So guys…this is where the whole quote comes in. solid, I know…
Oh, and this is the sequel to Echo of the Rain but you can still read this without the other. Though you should because it is short and is the prequel to this and it would be very much appreciated. If you go and leave a review for that it would be even more appreciated. actually, go and do that. it takes like two seconds and i would ove you forever for it. cause 1: i put two things up in a day to get a review for each and 2: i'll know if you review for this and not the other. you've been warned. dont mess with review whores.
And GASP! Angst…form me? Hell, even I didn't think I'd ever see the day. It must be the apocalypse….
"Probably trying to drown himself in the showers"
Fred's voice echoed over and over in her head as Katie trudged back down to the pitch. The rain in passing was no longer pounding and acerbic, but still stung her skin. However she didn't notice this, she was completely set on the nearing, looming figure of the pitch.
As she climbed the steps up towards the locker room, the rain was replaced by the sound of running water. Ignoring the screaming rising from her legs with every step, the 16 year old plowed on. Defiant, stubborn and dead set, the fifth year ignored every sensation in her body that wasn't pushing her forward.
Her knuckles stood out white against the brown oak railing she was clinging to. She blocked this out and when they got caught in her line of vision with every new heavy step, she let her arm hang useless at her side.
She neared the locker room and caught a sight out of the small stairwell window. It was a discarded, yellow banner, clinging to a bench in fear of flying away in the last bursts of wind. She stopped to scowl at the proclamation of Hufflepuff's victory. With one last scowl she turned away. Now instead of dragging her feet and broken body up the stairs, she pushed it to it's limit, driving it to run up the creaking stairs two at a time. She didn't stop until she reached the locker room door.
Her mood slightly lifted by her small victory, she allowed herself a few seconds rest before proceeding to the noise resounding through the scarlet and gold room. The tiled shower area was wet with icy water which seeped into her still muddy Quidditch shoes. Though cold, it wasn't near as bone chilling as the rain earlier had been. Peeking underneath the curtains she found the stall at which her captain was residing in. Catching sight of cleaner-than-hers shoes, she pulled aside the mint green curtain of the last shower.
Her heart ached at seeing her captain tucked in the back corner of the tiled stall, the water splashing on his head and shoulders, looking as if the world had just fallen out from beneath him. Oliver Wood looked up at her with big brown orbs, silently begging her to tell him it wasn't true. That they hadn't just lost. That they hadn't lost all chance at the cup. That he wouldn't leave without seeing his name engraved on the silver chalice. That it wasn't over.
He opened his mouth, a hallow sound coming out rather than the greeting intended. Knowing his voice was long gone with the game, he didn't try again. She tried to muster even the weakest smile with no avail. Sitting down next to him, shoulder to shoulder, underneath the icy water, she hoped that was greeting enough.
While he drew up his knees, letting his folded arms rest there beneath his chin, she let her legs splay out in front of her and tilted her head back to face the oncoming water. She closed her green eyes and took in a deep breath, though it was not as cleansing as she had hoped. With yet another let down she felt any fury previously put aside return with new fervor. She rubbed her face, letting any dried mud run down into the gapping drain. Letting her hands fall between her legs she looked back over to her captain.
She hated seeing him like this. The Scotsman had always been her beacon of hope. Of determination. Of raw will. It killed her to see him looking so lost. Instead of seeing the maniac glint in her brown eyes, they just stared blankly at the tile ahead. Instead of seeing his broad shoulders set in resolve, they were slumped in defeat. Instead of his perpetually messy hair sticking up at all ends, it laid limply over his ears-vectored over the weight of the water. Instead of proudly filling his athletic, 6 foot stature, it remained dormant and slouched over.
She gave a long sigh, no longer expecting such breathing to be soothing, and mimicked his pose. But instead of letting her head rest on folded, still padded arms, she rested it against his shoulder. This time he gave a sigh, hoping this gave him more resolve than it did her, she pulled her head back. His eyes still showed the lost. Reaching up, she left a linger kiss on his jaw line.
He turned to her as she stood up and turned off the water. When she looked back down at him she saw the hurricane of emotions flooding his eyes, confusion now standing in the forefront.
She offered him a gloved hand which he took with his own. Standing up he still asked her silently with questioning eyes.
"Because," she said with a voice raspy and hardly there, "sometimes the most sympathetic words can sting."
She saw his struggle to give her the weakest of smiles. To tell her any combination of words. To say anything yet say nothing. But he found the ability to accomplish the last.
He bowed his head to plant a kiss on her hairline. Then, without dwelling in the cold, damp place any long her lead her back down the stairs.
As they managed to propel themselves back up to the castle, the last of the clouds dispersed and the only competing element was the remaining brisk winds. But along with the change of weather, Katie noticed her knuckles had once again turned white as they traveled back across the grounds. Yet it wasn't because she was grasping her broom or clinging to the railing, but instead because they were clasped around an equally white set.
Well, I think its pretty obvious what the line I was talking about is. I mean, after all, there is only one bout of dialogue in this. Which I like, by the way. It makes it more angst I suppose. But its still shorter than I would like. But hey, can't write seven page stuff all the time. But you have to review all the same (remeber how review whores can get-and no i dont mean fiesty). And I so told you it was a good line….
Lots o love!