For the Quidditch League, Tutshill Tornados, seeker, Round 13, write about an event taking place on a battlefield
Word Count: 919 by Google Docs
The Ravenclaw common room has seven huge boards hung up on the western wall, one for every year of Hogwarts. On those boards, the name of every single Ravenclaw is written, in their respective year. For most of the year, the names are just listed alphabetically, until exam season. During that period, slowly but surely, the names start to move, certain letters appearing next to them in brazen bronze.
The Ravenclaws, over the years, have made an elaborate system of putting their students head to head, having them compete to be the top of their class. No one knows who made the original leaderboard system, but every Ravenclaw takes it seriously—even the first years who are just starting Hogwarts.
Everyone in the Ravenclaw common room stresses over the leaderboard when it comes to the end of the year, but even more than anyone else, fifth and seventh years stress over it all year long, anxious about their O. W. L.s and N. E. W. T.s.
The year of 1993, a group of seventh years can be seen huddled around a fire in the far left corner of the common room, looking run down, which is normally nothing out of the ordinary, but also looking very agitated.
"He's beating all of us," one of them whispers, urgently. His name is Robert Hilliard, and he currently stands second on the ladder, only bested by Michael Higgs, who's sitting right besides him, looking at Robert in agreement. "He did it in fifth year with our O. W. L.s and he'll do it again this year. He's a bloody Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake!"
A couple of other Ravenclaws around Robert nod anxiously, one of them biting their already chewed off fingernails.
"Guys, give it a break," a girl in their group pipes up, wrapping a strand of curly brown hair around her finger. It's Penelope Clearwater, who everyone knows could beat every Ravenclaw, grade-wise, easily, but she stopped caring about being so competitive with her grades the year prior, after her ordeal with the Basilisk. She's turned into the black sheep of the Ravenclaws, the only one to tell them not to stress over their exams.
"Penelope, be quiet. We all know how much you love him," Michael says, shooting her a dark glare, sweeping a hand through his blond hair.
"I don't love him," she protests, her brows furrowing as she swallowed, looking down. "He actually—He broke up with me. But I just think—"
"Even more reason why you should be crawling to the top and getting O's in every N.E.W.T.," another boy says, with hair as brown and curly as Penelope's and eyes the same color as well. He's Ethan Clearwater, Penelope's twin brother, though he could never match her grade average. He had the unfortunate habit of freezing when presented with a deadline, something that brought him no small amount of grief
"Ethan, I've told you, I don't care about beating people. There's more important things."
Ethan shakes his head sadly, and Robert puts a hand on his shoulder, giving him an understanding look.
"Let's leave her to her crazy idea," Robert says, his green eyes boring into Penelope's brown ones. "We have bigger matters on our hands. Now, has everyone studied for History of Magic, those who take the subject?" A handful of Ravenclaws nod, some of them looking anxious, others looking determined. "Great. Everyone get a good night's sleep. We'll need it in order to beat Percy Weasley. We will get more O's than him, I promise you."
The Ravenclaws disperse from their strategic huddle, wandering up the stairway as the sun outside their windows slowly sets, painting the sky shades of pink and orange.
The next morning in the Great Hall, Robert goes over his notes once more, trying to lay them out clearly in his head, as if they were pieces on a chessboard and his was the next move.
He's sitting in his usual spot, his eyes closed, muttering Hugo the Haunting's last decree to himself, and he doesn't notice someone sit down next to him, someone wearing a crimson and gold tie, someone who definitely shouldn't be at the Ravenclaw table, especially when they had all been plotting against him hours beforehand.
"Hello," Percy Weasley greets politely, his tone betrayed by the slight smirk on his face. Robert's eyes shoot open.
"Weasley," he says, his voice dripping with distaste. "What do you want?"
"I know that we've never really been the best of friends, or acquaintances, or even in the same House, but I wanted to wish you good luck. I know how good you are at History of Magic, and, as Gertrude the Grungy always said—"
"It does a person well to buy into the good luck another person wishes upon him," they recite in unison, Robert's lips quirking up, before remembering who he's talking to.
"Yeah, you too, I guess," he tells Percy, giving him a little wave goodbye. "I've got to go and…"
Robert gets up without completing his sentence. He shakes his head as he walks out, messing up his dark ginger hair. Percy must've been trying to throw him off-guard, right before his exam. There's no way that Percy, Mister Pompous Head Boy, would actually want Robert to do well. That's basically hoping that Percy himself would do badly, instead.
Robert shakes his head again, trying not to let Percy's simple 'good luck wish' get to him.
He had an O to earn.