"Where is Wood?" asked Harry, glancing around.
It was Fred who answered. "Still out in the showers. We think he's trying to drown himself."
Katie shivered involuntarily at the image of their captain standing in the middle of the pitch with his face turned up to the skies. They had left him there, knowing there was nothing to be done.
She barely paid attention to the Quidditch talk that ensued for the next several minutes. She pulled herself out of her worries, only for the expression on Harry's face to remind her of that on Oliver's; the self-loathing, the deadened eyes.
"I guess somebody should go retrieve him at this point," Alicia said once the team had trooped out into the hallway, having left the friends to break the worst of the news to their Seeker. The other four nodded, but no one volunteered. Suddenly all five of their fingers went simultaneously to their noses, and they couldn't help but laugh despite their misery.
"Katie should go," said George, ignoring her immediate huff and look of protest. "He'd listen to her."
To Katie's consternation, her friends were all nodding thoughtfully in agreement. Fred caught her eye and winked at her. She rolled her eyes and groaned.
"Fine. You're all paying for my funeral. Just saying, I won't be such a superb chaser once he bites my head off." She turned on her heel and walked away, ignoring their smirks.
And thus began her pilgrimage.
Through the corridors, down the stairs, through the tapestry; past jeering Slytherins, past the doleful Gryffindors and the bemused Hufflepuffs. Past the Great Hall, the last call for warmth, full of students enjoying dinner, dry. Right to the door, two steps from the incessant rain.
She had forgotten how cold it was; how difficult it was just to force herself to move forwards. But she kept going, because her life was waiting for her.
With every step she took, something was awakening inside of her. Her sense of urgency was joined by something else more solid, deeper- for every step she took brought her closer to what she was realizing was her destiny.
Maybe he was 17 to her 15 (how little she knew of life), maybe he never spared a thought for anything besides his precious sport (how little he saw), maybe the end of this year might well be goodbye (how little she cared), but still she walked. Walked to the pitch, suddenly illuminated by lighting, coming ever closer, walked to the boy-man-o captain, her captain- she would always walk to, whom she would always take care of. Pushing through the howling wind, pulling her feet out of the mud, practically swimming through the rain, she walked.
When she finally reached the pitch, she braced herself. Pausing to rest under cover of the stands, Katie mentally prepared herself for the struggle that lay ahead, for her captain was as stubborn as he was passionate (that passion she adored). She peered out onto the pitch, searching, knowing full well he would be exactly where they had left him hours before. She began to walk towards the point near the middle of the pitch where hours before Harry had hit the ground- from so terrifyingly high- even though she couldn't make him out in the storm. But suddenly he came into view, and the sight of him nearly broke her heart.
It would have been better if he was still standing with the rain pounding on his face, if he were pacing, muttering and pulling at his hair, even if he were sobbing, screaming to the heavens. But this was awful: crouched on the ground, tiny, with his head in his hands. So defeated, there was something tragic about the strong body in such a vulnerable position that made her want to run to him, to hold him... but of course, that wouldn't do, so instead she stepped towards him cautiously, afraid of startling him.
"Wood?" No answer. "Wood!" Please.
"Oliver."
There, he had heard her somehow over the howling of the wind (because she was the wind, the wind in her hair, the wind on the back of his neck; she roared in his ears) and turned his head and was gazing at her standing before him. A few seconds passed, then he nodded and stood up. The two teammates stood there looking at each other wordlessly for what seemed like an eternity.
A cautious step forward. He looked away. Two more steps, and Katie was within reach of him, close enough to see the look in his eyes.
For a moment she hated Quidditch, hated the damn sport, everything about it. How could a game be worth the agony she saw in Oliver's eyes, in Harry's eyes; the hopeless, heart-breaking terror that had ripped through them all as the boy had plummeted towards the earth? Again she felt the need to take him close to her, to shelter him from the pain of his passion- and again she resisted, simply reaching out her hand. He nodded and took it.
Together they began the journey back up to the castle, Katie leading slightly. She could have sworn each flash of lightning struck her arm, such was the electricity she felt at this touch, her shivers only partly due to the rain. She was being ridiculous and she knew it- but weren't they both? Wood seemed too withdrawn still to register the emotion behind her clasp, so this was her moment to cling to, to remember.
When they reached the stone steps and the cover of the Hogwarts roof, she stopped before they went in in order to check on her charge. Letting go of his hand and meeting his eyes for the first time since leaving the pitch, she was relieved to see the hollow look slowly beginning to recede.
"We'll get 'em next time, captain."
Finally his expression eased and-taking her completely by surprise- he brushed a lock of rain-soaked hair out of her eyes, letting his hand linger by her jaw for a moment before turning to enter the castle.
How could she possibly hate this sport?