A/N: I definitely didn't forget about crossposting. Why would you think that?
And this is definitely not me taking inspiration from my own sad love life. I would *never* do that...
Murdoch is a drama king, George is a mad lad and Brackenreid is a nervous wreck. I have too much fun with this.
William shifted, pulling his arms in tight to give himself a minimal amount of personal space. On his left, Thomas Brackenreid nearly knocked William's head off as he punched the air and on his right, George Crabtree yelled so loudly that Murdoch's ears rang like church bells. Crabtree and Brackenreid were only a small part of the problem. Surrounding them on all sides, students were squished tight like pencils in a box, screaming deafening cheers.
Booming from on high, the commentator's voice blanketed the crowd, shaking the stands. "An excellent goal attempt by Percival Giles, but Julia Ogden's reflexes are too quick!"
William watched Julia grin, gripping her broom tight. Watching her was the only thing that made this torture worthwhile.
"That was a bloody brilliant save." Brackenreid leaned back.
George nodded, not taking his eyes off of the pitch. "It was well good," he said.
"I thought you and Julia were Quidditch rivals or something," squinted Murdoch.
"We aren't rivals." Thomas scratches his head.
"You sort of are," mumbled George.
"Regardless, can't I appreciate another keeper's skill, even if I don't want her to win?"
William nodded, shrugging. He glanced at George with a raised eyebrow. "You're absolutely glued to the game, huh?"
"Yup," said George.
Brackenreid smirked, leaning over to whisper into William's ear. "If he doesn't look away, he doesn't see the crowds."
"Ah." Right. George was claustrophobic. William's eyebrows furrowed. "This must be torture for you."
George stared evenly out on the field. "If it's the price I have to pay to watch the greatest thing wizards ever invented, I'll do it."
Half of the crowd let out a collective groan, with several boos and curses thrown in for good measure. The remaining half of the crowd cheered ecstatically as a bludger crashed into Ravenclaw chaser Kate Sullivan, courtesy of Slytherin beater Jane Summers. She dropped the Quaffle, allowing one of the Slytherin chasers to snatch it and dart away.
Jane Summers smirked, tucking her bat under her arm and soaring off.
George peeked through his fingers. He'd shielded his eyes to avoid watching the impact. "I hope Kate Sulivan's all right," he said.
"She'll be fine." Thomas waved his hand. "I've been on the receiving end of bludgers like that all the time. They're not too bad so long as you don't fall off."
William figured Quidditch players must all have iron tight grips, because he had no idea how anyone could avoid falling off their broom when a huge, metal ball came hurtling into you at top speed. He would have been fascinated if it didn't remind him of his athletic ineptitude.
His eyes turned to Julia again. She was fantastic on her broom, that was evident. Her flying wasn't the flashiest, nor was it the fastest or the most agile, but her technique and skill was flawless. It was like an instinct, like she'd been flying since birth. She seemed to have a sixth sense for when and where the balls were going to come flying and she was always one step ahead of them, ready to intercept them before they made it into the hoops.
William jumped as Thomas elbowed him in the ribs. "You're really going to ask her out?" asked Brackenreid.
"I think so."
Thomas' eyebrows jumped. "I'm impressed, Murdoch," he said. "Not that I didn't think you had it in you, but…" He gazed across the pitch to the other side of the stands, where a large cluster of Gryffindors was sitting. "Putting yourself out there like that is scary."
Murdoch glanced where Brackenreid was looking and spotted Margaret, the other prefect, in the stands. "Ah."
"If Murdoch can ask out Julia, I think you can ask out Margaret," put in George, peeking away from the game for a moment to flash Thomas a reassuring smile.
Thomas flushed red, then smirked, ruffling George's hair. "I'll ask Margaret on a date when you smooth things over with that Emily Grace, Crabtree."
George stared at his shoes, a blotchy red blush spreading on his cheeks.
Murdoch swallowed, wrestling against the crowd to stand up. "I've… er… I've got to use the loo." It was a lie, he mostly just wanted to get away from the suffocating mob.
"Bye," said George.
"Have fun," called Thomas, watching him navigate his way through the stands and eventually disappear. He leaned over and poked Crabtree in the arm, cupping a hand around his mouth. "Five galleons says he won't come back."
William leaned against the sink in the bathroom, his chest rising and falling with each heavy inhale and exhale. He swallowed.
You can do this, he breathed. Just go out there, watch the game and ask her.
He stared at his reflection in the old mirror, with several dark spots breaking up his face from where the silver backing behind the glass had worn away. He looked a mess, with bright red cheeks and damp, disheveled hair.
He swallowed, smoothing out his hair with his fingers. He ran the tap, splashing some cold water on his face, letting out a deep breath.
I ought to go back now, he thought. He didn't want to go back. For one, if he went back, that would mean returning to sitting on an uncomfortable, wooden seat sandwiched between hundreds of screaming students, which, if that wasn't a form of torture they used over in Azkaban already, William thought it would be very effective. For another, going back would mean he'd have to ask Julia. If he stayed put in the bathroom, she'd never know he had been planning anything at all.
Stop getting cold feet, he told himself, gritting his teeth. Just go out there and ask her.
Julia sucked in a deep breath, dodging a bludger. A Ravenclaw chaser threw the Quaffle, but Julia easily intercepted it. Ravenclaw had been hoping for the bludger to take her out and give them an opportunity to score.
Slytherin was doing surprisingly well, considering that two of their chasers hadn't been practicing all week and that Isaac Tash, their usual seeker, was taking a break and a second year was filling in for him.
"Malcolm, on your rear!" called Julia from the goalposts. Malcolm, a Slytherin chaser, dove to avoid a bludger.
Being Quidditch captain for a match wasn't too difficult, but very stressful. Normally, she had her eyes and ears open for anything that might happen in a match, but she usually didn't have to focus on what anyone else on her team was doing all that much. As captain, she had to keep her eyes, ears, mouth, nose and pores open, watching every player and every move. She had to keep track of points and think of strategy, all the while keeping the opposing chasers at bay.
She wasn't having a hard time of it; she was naturally a very observant person, and playing Keeper meant that she had more time than the other players to pause and think about strategy. She was having a hard time keeping her panic at a minimum.
For the past twenty four hours, she'd done nothing but study Quidditch strategy. She knew what the best chaser formations were and when to use them, and she'd designed signals that she'd perform to alert the Slytherins on what play would happen next.
She watched the chasers with narrowed eyes.
Percival Giles, a Ravenclaw chaser, had possession of the Quaffle, and was doing a marvellous job of keeping the Slytherins away from him.
Time for a Parkin's Pincer, Julia thought. She waved to get Ivy Thurston's attention and patted her head, then closed her hand into a fist above her shoulder. She continued with a series of meaningless signs and signals, but Ivy had already gotten the necessary information. The team had agreed that it would be best to use fake signals, to keep the other teams from guessing what they'd do next.
Ivy flew off to the other chasers, whispering something into their ears. Two of them flew off together, leaving Ivy hovering alone.
The two chasers flew up on either side of Giles, keeping him fenced tightly in so that he couldn't turn around and shake them off. Ivy positioned herself in front of them, smirked, tightening her grip on her broomstick and shooting straight towards Giles. She collided with him, knocking him backwards.
The Quaffle sailed out of his grip, promptly caught by Albert, the Slytherin chaser on the right. He whirled around and swiftly streaked across the pitch, hurling the Quaffle past the Ravenclaw keeper, neatly threading it through a goal hoop.
The stands went mad.
Julia grinned, holding a thumbs up to her teammates.
"Good call, Julia!" called Ollie MacNamera, one of the beaters as he flew past.
As the Quaffle was being fetched, Julia allowed her mind to wander for a moment. The other day, Watts had hinted that William Murdoch would be at this Quidditch match, and that she should ask him on a date.
She scanned the Quidditch stands. Eventually, she spotted a tall redheaded figure sitting beside a much smaller one wearing a yellow striped scarf: Brackenreid and George. George caught her looking and waved excitedly. She smiled, waving back.
William clearly wasn't with them. She wondered if perhaps he'd stepped away for a moment, or if he was sitting somewhere else, but shook her head.
He's never come to a game before, she thought, pursing her lips. Why would he be at this one?
Madam Hooch's screeching whistle shocked her back into the game. Focus, Julia, she told herself. You've got a game to win.
George grinned. Julia had waved back. He watched the match unfold in excited fascination. Now that he'd been spending more time flying with Brackenreid and reading up on Quidditch maneuvers, he could really get an appreciation for all the hard work the players put in.
Brackenreid elbowed him, pointing to the Ravenclaw seeker, Darcy Garland, who'd just pulled off an impressive dive to avoid a bludger. "Show off," he smirked. "All he's got to do is duck and he'd be fine."
"Well, it looks smashing," said George, grinning wistfully. "I wish I could do that."
"You could." Brackenreid nudged him, smiling. "And you will. Just watch, this time next year, you'll be the most brilliant seeker Hufflepuff's ever seen."
George stared at him doubtfully. "The last time I tried to dive like that, I ran myself into the ground," he said.
"Yeah, but, otherwise, it was a pretty good dive." Brackenreid ruffled his hair. "You've just got to stay focused and not let pretty little ladies distract you."
Breathing a sigh, George's eyes met the wooden floor of the Quidditch stands. His fingers curled around his scarf.
Brackenreid scooted closer to George, putting an arm around him. "What's wrong?"
"How do you know something's wrong?"
"Because you touch your scarf whenever something's wrong."
Glancing down, George dropped his scarf and sat on his hands. He blushed. "I was… I was just thinking about Emily." He sighed. "I wish I had a time machine and I could just go back and do it all over again." He perked up, blinking. "Wizards don't have time travel spells, do they?"
"Well, there's time turners, but—"
"Then maybe I could—"
"Oi, don't go messing around with time magic, Crabtree." Brackenreid held up a warning finger. "Only bad things happen to wizards who mess with time."
George deflated. "I know," he mumbled, staring at his shoes and swinging his feet. "I just… I wish I could start over, you know?" He twiddled his thumbs. "It doesn't even have to be romantic. I'd be happy just being her friend. I… I really like her and I want her to like me too."
"Maybe you ought to tell her that?" suggested Thomas. "She might feel the same way."
"She probably hates me," sighed George. "I practically ignored her at the party and I haven't spoken to her since. If she doesn't hate me, she probably thinks I hate her."
Thomas pondered this for a moment. "Well, you don't hate her," he said. "And she doesn't strike me as the type to hate anybody without good reason. If you tell her how you feel, then I'm sure she'd be happy to give you another chance."
"Maybe." George swallowed, tangling his fingers in the fringe of his scarf.
"Look, Crabtree." Thomas scratched the back of his head. "I'm going to be honest with you, and don't get used to me saying it, but you're a really sweet kid, and anyone who hates you forever after one mistake is a bloody idiot."
"You're just—"
"I'm not just saying that." Brackenreid stared at him with a firm but gentle smile. "If she doesn't give you another shot, then she's probably not worth your time anyways."
Around them, the crowd erupted in a loud cheer.
"And with that excellent goal—" called the commentator from his box. "Ravenclaw earns ten points!"
Thomas stretched out his back, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Murdoch's not back yet," he noted, scanning the stands.
"He'll be back," said George.
"You're just saying that because you don't want to lose the bet."
George stuck his tongue out at him. "Double or nothing," he said. "Ten galleons."
Brackenreid laughed. "I can't do that."
"Because you think you'll lose?"
"Because I don't want to rob a first year blind."
George folded his arms, smirking triumphantly. "You're just scared I'll win."
Thomas shoved him. "Fine," he said. "Double or nothing. But don't get upset when he doesn't come back."
William sat on the floor of the bathroom, watching water drops slip out of one of the leaky faucets. He'd spent the past few minutes talking himself in and out of returning to the Quidditch match.
He wasn't afraid of asking Julia on a date. It wasn't fear that held him back, but a logical dilemma. A mental stalemate, as it were.
William Murdoch was someone who liked to be sure of himself and his intentions before he did anything. He liked looking well before he leaped. He found that, whenever he had given in to desperation and done something without thinking it through, it never ended well for him.
This was new territory. He'd been attracted to other girls before, of course, but he'd never considered asking any of them on a date. Dating was new.
Dating was a different relationship, a new level that went beyond friendship and even beyond family. It was something important, something sacred. You couldn't date just anyone, you had to make sure they were the right one first.
Did he love Julia? He thought she was pretty. She was smart, clever, and funny. She never failed to make him smile. If he was in a room with every single other person in the entire world, she would be who he went to find first. But was that love? Did he love her?
He wasn't sure. He had to be sure.
He leaned against the sink, staring down into the drains. He let out a breath, nodding. He knew what he had to do. Swallowing, he turned, smoothing down his robes and walked out of the bathroom.
Half of the Quidditch stadium erupted in wild applause. George cheered, watching the second year Slytherin fill-in seeker touch down to the pitch, holding the golden Snitch in her hand.
Brackenreid elbowed George. "Looks like you lose, Crabtree," he said. "That's the end of the match and there's no sign of Murdoch."
George looked at his shoes. "All right," he sighed. "I'll save up."
Thomas frowned. "Oi, everything all right, Bugalugs?" he asked. "Look, you don't need to pay me, I don't need ten galleons."
"No, it's not that." George plunged his hands in his pockets. "It's just… I thought that if someone like William Murdoch could ask Julia Ogden on a date, then…"
"Then you could fix things with Emily Grace," guessed Thomas.
Shrugging, George sighed. "But now… he couldn't do it, so maybe… I mean, there's no way I can do it, right?"
Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Well," he said. "I can't say I don't know how you feel. I haven't managed to work up the nerve to ask Margaret out yet, and, well…" He scratched his head. "It's like you said, if Murdoch can ask out his crush, then…" He shrugged.
George sighed. "We're losers, huh?"
Thomas smirked, ruffling Crabtree's hair. "Something like that." He let out a breath. "But I can't exactly ask her now, can I? It's not the right time."
They sat together in silence for a while as students began to trickle out of the stands, the players shaking eacch other's hands and flying off to the change rooms.
"Right." Suddenly, George stood up, let out a deep breath and started walking across the stands.
Brackenreid blinked. "What are you doing?" he asked.
George glanced at him over his shoulder. "You'll see," he said, grinning.
Thomas watched him leave, squinting. His mind whirred, trying to figure out what he was doing and where he was going, until he shook his head, jumping to his feet and sprinting to catch up with him, apologizing to a group of disappointed Ravenclaws as he pushed past them. "What are you doing?" he hissed.
Smirking at him, George tucked his hands in his pockets. "Margaret's right over there," he said, pointing ahead. "You can ask her out."
Thomas froze mid stride, his eyes widening. He grabbed George's hood. "I can't do that! It's… it's not the right time."
George shot him a crooked grin. "If you won't," he said, folding his arms. "Then I will." He smiled, walking towards a group of older Gryffindors. He got up on his tiptoes and tapped one of them on the back.
She turned around in surprise, brushing her brown hair out of her face.
Thomas darted over. "Margaret!" he exclaimed, hurriedly shoving George out of the way.
A smile spread out on Margaret's face. "Thomas!" she said. She glanced at George. "You've got a friend."
Thomas laughed awkwardly. "Yeah, sorry about Crabtree, he's impossible."
Margaret blinked. "Oh so this is George Crabtree!" She smiled, holding out her hand to shake his. "Thomas is always talking about you."
"He's always talking about you too," George said to her.
Brackenreid slapped his hand over George's mouth. "Right, Crabtree, don't you have to study for Potions or something?" His face was bright red.
George swatted his hand away. "He has something to ask you," he announced.
Margaret looked at Brackenreid, her cheeks turning a faint pink. "What is it?"
Thomas sucked in a breath, his body locked in position. He glanced at George with a look that was trying to be murderous but was only faintly irritated at best.
Nodding, George made a go on motion with his hand.
Thomas swallowed. "I… er…" His voice died.
She blinked expectantly. Her face was beet red.
George cleared his throat. He took a few steps forward, and whispered something into Margaret's ear.
She turned every shade of red and whispered, "yes."
George smiled. "Are you free at all this week?" he asked, out loud.
She nodded slowly.
"Perfect. He's never doing anything." George took a step back. "Go ahead and coordinate." He held a pair of thumbs up in the air.
Margaret blushed, clasping her hands behind her back. She turned to Thomas with a nervous smile. " … Are you free on Thursday?"
Thomas swallowed, nodding faintly. "Yeah."
"Meet you in the courtyard?"
"Al...alright."
She beamed. "It's a date," she said, twirled and went back to her conversation with her friends.
Thomas let out a long breath, melting into a bench in the stands. George sat next to him, smirking smugly. Brackenreid swallowed, frozen for several moments. Eventually, he ran his hands through his hair, blinking rapidly. "What… what did you say to her?"
George shrugged. "I asked her if she had a crush on you. She said yes."
Thomas' face broke into a grin. "You little maniac, I bloody love you!" He elbowed George in the arm, laughing. He blew out a thin stream of air, trying to lower his heart rate. "Bloody hell…" He stared at George in pleased shock. "I've got a date."
They sat there for a little while longer while Thomas composed himself, then they stood up and set off back towards the castle. Brackenreid couldn't stop thanking George, his cheeks red, a beaming smile on his face.
On the path leading up to the door back inside, a small figure in the corner of his eye caught George's attention. He stopped dead in his tracks. His fingers gripped his scarf.
Emily Grace sat several feet away, reading a book, twirling her pigtail around her finger aimlessly.
He felt a shove on his back.
Brackenreid chuckled, smirking. "Talk to her," he said.
George shook his head. "I… I can't."
"Oi, Bugalugs." Brackenreid ruffled his hair. "You just asked my crush on a date for me. You can talk to Emily Grace."
"But… what if I get it wrong again? What if I mess it up like I mess everything up?"
"You've got to stop being so hard on yourself, Crabtree. You don't mess everything up."
George shook his head. Brackenreid, you have no idea how much of a screw up I really am. "What if she hates me?" George looked at the grass underfoot. " … I just... I just want her to like me."
Smiling, Thomas patted Crabtree's shoulder. "You aren't asking too much there," he said. "You're a very likable kid." He raised a finger. "Don't get used to me saying that." Thomas lightly shoved George. "Now bugger off and talk to her before I keel over from old age."
George sucked in a deep breath, his feet moving towards her. He swallowed. Please, please, please don't let her hate me. He cleared his throat. "Hi, Emily."
Her gaze shot up, her face instantly turning beet red when she saw who it was. "George." She stared at her shoes, closing her book. "Look, about Valentine's Day, I'm awfully sorry I ditched you at the party."
He let out a breath. "It's okay." He scratched the back of his head. "I was sort of acting like a prat."
She smiled nervously. "Honestly, you were, sort of."
George could feel the sweat dripping down his back. "Do you think we could start over?" His hands darted and danced erratically as he spoke. "We could even just be friends, no romantic strings attached or anything like that. I just… I just think you're an incredible person and…" He paused, searching for the words to articulate what he wanted to say. "And I couldn't just let someone like you go without telling you that." He glanced at his shoes. "Do you think… could we be friends?"
Her cheeks went pink. She nodded, smiling. "I'd like that," she said. She bit her lip, holding back a giggle. "I like you , George. Of course we can be friends."
William swallowed, breathing hard, rubbing his hands together to release some of the pent up nervous energy that was zipping along his body like electricity. He closed his eyes, staring up at the blue sky. She'll be out any minute, he told himself.
His feet brushed against the fresh early spring grass, damp from the rain they'd had earlier. It was lucky that the weather had brightened up just before the match began, or else Julia would have had to have been playing in the rain, he thought.
He eyed the Quidditch Changing Room, nervously watching the tent flaps for any movement. Most of the Ravenclaw team had trickled out, but the Slytherins were still inside. William figured they were having a post-victory congratulation speech.
William whipped out his wand and quickly muttered a spell, producing a bouquet of roses from his wand. He swallowed hard.
You can do this, he told himself. She's your friend. You can ask her. No problem. The worst thing she can say is no.
The tent flap moved. William froze.
"Good match, everyone!" the Slytherin beater and one of the chasers stepped out, waving. One of them glanced at William as she walked past, smirking.
William hid the flowers behind his back and gulped. He mentally rehearsed what he was going to say. Julia, I think you're an incredible person and I was wondering if you'd like to go on a date? He frowned. Did that sound too formal? Or not formal enough?
"William?"
William's heart twisted.
Julia stepped out of the tent, a puzzled but elated smile on her face. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "I thought you didn't like Quidditch."
"I don't," he said, immediately wanting to throttle himself for saying it. "I mean," he flushed as red as the roses he hid behind his back. "I wouldn't have watched the match if you weren't playing."
She beamed, and, if William wasn't mistaken, he thought he saw the hint of a blush colour her cheeks. Her hair was frizzier than usual. "William, I can't believe it! We won! After everything that happened this week, I thought we'd be done for, but we actually won!"
He smiled. "Congratulations," he said. She was cute when she was excited. She reminded him of a little puppy, a toy poodle or a cocker spaniel, perhaps.
"That's not all!" Her hands flapped up and down, like she'd just washed her hands and there were no towels. "I was acting Quidditch Captain for a winning match! Everyone agreed, and next year, guess who'll be the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team?"
"You?"
She squealed. "It's exciting, right?" She straightened up, putting on an overdramatically serious expression. "Julia Ogden, Quidditch captain." She giggled.
William thought that perhaps there was no one in the whole world who he liked more than Julia Ogden, Quidditch captain. Being around her made him feel… different. Lighter, more… himself. He wasn't afraid to be himself around her. She coaxed his true nature out from deep inside him in a way that no one else could. He liked that, or, rather, he liked her.
"Julia," he said, his voice cracking and shooting up an octave higher in pitch. He cleared his throat. "I… I was wondering…"
"Julia!" A tall, thin figure stepped out of the Quidditch changing rooms. "I thought I missed you, I'm glad I managed to catch you—" He stopped, noticing William. "Oh! Sorry, am I interrupting?"
Julia blushed. "Darcy!" she breathed. She shook her head. "Of course not!" She gestured to William. "This is William Murdoch, a friend of mine."
The word friend caught William like an arrow in the neck.
Darcy Garland nodded. "We've met," he said, nodding to Murdoch politely. He glanced at Julia. "So, Sunday after dinner?" he asked.
She nodded. "In the Library."
He quirked a grin. "See you then." He smiled, raising a hand in farewell, and walked off.
Sunday after dinner? In the library? William sighed, all of the dizziness and giddy excitement rushing out of him. He'd waited too long, and Darcy Garland had snatched her up first. He swallowed, his eyes prickling.
"Sorry about Darcy," she said. "You were saying?"
William wet his lips. "I only wanted to say…" He let out a breath, adjusting his position to better conceal the bouquet of flowers. "Good job on the match today. You were incredible."
She beamed. "Thank you!"
A Slytherin chaser passed by. "Tash wants to see you in the common room, Julia," he told her.
William waved to her. "Go ahead."
She smiled, fluffing out her curls. "Thanks. Tash gets a bit antsy if he has to wait for too long." With the afternoon sunlight hitting her hair, she looked more beautiful than William thought she ever had before. "See you at dinner?"
He nodded. "See you." He watched her excitedly skip off towards the castle until she became little more than a speck in the distance. He sighed, taking a seat on the damp grass. Glancing at the roses in his hand, his fist tightened around them. He pulled out his wand, aiming it at the blood red blossoms. "Incendio," he whispered.
The flowers were instantly set ablaze. Fiery red flames licked up and down the petals, curling them, turning the edges black until they crumbled into nothing but ash.
He closed his eyes as the roses burned up into dust. He groaned, tears springing in the corners of his eyes. His lungs shuddered. He'd blown it. He'd missed his chance. Opportunity is not a lengthy visitor, William Murdoch. He hid his face in his knees and sobbed.