Settling the Score

Just Another Seeker in the Crowd

The following day came and went without very much consequence.

Alicia, Angelina, and Kats had made themselves scarce, practically overdosing on Quidditch due to Wood's psychotic, must-make-everything-perfect-because-oh-my-fucking -God-the-match's-tomorrow scheduling, but I had expected as much. After all, I used to be a part of that very must-make-everything-perfect-because-oh-my-fucking -God-the-match's-tomorrow scheduling.

My, how things change.

Today the big day had finally arrived, and those three were totally and completely M.I.A.—at least yesterday they'd popped into the Great Hall every now and then to dowse themselves with water or stock up on some good ol' fashioned carbohydrates, but today it was like they'd disappeared off the face of the planet. Again, this wasn't surprising—Wood had stuck with the same game-day rituals throughout all four years of his captaincy, and one of them (my personal favorite, really) involved whisking the whole team off at exactly six in the morning, cramming them into this stuffy, abandoned classroom on the fifth floor, and avoiding all contact with the outside world until go-time.

Apparently it had something to do with 'getting focused'—meditating, harnessing your chi, that sort of rubbish—though usually I just made up for all the sleep I didn't get from waking up at six in the goddamn morning. I mean, really, I wasn't a bloody camera lens; there was only so much focusing I could do. Still… it was strange. Not being a part of it, I mean. Sure it was cruel and unusual, and sure it never failed to put me in a grumpy mood, but I couldn't help but feel rather… detached now that I wasn't a part of it.

This morning, the alarm clock went off at six o' clock sharp, as prescribed… and I didn't have to groan or pitch a slurred fit while fending Angelina off with my pillow. I just stayed in bed, eyes closed, listening to the jittery motions they were making as they made to head off. And for the first time in my life, I was wide-awake. It's really rather weird, realizing that things that used to be such a big part of your life function perfectly fine without you. It makes you feel sort of empty. I used to bloody hate that morning ritual, but now that it was gone, I found myself wanting nothing more than to be a part of it.

Whatever, no use dwelling over it now, I thought a bit darkly, wandering down the brightly lit Charms hallway for no particular reason whatsoever. It was somewhere around eleven, the sun was high and springy in the otherwise freezing sky, and not a cloud could be found anywhere in sight—a perfect day for Quidditch. And that was only outside.

Inside the castle, the atmosphere was absolutely electric—gold and scarlet streamers were hanging everywhere, silver and green flags were rippling in the light breeze, and Peeves was shooting brightly colored sparks at people's heads all around the Entrance Hall; everyone was giddy with anticipation.

It was natural: this was the match. The one every had been waiting the whole year for. All day, people had been discussing it: placing bets on who would win, speculating over the final score, everything. For a while, I'd desperately tried to muster some sort of excitement for it, wanting to feel the same buzz of electricity splayed upon everyone else's faces. though I came to the conclusion that I was severely kidding myself after an hour or so.

This was going to be a rough day to get through and I knew it. Grinning and bearing it would be far easier to do if I didn't try to believe my own act.

"Morning, Andy," a cheery girl that I vaguely recognized from the Gryffindor Common Room sang as she traipsed down the hallway, pulling me out of my thoughts. Her face was extremely young—undoubtedly a First Year—complete with flushed cheeks and bright blonde hair. "Ready for the big match?"

Her friend, a thoroughly unfamiliar bloke who seemed a bit older than her, promptly elbowed her in the ribs, tossing me a panicked smile before whispering harshly into the girl's ear. The color quickly drained from her cheeks as her eyes widened, snapping over to me in horror. "Oh, Goodness, I'm so sorry! I totally forgot about… I… wow, Merlin… um, have a nice… day…"

And with that, the two scuttled off, leaving me standing in the hallway with a rather sour expression. "Don't worry about it," I drawled more to myself than anyone, seeing as the pair now well out of hearing range, "it's only the sixth time it's happened today." Mood thoroughly bitter—I'd used up every shred of niceness within my body two days ago—I turned the corner of the hallway, thankfully emerging into more secluded corridor. There were far less windows lining the walls, achieving a gloomy effect that was far more tolerable than the bright, chipper sunshine.

I sighed as I strolled by aimlessly, not even bothering with trying to pull myself out of the wallowing state I'd fallen into—this was the Slytherin-Gryffindor match, and I couldn't possibly be less excited. A knot of disappointment twisted itself about my stomach. I'd been looking forward to this for months; months of building rivalry and intensive frustration, months of increasing desire to wipe the bloody floor with Irik Viper's smarmy face. "Months that have all gone to waste," I muttered darkly, slowing to a halt as I thought about how little all the intensive training had amounted to.

After a moment, I merely heaved yet another bitter sigh, letting myself slump against the wall. "Just grin and bear it, Andy," I echoed to myself, dropping my head against the surface behind me. "Grin and—" Before I could so much as summon some sort of reaction, I was hurtling backwards. "Bloody—!"

The wall seemed to completely give way, sending me flying into complete and utter darkness with nothing more than a strangled choke. Brain working far too slowly to keep up with the speed of everything around me, I felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around my waist from behind, coupled with a warm pair of lips deftly landing on the curve of my neck. I nearly screamed, swallowed by complete darkness as the wall—which had to be a door of sorts—slammed closed yet again in front of me, leaving me trapped. However, my protest was stifled as the same pair of arms jerked me around, lips crashing down on mine in a rough kiss.

"Mmm—!" Struggling against the gruff, careless grasp, I pushed violently against the nameless stranger's chest, trying to shove him off with all my might. To my immense disgust, I heard him chuckle lowly against my lips, a smooth, raspy sort of sound that sparked an unwanted tinge of familiarity.

"Feisty, are we?" he drawled as I finally managed to wrench my lips away from his, the velvety voice sending yet another horrid pang of familiarity through my thoughts. Through the blinding darkness I could make out little more than a vague outline, though I had an unshakable feeling that I might have to hang myself upon finding out who this was.

"Get the bloody hell off me!" I snapped angrily, still fighting against the worrisomely iron-clad grip he had, wondering briefly if I was in any danger—whoever this was, he was quite strong.

"I'd rather not," he murmured with that painfully familiar smoothness, lips once again seizing mine as his hand slid its way up from my waist, making its desired destination no mystery.

This time reacting immediately, I twisted my entire body to the side, partially breaking the strength of his rough hold. I wasted no time dawdling, quickly bringing my hands up and shoving him backwards with whatever strength I could muster—which turned out to be more than I expected. He staggered backwards quite a few steps, knocking into whatever was behind him and sending a few things crashing to the floor. A slew of violent curses poured from his lips, making me reach toward the supposed door hastily in search of some sort of doorknob.

"Oh, bollocks—honestly!" I muttered frantically as I tried to find a means of escape, my hand finally clasping around the curve of the handle—only to find it locked. I jangled it violently for a few moments, though a sharp, angry grip interrupted my attempts as it swung me around by my shoulder.

"Look," he snarled, furious face still indistinguishable in the darkness, "I don't know what you're bloody problem is—"

A shrill scoff escaped my lips, eyes wide with incredulity. "My bloody problem is the fact that some complete stranger just pulled me into a dark room and attacked me!"

I heard a cold snarl sound in the darkness. "Oh, please, love—girls wait in sodding line to do this, there's no need to play the uninterested card—"

"What the bloody hell are you even talking about!" I interjected, pulling back once again as his face closed in on mine, mouth making to cover my own. He pulled his head back, letting out a growl of frustration as he roughly pushed me away.

"Look, I just want my bloody shag, alright?" he demanded, cursing under his breath in what seemed to be complete annoyance as my eyes widened. "I don't know what the hell Flint told you, but this is a big match, and I don't need any unnecessary complications—"

"Flint?" I questioned, horribly confused. "What the bloody hell does that halfwit have to do with this?"

"What do you—halfwit?" he echoed, his tone mirroring the utter confusion in mine. For a moment we both just stood there, completely baffled as to who the other was and what they were doing there, until finally I sensed him fumbling for something in the darkness.

After a few tense moments, he managed to find whatever it was he was looking for, bringing it up before him and murmuring something under his breath. A blast of light suddenly filled the room, spilling over the various shelves and mops lining what appeared to be a tiny broom cupboard, blinding me entirely. "Bloody hell," I protested, bringing my hand up to shield my eyes as I tried to bat away the offending wand, more blinded now than before. However, after a moment of muttered curses and fumbling, the light seemed to dim, making it possible to glance at the elusive face without risking permanent damage.

My entire body froze in utter shock. Staring back at me, arrogant and self-serving, were the ice-colored eyes of none other than Irik Viper.

"Viper!?"

"Wiles!?"

Without sparing a single moment, we sprang away from each other, utterly horrified by the idea of the other's touch—this was enemy territory. We both knocked a few choice buckets and pales over in all of our haste to distance ourselves, causing quite a loud clatter.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he demanded furiously, making my eyes widen in outrage.

"You grabbed me, you fucking idiot!" I cried back, utterly indignant as I motioned toward the door, "I don't know if you recall, but I didn't really have a choice!"

"I didn't know it was you!"

"Who'd you think it was, Dumbledore?!"

"Why the hell would I want to shag Dumbledore?"

"Hell if I know!"

"Oh, this is fucking perfect—biggest match of the season and I can't even get a decent shag in," he growled, making a sudden realization hit me.

"Wait," I said, eyes slowly filling with disgust, "you mean you do this before every match?"

"Do what?" he spat, straightening out his half-unbuttoned shirt distractedly.

"Shag a random girl that Flint sends you—use her and then go off to play?" I elaborated, staring at him with revulsion.

He shrugged carelessly, tossing me an infuriatingly smug look. "We all have our little superstitions."

I grimaced in disgust, now more desperate than ever to wash away the feel of his lips from mine. "You're revolting," I spat, finding the puffed up boy before me to be nothing short of a pig, especially given the fact that he looked almost amused by my dislike.

"Look, Wiles," he drawled impatiently, pulling out what looked to be a cigarette from the depths of his robes and bringing it to his lips, holding it between his clenched teeth as he dug for a lighter, "unless you're going to give me a go at that tight little arse of yours, there's really no reason for you to be here."

My eyes widened at the demeaning words as I struggled with my anger, nausea sweeping through each and every curve of my body. "I'm locked in," I seethed, my skin crawling with disgust, too repulsed to yell.

"Use your wand," he suggested lazily, bringing the lighter to his lips and lighting the cigarette, leaning back against the shelf and taking a slow, languid drag.

I waved my hand before me as a cloud of smoke swirled around my face, spurring a minor coughing fit. "I left it back in the dorms—I would've hexed you a good five minutes ago if I'd had it."

He snorted derisively at this, letting his head loll back against the wall. "Yeah, a hell of a lot of damage you would do."

My skin bristled with irritation. "Don't think so, do you?"

A dry, arrogant laugh sounded from the back of his throat, icy blue eyes leveling to meet with mine. "Oh, come on, Wiles. You're rather smart for a girl, you know how it works," he drawled carelessly, waving a dismissive hand. However, upon seeing the angry lack of comprehension on my face, he sighed, pushing himself off the dusty shelves to take a few steps closer. "I'm a bloke, love," he murmured, disgustingly smug little smirk rising onto his lips, "the contest ends there."

My eyes slitted. This was one of the things that made me hate Irik Viper with a venom far more toxic than any Quidditch rivalry could merit—he was as sexist as they came. Stemming from a long line of Bulgarian purebloods, he'd been raised with the lesson that women were nothing—objects for men to play with, maybe—and it was one of the few lessons taught to him that ever really stuck.

Anger flaring beneath my skin, my jaw remained tightly clenched, lips drawn into a dangerously tight line as he made to continue. "Why do you think we're all so positive that Gryffindor's going to get destroyed today, darling?" he pressed on, looming closer with every word. "You're a team full of girls. No other team's bloody stupid enough to let more than one girl on, and even then, it's just a strategy to avoid the 'sexist' label."

My eyes glimmered dangerously, absolutely infuriated—Angelina, Katie, and Alicia could fly bloody circles around almost every Slytherin player, and I knew for a fact I could outfly this asshole! Bloody hell, how I wished I was playing; Fiona was just going to prove him right with all her prissy little flips and twirls.

"I mean, sure, you lot may be fair flyers," he pressed on, breaking through my thoughts as he came to a halt right before me, "and perhaps in a women's league, you could even make some sort of name for yourselves—but when it really comes down to it..." He brought his face within inches of mine, his hand brushing against my hipbone and slowly slipping up the curve of my waist. "You're just another piece of arse. That's the reality of it, love—take it or leave it." Smirking with satisfaction at his final statement, he took yet another long, lazy drag from his cigarette, taking care to blow the wispy smoke directly into my eyes.

And that was really all it took for me to snap. Completely and utterly snap.

Rage stormed through every last inch of my body, built up from the little incident with Fiona, the encounter with Wood, the fact that I wasn't playing—everything. My face contorted into a look of pure loathing, and without any sort of warning, I let out a vicious snarl, grabbing him by the shoulders and hurling my knee up to his groin.

"BLOODY—!"

"OH, I'LL SHOW YOU BLOODY YOU DEMEANING—"

I kneed him again.

"Chauvinist—"

And again.

"Revolting—"

Apparently I like kneeing people.

"PIG!"

I finally shoved him backward, sending him crashing against the dusty shelves in his debilitated state. Breathing hard, I watched him as he crumpled to the ground, writhing about in pain. He groaned, clutching a rather sensitive area which I might've accidentally tweaked a bit. Careless aim, and all that... After a few moments of reveling in my handiwork, I'd had enough, wanting nothing more than to just get out of there. My track record with broom closets was growing steadily worse, and I was beginning to think I should just keep a mile away from them at all times.

However, just as I made to extract his wand from the tangle of robes and limbs on the floor, I heard a whispered incantation sound from the other side of the door, followed by the sound of a lock clicking open. "Irik? Sorry I'm late, this is my first time doing this," a female voice purred as the door slid open, giving way to the notoriously curvy body of Penelope Ashwood. Her lips curved into a pout upon spotting me, pale green eyes narrowing. "What are you doing here—Flint said it was my turn. And where's Irik?"

I didn't even bother suppressing my flat expression as I cocked my head in Viper's direction, watching the girl's eyes widen dramatically as she caught sight of him, breathless and writhing, crumpled on the floor. "What on earth did you do!?" she cried, horrified.

"Don't worry you're pretty little head," I drawled, tone dry as ash, "I was just the warm-up—feel free to romp away. Oh, and a little tip," I added sardonically, watching the confusion dissipate somewhat from the girl's eyes as they sobered, eager for advice, "he likes it rough, so give him hell no matter how hard he protests."

A loud groan emitted from the floor, tortured and vicious, and I merely smiled. "Trust me, I'm a pro—drives him mad."

Penelope smiled gratefully, turning to back around to face the pile of quivering idiocy Viper was reduced to as I hastily made my way out of the room. However, right before the door could swing to a close behind me, a few choice words filtered from the crack.

"You've been a very bad boy, Irik..."

"Chocolate frogs! Two knuts each! Get your chocolate frog!"

"Everyone place your bets here—it's now or never!"

"Chocolaaatee frooo-ooogs!"

"Oi, shut up with the chocolate frogs! So that's two galleons on Gryffindor for you…"

"Mark me down for Slytherin, Davies."

"Harris! And you call yourself a Gryffindor! Have you no shame, mate?"

"Nope—none at all."

"Disgraceful."

"Basically."

Beside me, Gabe was grinning cheekily, holding out a handful of galleons for Zachary Davies to take. The blonde Seventh Year merely shook his head in disdain, taking the coins with a look of scorn and marking Gabe down for a Slytherin victory. "You disgust me."

"Oi, they have a Seeker and we don't," Gabe said with a shrug, impervious to the disdain, "it's basic logic, really."

"Logic and loyalty are two very different things."

"Yeah, the former involves making money and the latter involves losing it."

Shaking his head yet again, Zachary ignored the comment, resuming his march down the rapidly filling stands and calling for all bets to be placed. People were filing onto the bleachers hastily, bathing the east half of the stands in a brightly colored sea of red and gold with their decorative scarves and hats. Quite a few students were waving around giant banners and shooting colorful sparks into the air, and a nearby group of blokes had even painted their chests to spell out 'Gryffindor' despite the two degree weather. All in all, Gryffindor spirit wasn't a hard thing to come by, though the thing that really electrified the air was the bitter clash of rivalry.

The entire west half of the pitch was drowned in an ominous sea of silver and green. Correspondingly colored smoke was curling up into the air, electric green fire was shooting up from different spots, and increasingly threatening chants were being sung at top decibels as game time grew nearer. The teachers had divided the pitch up into Gryffindor and Slytherin sides, for the split was dead even—half of the student body supported the Gryffindors, the other half the Slytherins. A vast array of Prefects and a few professors were stationed at the rift in which the two sides met, for three fights had already broken out and two students had been sent to the Hospital Wing.

As I watched this all from the stands—something I hadn't been able to do since Third Year—I couldn't help but feel a twinge of my former excitement rekindling itself. Sure, it absolutely, positively sucked hippogriff dung that I wasn't playing, but I could still join with everyone else in supporting my team. I knew firsthand how important the crowd was.

"How you holding up, kiddo?"

I glanced over to my left, spotting Gabe's lightly concerned expression and forcing a smile. "Great."

He winced. "That bad, huh?"

"No, Gabe, I'm fine," I assured, rolling my eyes.

Brow furrowing, he bent his face down, peering at my expression closely and getting all up in my personal space. "You don't look fine."

"Gee, thanks," I replied a touch sarcastically, rearing back from his inspecting gaze. "Most people don't when you're a centimeter away from their face."

He merely shook his head with mock admonishment, rearing back to his full height and ignoring my comment. "Bottling up your feelings isn't healthy, Andora."

"Would smacking you help rectify the situation?"

"And neither is this dreary smokescreen of sarcasm and hostility."

Meeting his playful expression with a distinctly annoyed look, I glowered at his grin. "You're ridiculously annoying."

He winked. "I try."

Shaking my head, I made to cast my glance back over to the pitch, though a sudden commotion caught my eye. Zachary Davies stood in the midst of a growing crowd a few rows down, eyes wide and expression fervent as he spoke. His hands were flying everywhere in excitement, thought I couldn't make out the words he was saying.

"Oi," I said, nudging Gabe, "what's up with Davies?"

Gabe narrowed his eyes as he peered at the boy, straining to hear. "Dunno—oh, wait! Sounds like he's saying… there's been a change of… pans?" He shot me a confused look, craning his head to hear more.

However, it proved unnecessary, for within three seconds flat the entire Slytherin half of the stands was in total uproar. Screams and yells of protest filled the air, coupled with angry 'boos' and vulgar gesturing, and my face crumpled into one of utter confusion. "What the bloody he—"

"Viper's not playing!" a young boy in the row before me cried jubilantly to his friend, making my eyes grow wide. "It seems Snape caught him smoking in a broom closet somewhere—heard a loud ruckus and found him, some Slytherin girl, and an opened pack of cigarettes!"

I simply blinked at the words, caught between snorting in laughter and feeling strangely disappointed. I mean, disgusting though he may be, Viper was one of the things people had come to see. He was part of the spectacle. Both teams were incredible independent of their Seekers, don't get me wrong, but the clash between Viper and I was one of the things that boosted the rivalry to new heights, one of the things that made this game so epic—and now neither of us was playing.

"And Snape reported him?" the girl the boy had been talking to squeaked, bringing me back to the matter at hand. "Why on earth would he report his own Seeker?"

"S'pose it's coz it really wouldn't make much of a difference now that Andy isn't playing—though I hear our new Seeker's really good," the boy replied, making a tug of sourness twist within me.

"But is she as good as the old one?"

The boy shrugged. "Dunno—but apparently she's a hell of a lot more consistent."

The girl nodded. "Yeah, I heard that the old one got lucky a lot—isn't that why she got cut?"

"I heard she quit the team because Oliver made her run laps," a boy piped up from beside the girl, scrunching his nose in disapproval.

"Really? I heard Oliver scrapped her for being late too much," yet another boy said, joining in.

"You've got it all wrong—I heard Oliver kicked her off for sleeping with Flint!" a nearby girl trilled, eyes eager and tone considerably more gossip-hungry.

"I heard she got caught with Pixie Dust or summat…

"I heard there was a love-triangle…"

"…something about the Giant Squid…"

"…two-timing the Weasley twins…"

"…lit the pitch on fire…"

"I heard she got caught ruthlessly murdering a group of five or so gossiping First Years by cutting out their tongues, grinding them up in a blender, and force-feeding the tongue-soup down their throats until they sputtered and choked to death on their own liquefied organs."

All five students turned to stare at me.

A few faces paled in horror, recognizing me instantly, though most—ironically enough, the ones that claimed to know precisely what happened—simply looked confused and disgusted. The realization hit them quickly enough, however, when Gabe draped an arm around my shoulders, eyeing the kids with a wary look and flicking his head toward me indicatively.

"I've seen her do it—nasty stuff."

At this, their eyes flitted toward mine, wide as saucers, and within three seconds flat they were scrambling off into far corners of the stands, a few even choking out incoherent apologies as they darted. "Ah, yes, that horrid tongue-soup," Gabe called after them, voice slightly wistful, "the color, the consistency, and Merlin—don't even get me started on the smell!"

When they were all a safe distance away, Gabe's hopelessly dramatic expression crumpled into little more than a faint smirk, left brow quirking somewhat as he glanced down at me, "A bit heavy on the gore, there, ma'am."

"I'm in a gory kind of mood," I muttered a bit moodily, feeling what little excitement for the game I'd been able to conjure up obliterate itself completely. This day was just shitty. There was no getting around it—no one gets sexually harassed by a complete pig, demeaned and slandered by a group of bloody First Years, and sits around and watches the game they've been looking forward to playing in for four months with a sodding smile on their face.

"Aw, c'mon, love—chin up," Gabe encouraged, using his free hand to nudge the bottom of my chin playfully.

"I'm fine, really."

"I want to see a smile."

"Gabe—"

"Turn that frown upside down!" he chorused, voice sing-songy.

"How old are you?"

"Less talking, more smiling!"

"Harris, I swear to Merlin—"

"What's that song about smiling? 'You put your right foot in—'"

"The Hokey Pokey?" I said in disbelief.

"Yeah!"

"That's not about smiling!"

"Really?" he asked, face scrunching in thought. "Left foot in… out… shake… turn yourself about…is that really it?"

"That's what it's all about," I said flatly.

"Huh—then I s'pose you're right…"

I merely found myself staring in slightly amused disbelief at the spectacle that was Gabriel Harris, wondering if his brain would implode if it were ever forced to contemplate anything remotely serious. However, before I could come up with any definite conclusions, the crackling of the megaphone echoed through the pitch, capturing my attention.

"Gooooodd afternoon, Hogwarts!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed from the speakers, slightly crackled though strikingly loud amidst the roaring response of the crowd. "It's a downright beautiful day for Quidditch—the sun's high, the birds are chirping, the Slytherins are on the far side of the pitch so there nappy faces are all blurred—"

"Jordan!"

"Just calling it like I see it, Professor."

There was a brief rustling sound, complete with a few muffled words and a distinct whine or two, though when a voice once again filled the pitch, it was McGonagall's. "Please strike the former comment from the record, Filius—particularly the use of the word 'nappy'," she instructed Professor Flitwick, who was transcribing the game for the Quidditch archives.

"Now, I believe you all know that there's been a slight change in the Slytherin line-up," the stern woman continued, eliciting a low rumble from the Slytherin half of the stands. "Due to certain events, Irik Viper has been disqualified from playing in this match, and he will be replaced—" She paused impatiently as the rumble grew into a vehement roar of protest, for that coupled with the none-too-sportsmanlike cheering of the Gryffindor fans was impossible to overcome. "He will be replaced," she began again, definitive tone eliciting a silence, "by Dorian Flotts."

A few boos drifted their way from the Slytherin stands, making me almost feel bad for the poor bloke—though I promptly remembered that no one remotely decent could ever join the Slytherin Quidditch team. My realization was later confirmed when Lee, who eventually managed to wrestle the megaphone back from McGonagall, called out the Slytherin team one by one, and an extremely smug-looking Seventh Year lazily flew onto the field in response to 'Dorian Flotts – Seeker'. As they all lined up at the center of the pitch, I felt the familiar bite of rivalry gnaw at my stomach, though I sullenly forced myself to quell it—there was no use getting all worked up. It simply wasn't the same from the stands; it wasn't even close.

When the Gryffindor role call commenced, Lee's voice adopted a considerably higher level of gusto, his introductions growing far more epic and drawn-out. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the crusher, the enforcer, the ruler of the Quaffle—four-year Chaser and all around firecracker Angelina Johnson!" The Gryffindor half of the pitch erupted in cheers as Angelina streaked into the pitch, hair tied back and face drawn with utmost focus. The beginnings of a smile curled at my lips as he continued the introductions in a similar fashion, growing more and more outrageous with every one—George was announced as a Viking, Fred a Greek God, and Alicia a Quaffle-slayer.

Strangely enough, he faltered when the list reached Katie, fumbling for words for a moment before simply muttering out her name and her position.

"Are those the beginnings of a smile I'm seeing?"

I groaned. "Gabe, don't start."

"They are, aren't they?"

"No—"

"Yes."

"Maybe."

"Ha! I'm definitely getting a Mona Lisa kind of vibe…"

"And I repeat—you couldn't possibly be more annoying."

"Ah, but you love it," he grinned, pulling me into a bear hug as a stubborn smile twitched at the corners of my lips—honestly, between Lee (who was currently introducing Wood as a blood-thirsty gladiator) and Gabe, who could possibly keep the whole angst thing going? "There you go!"

"Alright, alright, alright—I'm smiling, well-done," I conceded, breaking away from his loose grip and shrugging him off with a grin, though my eyes briefly caught on something—or rather, someone.

Halfway through twisting out of Gabe's grip, for a split-second and a split-second only, I glanced out at the pitch, my eyes unexpectedly locking with Wood's. He was flying over the stands toward the center of the field, smiling and waving at the screaming fans, though just as I looked over he glanced in my direction. And after a moment, something in his smile just… tightened.

However, he averted his gaze before I could make out a proper emotion, increasing his speed a bit before finally sweeping to a halt beside Angelina. I frowned slightly at the exchange, slowing a bit in my efforts to shove Gabe off. Gabe noticed, and glanced down curiously only to groan in defeat. "You know what—I give up. Frown all you want, lady, but don't come yelling at me when you have facial wrinkles at the age of twenty-two."

I snorted, despite myself. This was going to be a long game.