Luck
It was stormy. Wind, hail, violent gusts of the mix pelted against the faces of the Quidditch players. Her fingers were so numb that it would be a miracle if she could last another ten minutes. She lay low on her broom, looking for her fellow chasers, while Albus and Scorpius beat at the bludgers when they could see them.
It was terrible weather for Quidditch. Rose bit her lip. And then it happened. Her luck ran out.
A particularly strong gust of wind caught her small frame.
She was falling.
Falling.
Falling.
She was preparing to hit the ground. She was preparing for the excruciating pain.
It never came.
"Rosie, oh Merlin. Rosie, can you hear me?!"
She was being held tight. Her face was pressed against Ravenclaw Quidditch robes, like her own. But it wasn't Albus…
"Scorpius?"
Maybe her luck hadn't run out.