A/N - Another update. That's three in one weekend I believe. Last one for a bit, because I'm starting my new job this week and I'm not 100% sure what my schedule will be. If nothing else, there shall be updates this weekend, rest assured. Moving ahead some more in story time, to late October. Oh and also, this chapter and the next *checks notes* two or so take place over the same days (October 23-24). Could this be because epic things happen? Who knows? lol. Anyway, read, review, and most importantly - Enjoy!
October 23
Quidditch had for years been Alastor's escape from school and life, an easy way to slip away from the everyday. The feel of flying, the rush of wind in his hair and the exhilaration thrumming through him, sky above and earth below. Built more like a Beater than a Chaser, Alastor quite enjoyed his ability to not only outfly but also outmuscle his opponents. Quidditch managed to be a stress reliever and an outlet for his fiery temper and a way to forgot about the war, all conveniently combined with brooms and a point system. Of course, now that Alastor needed this escape more than ever, now that he most needed to lose himself in the easy repetitions of practice, Quidditch provided no escape at all.
Alastor had spent the past few weeks trying to sort out his feelings for Minerva. Merlin, she had been his best friend since first year. Yet somehow as the years passed, when Alastor clearly had not been paying enough attention, Minerva had changed, or else he had. Either way, she had stopped being the short, smart girl who wore her hair in braids and followed eagerly on any adventure. She wore her dark hair loose now, and she was no longer quite so small, and her eyes sparkled behind her glasses and oh, Merlin, but this sort of thinking would not help matters at all The fact that Minerva played Quidditch did nothing to ease matters either, Alastor noted unhappily. His practice currently fit the description of the words 'truly awful', largely because he kept finding himself watching Minerva instead of all other activity taking place on the pitch. He had recently taken to drifting along above the rest of the team, occasionally pretending to be practicing maneuvers when he thought anyone might be looking. After the second Bludger nearly hit him in the face, however, Alastor had sworn spectacularly and very determinedly kept his eyes on the goal, the Quaffle, the ground, anything but Minerva. Tiberius zoomed past, not even sparing a sideways glance as he chased after the Snitch, long frame almost too big for his broom. But Tiberius was lighter than he looked, and had a far better reach than any other Seeker at Hogwarts, which combined to be more than enough advantage. Rupert Scrimgeour and Oliver Lockhart, the two newest players on the team, were knocking a Bludger back and forth through the air. Alastor frowned at the two third years, suddenly very easily able to guess who precisely had been responsible for all the Bludgers flying at him. Someone really ought to tell Rupert Scrimgeour that smirking and snickering were dead giveaways. Swearing again and grinning wickedly, Alastor turned his broom and rocketed forward, crossing the space in a matter of seconds and snagging Rupert neatly by the neck of his jumper. Rupert's legs latched around his broom for a moment reflexively, but Alastor tugged once and pulled the smaller boy away and into the air. The tawny haired boy yelped in panic, struggling to get free.
"Put me down!"
Alastor raised an eyebrow and shifted his hold on Rupert's jumper, fighting to keep the extra weight from overbalancing them both.
"Put you down?" Alastor shrugged, which required more effort than he had expected, "If you insist."
Loosening his grip slightly, Alastor let Rupert slip a few inches. Barely a drop of any sort, but enough for the boy to realize exactly how high in the air Alastor had flown. The pitch seemed far below, a smear of bright green surrounded by brown, dotted here and there by moving shapes on brooms. Rupert yelped again and clutched desperately, and a bit painfully, at Alastor's arm. Tiberius' booming laugh carried from far below, echoing through the air, and someone seemed to be shouting for Rupert to be tossed through the goalpost. This idea elicited a cheer from the other Gryffindors. Tempting as the idea was, Alastor instead dove again, pulling up a few feet above the pitch and depositing Rupert on the ground. The boy rolled a bit before tumbling to a stop, sprawled on his back. Alastor landed a few feet away, sliding off his broom and clutching his stomach as he roared with laughter. The air shifted and hummed around him as the rest of the Gryffindor team, still laughing hysterially, landed on the pitch.
"Oh, well done mate," Tiberius grinned broadly, the Snitch wriggling to escape from one fist.
"Still think you should have tossed him through the goal," Charlus Potter declared. The dark haired boy had presently removed his glasses in an effort to wipe his eyes clear again. Oliver was half-heartedly trying to pull Rupert off the ground, really having too much trouble laughing to be of much help.
"I think you might have frightened him," Minerva leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, adding a wink for good measure. Alastor winked in answer and took a bow, earning another round of laughter and a scattering of applause. The laughter ceased abruptly as Alastor finished his bows, trailing into awkward silence. Alastor frowned as Tiberius and Charlus shook their heads and shifted their attention to the ground. Footsteps crunched on the grass behind him, and Alastor squeezed his eyes shut and sincerely hoped that he was not about to be hexed. Turning slowly on his heels, Alastor found himself face to face with Grace McGin. For a split second Grace looked like she might actually be amused. Then the second passed and she merely looked unpleasantly annoyed, arms crossed and foot tapping.
"You quite finished, Moody?"
Alastor winced and dared to hold eye contact with the fiery Gryffindor captain. Grace was a seventh year, her second year as captain, and everyone on the team knew that she was determined to win the Cup one last time before she ended her Hogwarts career.
"Aye, think so. You going to hit any more Bludgers when I'm not looking, Scrimgeour?"
"N-no. Not likely," Rupert said shakily, finally getting back to his feet and attempting to repair his crooked glasses.
"I'm done then," Alastor nodded, faking confidence and sincerely hoping Grace did not murder him on the spot. Really there were too many witnesses, but she seemed to consider the idea for a moment, much to Alastor's discomfort. Then with an annoyed sigh and a gesture toward the sky, Grace slung her leg over her broom and instead kicked off from the pitch once more.
"Then get up here and let's go through some formations before we lose daylight!"
"I'd say we've already lost a fair amount of daylight," Charlus noted dryly, tilting the top of his broom toward the clouds, which had taken on a faintly orange hue. The wind picked up, humid and heavy.
"Not to mention it might rain any moment," Tiberius agreed, nodding solemnly as he climbed back onto his own broom. "I donnae much care fer being rained on."
Alastor had been about to agree with this sentiment when Grace roared from the direction of the goal posts.
"I missed the part where the ground is the common playing area for Quiddtich!"
Alastor exchanged sheepish grins with Minerva and Tiberius, settling onto his broom and following his friends skyward once more. Charlus retrieved the Quaffle, and Oliver finally managed to situate Rupert back onto a broom. Rupert currently wore a rather murderous expression, and Alastor had a distinct feeling that any and all Bludgers would be aimed at one particular player for the remainder of practice. Grace shouted for them to get moving, looking rather furious, and then everyone was flying, dipping, rolling, rocketing across the pitch in blurs of scarlet and gold. Alastor bent low over his broom, determined to focus on practice now as wind whipped across his face. Charlus tossed the Quaffle into the air, and the ball was still climbing when Minerva managed a one-handed catch. She dodged a Bludger, cutting towards the outside of the pitch and firing the Quaffle toward Alastor. The Quaffle hit him in the chest, and he tucked one arm protectively around the ball and dove downward away from another Bludger. He turned the broom sharply, rising parallel to the goalpost. Grace kicked out, barely missing his face in her attempt to block the expected shot. Instead Alastor grinned, tossing the Quaffle upward and back, where Minerva caught and powered the ball through goal on the left side in one smooth motion. Alastor cheered and Minerva was flying toward him, laughing and smiling, but before Alastor's stomach properly had time to twist itself into knots Grace shouted for them to go again. Minerva rolled her eyes, still smiling, and Alastor tossed off an easy salute to his captain, ignoring the Quaffle that hit him between the shoulder blades.
Half an hour more of practice passed in a rush of adrenaline and flight, Charlus and Minerva and Alastor himself all scoring plenty of goals and Grace blocking plenty more. The drills ended when Alastor veered upward to dodge one Bludger, then was forced to roll to avoid a second, throwing the Quaffle towards the far post as he did. The ball spun through the air and would have bounced through the goal had Grace not managed a diving catch. Alastor scowled and swore softly, slapping his broom in irritation. Grace, however, was smiling again, switching out of captain mode with a speed that was simply unnerving.
"Alright, well done everyone. Really good work."
One by one the Gryffindor team landed, descending from the sky like scarlet rain. The clouds had darkened overhead, and thunder rumbled out over the highlands.
"Mind if we get moving Grace?" Charlus gestured toward the clouds. "I don't much fancy being struck by lightning. The thought of losing a player in an unfortunate weather-related accident seemed to alarm Grace significantly.
"Get moving then, back to the castle. I'll see you all at the match Saturday."
Charlus smiled gratefully and jogged away, offering some excuse about Potions homework that needed finished. Alastor cast a sideways look at Tiberius, who merely shook his head and shrugged. If Charlus wanted to try his luck with Dorea Black and her pleasant family, he was welcome to do so. Merlin knew the rest of the fifth year Gryffindor boys would hear all about any incidents later. Oliver and Rupert headed away in the direction of the greenhouses, apparently expected to serve a detention, and Grace stayed behind to clean up the rest of the equipment. Thus the path back to the castle was left to Alastor, Tiberius, and Minerva, traipsing uphill in the glow of setting sun.
Alastor had somehow been conned into carrying three brooms instead of one. Well, admittedly, he had offered to carry Minerva's broom. Tiberius had merely decided to take advantage of the courtesy, entirely ignoring the Alastor's glare. After flying, walking always had him feeling rather unsteady, but Tiberius and Minerva were on either side of him and were just as unsteady, so that was alright. If he happened to trip and fall, Alastor had full intention of falling in the direction of Tiberius, who was still laughing about the stunt with Rupert.
"I'm just glad someone finally taught Scrimgeour a lesson," Minerva said, opening the door to the broom shed. Alastor murmured a quick 'thank you' and deposited the brooms against the far wall, trying his best not to knock anything important loose.
"He earned it, I think," Alastor flashed a quick grin, exiting the shed and closing the door behind him and motioning for Minerva to go on ahead.
Thunder rumbled again, this time closer overhead, and the sun blazed red from between the thick layer of clouds. Tiberius had taken the lead now, Minerva beside him, and Alastor strolled along behind, hands in his pockets. Watching the pair of them, easy grins and windblown hair, Alastor felt an uncomfortable stab in his chest. The same unpleasant feeling, incidentally, that had struck him that day beside the lake. He was annoyed, and not entirely sure why, and the not knowing bothered him immensely. Bothered him almost as much as the thought of Tiberius and Minerva and the prefects' bathroom. Alastor sighed and figured he should not have been surprised. Tiberius had always been popular with girls for some reason. He seemed to fit whatever requirements the female population of Hogwarts judged by anyway: tall, curly haired, rather good humored. Alastor, on the other hand, felt reasonably confident that he himself fit very few of the general preferences. He was far from short, but nowhere near Tiberius' lanky height, and his hair had probably grown a bit long over the summer. Not to mention his temper tended to be rather infamous. Alastor ran a hand through his hair, wondering perhaps if he should look into getting a haircut, and maybe associating with shorter people, because certainly that would be the best way to show off his own height, and...
"You even listening?"
Tiberius voice cut across the line of thought, and Alastor halted mid-stride. Tiberius and Minerva had both stopped in the middle of the path, watching him with amused expressions.
"Ah...what?" Alastor managed, ignoring another unpleasant ache in his chest. Minerva laughed now, crossing the distance between them and ruffling his hair.
"I was just asking what had you so distracted."
Alastor managed a nervous laugh, biting back a far too truthful "you" as his face rapidly reddened. Minerva fancied Tiberius, or Charlus, certainly not him, and Alastor certainly was not about to spoil a perfectly good friendship by admitting she had been driving him slowly mad for months.
"You know, just...daydreaming is all."
"You daydream?" Tiberius looked incredulous, and Alastor shot him a glare, willing him to shut up. Tiberius, however, either ignored or missed the hint entirely.
"What you daydream about, hm?"
"About how I'm going to hex you next time I get the chance," Alastor said, tugging his wand free. Tiberius raised his hands in mock surrender, backing away slowly.
"I'll be sure an sleep with one eye open."
Alastor's jaw clenched and he raised his wand, fully intending to hex the smirking Tiberius on the spot. Unfortunately, he realized too late that Tiberius was not in fact smirking at him. A sudden weight hit Alastor in the back, sending him staggering forward, nearly falling entirely. He swore and reached for whatever had attacked him, but not before two slim arms snaked around his neck.
"Oh yes Alastor, you're very intimidating," Minerva said, her voice in his ear. Suddenly he was very much aware of warmth and warm breath against his neck, butterflies in his stomach, and Alastor froze, still halfway bent over. Minerva seemed to still be trying to secure her hold, and some part of Alastor's mind very loudly informed him that he ought to help before she managed to fall. He straightened slowly, slipping his arms under her knees, shifting her easily into place.
"Much better," Minerva said cheerfully, tightening her hold around his neck. Alastor coughed sharply, not entirely sure whether the sudden grip or the mere fact that Minerva was currently perched on his back had breathing rather difficult. Either way, Minerva murmured a quick apology, loosening her hold instantly. Tiberius, meanwhile, had doubled over in his efforts to keep from laughing out loud. Alastor waited and made sure Tiberius was looking before mouthing a few rude words in the direction of his friend.
"'s fine. Anything I can do to help," Alastor said aloud, glancing over his shoulder. Minerva however had directed her attention to the rapidly darkening sky. The sunset was virtually hidden behind a bank of clouds that burned crimson and orange.
"When do you suppose it's going to rain?" Minerva asked.
"Hopefully not til we're back in the castle," Tiberius answered, finally composing himself enough to manage words. Alastor tilted his own head upward, just a raindrop splashed down onto his nose. He blinked twice in surprise, then laughed.
"Look's like it's just about to rain."
"No!" Tiberius feigned a look of panic.
"We'd best get back up to the castle," Alastor rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders, expecting Minerva to jump down. She made no effort to move, however, and in fact thunked Alastor on the head for his troubles.
"You'd make me walk all the way back?"
"You always walk back!" Alastor said incredulously, ignoring the increasing amount of raindrops that splattered to earth every few seconds. Minerva gave some sort of annoyed sigh, and he guessed she must have been pouting.
"Maybe I don't want to walk back today."
"Not very ladylike," Tiberius cut in, shaking his head slowly, eyebrows raised. "If I may say so."
"Oh, rubbish. I don't care," Minerva answered. There was a pause, and Tiberius snickered again, and Alastor finally sighed and shrugged his shoulders again. Minerva might have grown a bit, but she was by no means anywhere near heavy, and certainly not for someone Alastor's build.
"You really want me to carry you back to the castle?" he asked slowly.
"Yes!"
"You want to get back up inside before it rains?"
"I would appreciate it."
Alastor grinned, though he knew she could not see him, then shifted his hold so that her knees rested against the inside of his elbows. Without daring to stop and think, because thinking might lead to more butterflies and that awful uncomfortable ache in his chest, Alastor took off running up the path. Thunder rumbled again, rattling air and earth and sky, and rain fell in huge drops that splashed against grass and stone and skin and glowed pink in the dying light. Minerva was laughing against him, and Alastor realized that he was laughing too, and Tiberius was chasing them up the path, shouting for them to wait.