the most part, we turned it out.
Fred and George seemed to be having a conversation in that silent-twin-language they have, probably plotting Oliver's untimely demise. Alicia was staring absently into space, probably daydreaming. Harry appeared somewhat interested in Oliver's speech, and nodded a lot, but I don't think his concentration was fully there. I took to analyzing the patterns on the walls around the stadium.
Angelina, however, was paying acute attention, like she always does. She has a talent for being able to focus on things that bore the living hell out of the rest of us, including Oliver's speeches, and History of Magic class. She is very intelligent, and very diligent; and she's one of the top students in her class. I suppose there's something to be said for paying attention and keeping notes; two things I am notoriously horrible at.
Eventually, mercifully, Oliver finished, and we began the usual drills. Once we were warmed up, we began practicing plays, some new and some old.
Mostly, we have fun with the plays, but as the final match loomed ever closer, it seemed Oliver was losing his grip on reality. He had been driving us harder than usual all month, and we were all becoming increasingly frustrated. His plays moved from difficult to nearly impossible, and the rest of his life seemed to pale in importance to him when compared to the effort and care he put into 'his' Quidditch team.
But no matter how much we complained to our captain about the difficulty, trying to convince him that non-professional teams didn't need to go through this hell, he was adamant. He gave us that charming smile, and told us he had confidence that we could handle it. Then, every time we missed a pass or a goal, he yelled at us in that unique way he has that's almost insulting, yet somehow encouraging.
We love him anyway, for the stupid, obsessed geek that he is.
All in all, practice was exhausting. We trudged back to Gryffindor tower in various states of sleepiness and irritation, parting in the common room for our separate dorms.
I kicked off my shoes and entered quietly, expecting all of my roommates to be asleep. Leanne was still awake, reading in the dim candlelight. She nodded a silent 'welcome back' to me before I collapsed onto my comfortable, inviting bed. I fell asleep without even taking off my robes.