Settling the Score

Something Wicked This Way Comes

"Fucking go, Weasley!"

"C'mon, c'mon, C'MON—shit!"

"Oh, for the love of God!"

"This is bloody ridiculous!"

"Wake the hell up, Chasers!"

"Who's team are you even on, Wood!?"

"Why the hell's our Seeker just hovering there? Move!"

Collapsed into the cold bleachers, face buried into my hands, curly hair bedraggled and swallowing my expression, I slowly shook my head from side to side, unable to watch the utter catastrophe this match had turned into. This was awful. Completely and totally awful. Around me, everyone was on their feet, yelling at the players in frustration, pulling at their hair, and occasionally kicking the bleachers in an attempt to release their sheer fury with the situation. This match was supposed to be the best bloody match of the year, and now absolutely everything was falling apart.

For the first hour or so, it'd been incredible. Every single player, be it Gryffindor or Slytherin, was playing top-notch Quidditch, their movements impeccably sharp and their drive fierce. The Keepers on both teams were frightfully good, but the Chasers on either side were really giving them a run for their money—Wood had been pulling out all sorts of mind-boggling saves to keep the scores level, and Adrian Pucey, the Slytherin Keeper, was more than keeping up.

The Weasleys had outdone themselves with the amount of well-aimed Bludgers they'd sent flying, keeping Flint, Montague, and Warrington on their toes, though Slytherin Beaters Vince Derrick and Artruvius Bole were responding in earnest, using the ample brawn that compensated for their limited brain to their full advantage.

Even the two replacement Seekers, I'd grudgingly admit, had been flying uncannily well. Fiona's lines were sharp and practiced, and both Seekers seemed alert and focused on capturing the snitch. It had been the match everyone had been anticipating, the one that had people sitting on the edges of their seats, and it lasted for about an hour and a half.

And then, without warning, everything slowly but surely went downhill.

It was only natural, really—stamina and rivalry can only energize someone for so long. As the match wore on, the atmosphere gradually started veering from positively electric to draining, and the more it dragged, the more frustrated the players began getting. Before anyone knew it, injuries started racking up like crazy, aims got skewed, people were getting fouled left and right—everything got messy. Gone were the sharp moves and the thrilling plays that had people cheering; instead the Chasers started dropping the Quaffle, the Keepers began missing easy-to-block shots, and the Beaters were getting tired, packing less punch into their batting.

And on top of that, the bright, sunny sky the day had started off with was now nearing black, enshrouded beneath a thick veil of storm clouds that were expelling a freezing drizzle of mist over the entire pitch. Mist translated into fog. Fog translated into an easier way for the Slytherins to play dirty, and believe me, they've never been the type to pass up an opportunity to hurt a few Gryffindors.

But besides all of this, you want to know what really, really gets to me?

It's precisely at times like these, where nothing's going right, when the entire team is starting to lose focus, when everyone's exhausted and angry and ready for the match to just bloody end already, that the Seeker has to step up and bloody play. Alicia said it loud and clear a few weeks ago—you can't win a game without a Seeker, and right now, that was precisely the problem. Fiona and Dorian were substitute Seekers, and it wasn't until the match's change for the worst that this fact became screamingly obvious. Both of them played marvelously when things were going well, letting the hype and the cheers energize them, but now that everything was in a downward spiral, they were totally and utterly lost—just hovering about, tired and disoriented, desperate for it all to end.

The thought made me want to scream in frustration—now was when they had to sodding take the reigns! The points were dead even on either side, and the Chasers were exhausted and injured; no one was planning on scoring anymore. It was up to the Seekers to decide the game, and both of them were far too lacking in stamina and experience to take on the weight of that responsibility. Bloody hell, it made me grimace to think it, but Viper would've eaten Fiona alive by now! He would've had the game won two hours ago—hell, probably even earlier than that—and although that would've been absolutely sickening to watch, it couldn't be much worse than watching the utter catastrophe I was currently witnessing: Angelina getting repeatedly shoved into the bleachers, Alicia dodging painful elbows from Flint, George wincing every time he swung his bat after getting slammed in the shoulder by a dirty Bludger.

You have to realize, these weren't just my teammates getting abused and fouled like crazy out there—they were my friends, too. And as Fiona faffed about up there, perfectly unharmed and perfectly useless, I found that I simply could watch anymore, hence the reason for my current position.

"Oh, c'mon, Hooch—Flint just tried to massacre Katie!" Zachary Davies hollered from beside me, voice hoarse and hands thrust in the air in indignation. "Get some bloody goggles!"

"Hear, hear!" Gabe yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth to be heard over the general roar of the crowd. Distantly, a low rumble of thunder echoed in the dimming horizon, making a few worried heads shoot up—visible lightning meant the match would be called off—though I dutifully kept mine down, buried into my hands. In all honesty, having it called off didn't sound bad at all.

"Oi, Price—ever heard of a bloody Snitch!?" an angry voice growled from above me, clearly as incensed as everyone else. "Gold, fluttery, fast as hell—try catching it, would you! It kind of wins the game!"

A roar of approval followed the remark, fueled by the surrounding angry mob, and I could instantly feel Gabe's green gaze flit over to my hunched form. He'd been discreetly—or at least, I think that's what he was trying (and failing) to achieve—checking up on me throughout the entire game, eyes a bit darker than usual, though the apology they held did little to make this easier. Still, it was nice that he understood. Most probably thought that I was feeling thoroughly vindicated right now, that the only revenge I needed was seeing Fiona fail miserably, but they were horribly, horribly wrong. I felt frustrated, angry, and worst of all, helpless, for I knew there was absolutely nothing I could do to make it better. And what made it worse was that, in reality, I knew exactly what to do, I just wasn't allowed to do it.

I sighed, rubbing my close lids against my palms. Perhaps it was best if I just left. "I think I'm going to head off," I said suddenly, raising my head for the first time in a good ten minutes and startling a few of the people beside me. Gabe arched a brow at this, though his eyes still looked a bit worried.

"You sure?"

"Angelina Johnson gets railed into the stands once again by Vince Derrick—someone's got to call that foul!"

I winced at Lee's announcement, reassuring my decision as I nodded my head. "Yeah, I'll see you later."

"Alright, kiddo."

Forcing a brief smile, I got to my feet, my knees feeling a bit sore from being cramped up in the bleachers for so long. It took quite a bit of skill to maneuver through the congestion of the screaming crowd, though after a few minutes, I managed to break through to the center aisle, quickly making my way down the metal steps from there.

"Alas, there's justice in the world—penalty on Vince Derrick," Lee continued to narrate as I descended the stairs, though the sudden lowering of the crowd into an observant murmur made my ears prick. "Uh-oh… there seems to be a problem between Gryffindor Keeper Oliver Wood and Slytherin Scum Bucket Marcus Flint—besides the usual one, of course, which involves Wood getting irritated with Flint's stupidit—"

A sudden gasp filtered through the audience, making me glance up in a mixture of dread and curiosity, though my eyes promptly widened in shock. Wood was shoving Flint, expression enraged, and Flint was careening backward, struggling not to fall off of his broom.

"Bloody hell," Lee breathed, not managing to get out much else before McGonagall hurriedly snatched the megaphone away from him, countenance flustered.

"Mr. Wood!" she screeched, her voice flirting with the line between angry and shrill. "That sort of behavior is thoroughly unaccepta—"

Another gasp filled the stands as Flint finally regained his balance, barely wasting a moment before baring his teeth and lunging forward at Wood—and within three seconds flat, a full on fight had broken out. The crowd went absolutely ballistic, both sides rooting for their respective players and a few smaller fights breaking out in the stands, causing the Hogwarts staff to go into panic mode.

McGonagall, naturally, had a manic episode. "Mr. Wood, Mr. Flint, you will stop this immediately!" she demanded, her voice frantic and high-strung as the chaos simply continued to unfurl. "I will deduct points! I will assign detentions! I will write your mothers!" At the lack of response from the two brawling boys, she released a flustered cry, "For Merlin's sake, Severus, control your captain!"

A distinctly dry, "I'd be happy to, Minerva, as soon as you control yours," sounded from the background.

Too absorbed in the spectacle before me to really listen to their squabbling, I stood in the center of the aisle, utterly floored. This was totally and completely unprecedented—Wood had never done this before. Ever. This was the type of thing that would get you kicked off his team for good, no questions—the type of thing that he would never tolerate. And yet here he was, wrestling Flint off his broom, the two of them crashing down into the ground a few feet below in a series of tumbles and vicious grunts. I couldn't imagine what Flint must've said to him, but whatever it was, it had really hit a nerve. Wood was one of the most infuriatingly patient people I knew (when it came to people besides me, anyway), and he liked to keep his emotions locked within his eyes—such an outward showing of pure rage was just… shocking.

Around them, players from both teams were beginning to fly down and gather, the Slytherins jeering obnoxiously and the Gryffindors trying to shake off their shock. Katie and Angelina looked positively stunned, Alicia was fiercely yelling at Wood to stop, and Fred and George were both trying to pry him off of Flint. For a moment, I continued watching this all unfold, though it promptly hit me that Fiona was missing. Despite my rather dazed state, my brow furrowed. I'd expect her to be the first one at the scene, ready to coo and fawn and 'kiss it and make it better'. Wrenching my gaze away from the fight, I glanced around, searching for the head of long, startlingly blonde hair—though the moment I found it, my eyes widened.

She was still up in the air, racing recklessly forward, staring at the incident in what seemed to be total and complete enrapture. Unfortunately, Dorian Flotts was doing the very same thing, just as engrossed and just as careless with his speed, and before I could so much as choke out a strangled "WATCH OUT!", the two smacked right into each other. The third collective gasp of the day rippled through the stands at the suspended moment, coupling with resounding crack echoing across the pitch. Everything seemed to come to a halt, even Wood and Flint's ruthless brawl, at the sight of the collision, making everyone stare in shock. In what seemed to be slow-motion, the two veered off their respective brooms, slowly arcing backwards into the air in a muted freefall.

Somewhere between proving gravity indeed works and barreling down to their bloody, bone-crunching deaths, a few of the Professors managed to cast successful levitating charms on them, easing them to a halt a good ten feet above the ground. Within seconds, Madame Pomfrey was scurrying out to the center of the pitch, expression hard and riddled with focus as the two rather dazed looking Seekers were lowered within her reach. Inside my chest, my heart was hammering. Hard. And as horrible as it may sound, it wasn't out of worry—if Fiona was out, they didn't have anyone else to replace her. No one else had trained with the team, no one else knew the game plans, no one else was qualified to come in at this stage of a match.

No one else except me.

Around me, the initial shock was starting to wear off as people started realizing their replacement Seekers had just wiped out—well, Dorian was actually beginning to walk, but Fiona was still lying in a complete and total daze, blinking stupidly at her surroundings. My pulse was thrumming loudly in my ears, a kind of excitement I hadn't felt in weeks bolting through me—bloody hell, I wanted to play. I needed to play. And damn it, regardless of what Wood said, they needed me.

Watching the scene unfold before me with hawk-like alertness, I stood frozen, waiting for any indication that Fiona was out for good. Madame Pomfrey was hovering over busily, asking her questions and tapping her wand on certain areas, and I simply felt my heart-rate skipping and speeding anxiously. Finally, after what seemed like centuries, the severe woman lifted her head up and glanced at McGonagall, who'd hurried down to the pitch, and gave her a heavy look.

And then she shook her head.

My heart skipped a beat—she couldn't play. She couldn't play—she couldn't bloody play! McGonagall looked more concerned with Fiona's health than anything, but the entire rest of the Gryffindor team looked devastated—Dorian Flotts looked a bit woozy, but otherwise fine, which meant Gryffindor would have to take the loss without a replacement. That is, if Wood's little stunt didn't already force them to forfeit. Immediately, without thinking rashly or taking any sort of precaution, I began barreling down the steps, nearly crashing against the iron railing.

"Is that Andy?"

"What is she doing?"

"Is she going to play?"

Ignoring the growing murmurs of surprise growing around me, I swung myself over the railing, landing a bit unsteadily in all my hurry. Straightening myself out, I glanced up toward the center, where Snape, McGonagall, Madame Pomfrey, and the respective teams were all gathered. Swallowing down the knot in my throat, I tilted my chin up, knowing this wasn't going to be easy. My problem lay with one person, and one person only—and that was who I had to convince. Heart fluttering nervously, I strode over to the center of the pitch, simultaneously angry and worried about the fact that I had no idea how he would react.

Wood used to be infuriatingly straightforward. Now talking to him was just one risk after another; I could get snogged or I could get yelled at, I could get a charming grin or a flat insult, and in this case, I could get a yes or a no, and bloody hell, I wanted the former.

"…don't even know how to handle this situation—!"

"Your player initiated it, Minerva."

"And your player continued it, Severus!"

"Two very different things, I'm afraid—but even if we disregard your captain's wonderful exhibit of Gryffindor brutishness, you have no Seeker, so unless one conveniently decides to materialize out of thin—"

Snape looked a bit startled as I pushed through his gaggle of players, expression stubbornly focused and ready to play. His face promptly furrowed into a flat look. "Oh, smashing."

Ignoring his less than enthused reaction, I glanced around, searching for Wood's dark, ruffled hair amongst the gathered Gryffindors. My eyes ran over the faces of Katie, Alicia, and Angelina, whose tired eyes seemed to be slowly sparking with hope at the sight of me, and George and Fred, who had never looked so different before. George was starting to grin like mad, realizing my intention, though Fred was too preoccupied with eyeing the Slytherins murderously to really notice. McGonagall looked thoroughly surprised at first, though her eyes immediately became calculating as she saw the opportunity to beat Snape.

Despite all this, however, a frown overcame my face, my eyes unable to locate the captain. "Where's Wood?"

"What are you doing here?" Vince Derrick sneered.

"You can't play, you've been kicked off," Flint grunted rudely.

"So what? We can easily reinstate her—"

"Mr. Weasley, do shut up," Snape cut in the second George spoke, not even bothering to hide his blatant favoritism.

I sighed in frustration—this was going nowhere. "Where's Wood?" I demanded again, surprising myself with the amount of force packed into my tone, though the real surprise came from the sound of his voice behind me.

"I'm right here, Wiles." His tone was low and cold. Not a good start at all.

Whirling around to face him, my eyes involuntarily winced: he had a pretty nasty cut running through his left eyebrow, and the beginnings of a bruise were starting to form along the line of his jaw. Even still, it wasn't so much his injuries as the icy look in his eyes that made me flinch. He did not look like someone willing to compromise at the moment. "I want to play," I finally declared after a few moments, though my tone came out a lot less steady than I'd wanted it to. I sounded unsure, but really, his unusually cold eyes were making me all the more nervous.

"And?"

I blinked, taken aback by the complete and utter lack of lack of caring in his tone. His biting indifference was far more of a slap than a flat-out 'no.' "And I need to know if you'll let me," I bit out a bit angrily after recovering, struggling to keep my cool—exploding wasn't exactly an effective means of persuasion.

However, he seemed to beat me to it as he scoffed suddenly, anger blooming to life in his eyes. "You want to know if I'll 'let' you?" he echoed, voice growing angrier by the second. "Since when has my say held any weight with you whatsoever, Wiles!? There are plenty of things I wouldn't bloody 'let' you do that you do anyway, so why ask now?"

My eyes widened briefly, caught between outrage and shock—where the bloody hell was all this heightened antagonism coming from!? "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" he roared, catching everyone off-guard. "Nothing's wrong with me!" However, he realized his outburst after a moment or two, averting his stare to the ground to try and force himself to calm down. I could feel the Gryffindors exchanging stunned glances behind me, shocked by his sudden mood swings, though I couldn't bring myself to glance away from his shadowed expression. After a few muted moments of seamless tension, he glanced up, not quite meeting my gaze as he muttered, "Play if you want, I really don't care anymore." And without another word, he grabbed his broom roughly and began walking off, headed toward the lockers.

To my surprise, it was McGonagall who broke the lingering silence. "Well, thank Merlin for that; if he hadn't reinstated you, I would've had to override his decision, and I do hate getting dictatorial…" And with that, she gave my shoulder a firm shake before scurrying off to the box seats where Lee was waiting for news to announce. Still, it wasn't until Alicia started screeching and Katie started jumping up and down that his answer really hit me. The Slytherins backed away in disgust, heading off to their end of the pitch as I merely stood in the same place, rooted. He'd said yes. I was playing. The game I thought I'd never be able to play in, I was playing it.

And yet, I wasn't excited at all. All I could see was his icy expression, his cold eyes, and the biting anger swimming in his tone. Hell, if I had known that would be his version of yes, I probably would've preferred a no.

"Oh, my God!"

"Bloody hell!"

"Thank God!"

"Wild Wiles is back, ladies and gents!"

The entire Gryffindor team, sans captain, began gathering around me, words gushing out at a rocket ship's pace as mingling emotions overtook the field. I felt traces of excitement, joy, exhaustion, anger, and rivalry all blooming around me, braided into the words everyone was speaking, but I was still too out of it to pay attention. Snap out of it, stupid, you got what you wanted, I scolded myself, shaking my head briefly as I finally glanced up. Battered faces met my eyes, though most were covered with relieved smiles, and I forced a smile of my own. "Guess I'm back."

"Damn well right, you are!"

"Finally, there's an end in sight to this hell…"

"You have no idea how badly you've been missed, you chit."

Slowly, a smile started curling itself onto my lips, the excitement blooming on everyone's faces helping rekindle the one I'd been feeling not three minutes ago, though my thoughts were still a bit distant as they lingered on Wood's final expression words. Honestly, what an all around asshole—only he could manage to make a 'yes' that hard to swallow. Anger threatened to sweep through me again, but I pushed it down. Whatever, I didn't care how he said it; in the end, it was a yes, and that was all that I needed. I didn't need a smile or a pat on the fucking back from him, the miserable git—

My thoughts halted, however, as the megaphone crackled, making the crowd hush into a suspenseful murmur. I glanced up irritably, annoyed with the fact that I let myself get angry in the process of telling myself not to get angry, though Lee's voice promptly filled the stands. "Wizards and witches of Hogwarts," he began solemnly, as if he were starting a eulogy, "I have news. Due to the unfortunate events that transpired just five minutes ago, I'm afraid I have to report that…" the static crackled in the otherwise shockingly still silence as he paused dramatically. The Gryffindors were on the edge of the stands, preparing for the worst, though he promptly erupted into a thrilling cry, "Andy Wiles is back!"

A roar louder than I'd ever dreamed of crashed over the pitch, making all thoughts of Wood push themselves to the back of my mind. A steady cry of 'Andy, Andy, Andy!' began emitting from the stands, coupled with the outraged boos of the angry Slytherins, and my heart swelled at the overwhelming reaction. Bloody hell, this was why I loved this. Who cared about Wood? Who cared about anything? This was where I belonged, and it was time to play. Somewhat emotional now, I sent the stands a stupid wave, smiling like a four-year-old as I turned back to the team. My team, the one I belonged to again. George was egging on the chant, and Angelina was laughing.

"Merlin, every single bloody thing has been going wrong in this damn match," Katie said earnestly, dropping her hand into her palm, "you don't even know, Andy, I was so ready to quit—"

"It's been awful without you," Angelina agreed, wincing as she fingered the bruise steadily creeping up her side from being forced into the bleachers so many times. "Fiona's decent and everything, but it's not the same—"

"It really isn't," George agreed, grinning through a similar wince—his shoulder had been banged up pretty badly.

"You keep us all together," Katie pressed on, eyes filling with sincerity, "you make us a team—"

"There is a time and place for sappy bullshit," Alicia interjected, her eyes hard and fierce, her intensity only heightened by the small cut on her left temple, "and this match is neither—I have been shoved, I have been elbowed, I've been bloody punched, and quite frankly, I'm fucking angry, and I'm ready to kick some filthy Slytherin arse!"

As touching as Katie and Angelina's words had been, it was Alicia's that brought the snort of laughter—God, she was as blunt a bitch as they came.

"Hear, hear," Fred agreed, though there was a bitter edge to his voice—it was devoid of its typical musical quality. I glanced over to him, slightly surprised by the hardness in his face; Merlin, he looked pissed. It was only when I followed his gaze that I realized why: he was staring at Angelina. More specifically, he was staring at the large bruise sprawling over her skin, courtesy of one Marcus Flint. The serious side of this match was quickly resurfacing, and I immediately felt the lightness of the sentimental mood drift away. Reunion time was over, game time was now—and as if on cue, everyone's expression slowly hardened, heads drawing into a natural huddle.

"Alright, Flint's been an absolute monster this entire match—he's taking advantage of the fog like you wouldn't even know, half the stuff you can't even see from the stands," George explained lowly, his eyes taking on a darkened gleam of anger. "He's been targeting Angelina since she's been scoring the most, but now that you're in, I'd watch out, Andy."

I nodded, my eyes narrowing as I briefly glanced over at Flint—he was leaning over the railing and talking to someone in the stands, his big, ugly head bobbing animatedly. God, I wanted to make that idiot hurt.

"Now, as for the rest of us, we just have to hold down the fort now that Andy's back—the score's are pretty even, so it's really up to her," Alicia continued for George, turning her gaze on to me. "Andy, you've really got to bring it—I know Flotts isn't exactly stiff competition, but you're going to have Flint on your ass like stink on a hippogriff, so you have to be ready for some brilliant flying—"

"Oh, don't worry," I murmured, gaze cooling as Flint finally pulled away from his conversation, meeting my gaze and sending me an unbearably smug smirk, "by the end of this match, he'll be flying away from me."

"That's our girl," George grinned, ruffling my hair briefly before sweeping his gaze back over the team. "Now, as far as evasive strategies—"

"Shouldn't we involve Wood in this?" The question was out of my mouth before I'd even registered it as a thought, making an instant bout of shock and confusion sweep through me. What?

Katie and Angelina seemed equally confused—Wood's angry lectures on strategy were something I'd usually kill a small child to avoid, especially after the outburst he'd had a few seconds ago—but I'd mentioned him anyway. It was just that, despite the fact that he was a total prick, a tiny, buried shred of me felt a bit, well…wrong, game-planning without him. Bloody hell, could I just go a single minute without having him invade my head?

Thankfully, Alicia's gaze grew hard, drawing my attention back to her. "You know, if he's going to jeopardize the whole game by pulling a stunt like he did, I really don't think he deserves to be involved."

"I agree," Fred said stonily.

Angelina and George seemed caught between agreement and indifference, though Katie seemed less certain. "I don't know, guys—I don't think we should be so quick to judge…"

"Rules are rules, Kats—any single one of us would've been kicked off in a heartbeat if we pulled something like that," Fred said, scowling bitterly. "You really don't think I've been dying to throttle that bloody moron after watching him go after Angelina like he did?"

At this, Katie looked down, dropping the matter. "I suppose you're right."

"Besides, he's perfectly free to come over here if he wants," Alicia stated coolly, her entire demeanor hard and rather ready-to-kill. "Now—Andy, I think you should go ahead and change, there's an extra set of robes in the spare locker since Fiona's got yours, and just summon your broo—"

"I got it," I interjected, knowing everything past 'go ahead and change' would be useless information that I already knew—Alicia tended to talk a lot about nothing. "I'll see you guys in a few minutes, alright?"

Turning about and heading over to the lockers, a swell of fondness swept through me yet again as the Gryffindors began cheering yet again, transfiguring their signs to say 'We Love Andy' and showing the support that I'd truly thought I'd lost entirely. Waving and grinning like mad, I let electrified atmosphere overcome me, only to have it drain away instantly the second the door of the locker room clicked shut behind me. Wood was standing a few feet away, his robes shrugged off and his shirt abandoned, gritting his teeth as he pressed a hand against the side of his stomach. The lower front of his torso was covered in black and blue, and a few ribs were positioned in angles that were horribly unnatural. Cuts and scratches were dashed across his skin, and I couldn't help my immediate instinct, inhaling sharply. "Oh, my God."

He glanced up quickly, alarmed. "Wiles—"

"Wood, you have to go see Madam Pomfrey!" I cut in, worry overtaking any former emotion—one of his ribs looked about ready to pierce through his skin!

He shook his head resolutely, fighting back a grimace of pain. "I'm fine."

"You are not fine, you have at least three broken ribs—"

"Wiles—"

"—possibly more, and even I don't expect you—"

"Wiles—"

"—stupid enough to play through—"

"Wiles, I said I was fine, leave it!" he snapped, making my lips come to a halt. My surge of maternal worry vanished almost as quickly as it came, and I felt my former anger rekindling itself now that there was nothing in its way.

"Fine," I said coolly, making my way over to the spare lockers behind him and taking care to push past him in the process. He inhaled sharply as I jostled past, the movement clearly aggravating his pain, though according to him he was 'fine', so I had nothing to feel guilty about, really. God, when had I turned into such a sadist?

Growling something incoherent beneath his breath, he stepped aside a bit as I swung open the locker, pulling out the spare scarlet and gold robes and shaking off the dust. On the exterior, I was maintaining a frosty temperament, though inside I wasn't anywhere near as collected. "You should probably get going, you know," I tossed out heartlessly, slipping off my coat, "the team's pretty angry at you after your little episode with Flint—I'm sure they're waiting for some sort of explanation."

Wood merely ignored me.

Anger heightening, I shook out the robes with more vigor, a cloud of dust flying everywhere. "By the way, you're a complete and total hypocrite, you know that?" I added, feeling my blows getting lower out of frustration as he refused to respond. "You lecture us all day and night about how even considering starting a fight would get us kicked off, no questions, and then you go off and start one of your own. It must be convenient to be the captain." Absorbed in his shoddy healing charms, he didn't even glance up, making my jaw clench angrily. "Why are you ignoring me?"

He scoffed slightly, totally dismissive. "You're really not all that interesting."

At this, I slammed the locked door closed, rounding on him with an expression that was as angry as it was confused. "What is with you?" This wasn't like him, this cold, I-don't-give-a-damn rubbish. He wasn't usually so standoffish and… I don't know, mean. Stubborn and stuck in his own thoughts, yes, but not downright mean.

He glanced up carelessly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, like hell you don't," I snapped, the cool façade I'd put up to match his crumpling entirely. "I don't know what I did, but something has you acting like a complete asshole—a bigger one than usual, anyway!" He rolled his eyes, turning away and walking over to his own locker, and I followed him. "Did I offend you in some way on the pitch?" I ventured, voice heated. "Did you consider that 'me questioning your authority' or something?" He didn't answer, pulling a roll of gauze out of his locker, and I sighed in frustration. "Is this about Fiona—do you think her getting hurt somehow had something to with me? Or are you still angry about the whole feint thing? Seriously, tell me, because for once I have no idea!" He slowly began unraveling the gauze, his back turned to me, and I growled angrily. "Damn it, Wood, just—"

"Did something happen between you and Viper?"

The question was meant to come out uncaring and casual, but it didn't. I froze, my angry expression flattening into one of shock. "What?"

Turning slowly, he abandoned the gauze on the ledge of his locker, staring at me full on. "Did something happen between you and Viper in that broom closet?"

I blinked a few times, trying to shake off the cloud of surprise as confusion took over. "How the hell do you know about that?"

His expression hardened. "So that's a yes."

"No—yes—I mean, sort of, but it's not what you—" I shook my head in a flustered movement, clearing the image out of my mind and diving straight for what was bothering me: "Who'd you hear this from?" I hadn't told anyone; hell, I hadn't gotten the chance, and somehow Wood knew?

Ignoring my question, he glanced down, cold smile quirking his lips as he shook his head bitterly. "Wow, that's… that's really something, Wiles—Irik Viper."

The slight anger in my eyes sharpened tenfold at the accusatory tone in his voice, my lips curling into a snarl. "Don't pretend like you have any idea whatsoever of what happened in there!"

"Oh, trust me, I'd rather not know the details," he assured caustically, eyes narrowing with disgust.

"I don't mean it like that—"

"Merlin, I can't believe I defended you," he said to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

"—I mean it's most definitely not what it sounds like!" I demanded, though I nearly reared back when he suddenly glanced up angrily.

"Oh, really?" he hissed, drawing his face within inches of mine, "because what it sounds like is you shagged Viper out of spite for the sake of some fucking disgusting Slytherin trad—" For the second time in a life full of provocation, I'd slapped Oliver Wood. And for the first time in my life, I could say he'd really bloody deserved it.

A loud, satisfying crack filled the otherwise silent air, though this time there was not an ounce of pity to be found within my body. I was thoroughly livid, and in all honesty, a part of me felt like I'd been slapped. I'd gotten violated by the nastiest chauvinist in the entire damn school and I was getting shit for it!? "You don't have any idea what you're talking about," I growled, voice frighteningly low as I stared into his darkened eyes, "so I suggest you bloody well stop talking. I was pulled into that broom closet by accident—Viper was already in there, expecting his little shag-of-the-day, and when I slumped against the door, he thought I was it."

He scoffed at me, clearly not believing it. "Right, and naturally he didn't recognize you?"

"It was dark," I spat coldly.

"And the screams of what you claim to be 'protest' flew right past him?"

I fought the urge to smack him again for that comment, instead narrowing my eyes into slits. "Does Irik Viper strike you as the type to stop when the girl says 'no'?"

At this, Wood stiffened slightly, the message finally seeming to hit a little. "You tried to stop him and he didn't listen?"

I glared fiercely. "You think? He thought I was just being 'cute' when I tried to fight him off—believe me, it was great fun having him laugh and grope me as I tried to shove him away."

At this, Wood looked utterly livid, jaw clenching tightly as he snapped his gaze to the door. "I'll bloody kill that—"

"Wood, don't worry about it," I interjected hastily, slightly surprised by the sudden mood swing—a second ago that anger had been directed at me. "I think he got off worse than I did."

After a moment, he averted his stare, processing all of this for a moment. At first, his expression was strained and hard, though he promptly glanced back down at me, the amber of his irises softening. "And… you're alright?"

Despite my bitter mood, I couldn't help but snort slightly at the memory of kneeing Viper four times. "Yeah, I think I'll be okay," I said a bit wryly, "psychological damage only, and according to you I already have plenty of that."

He eyed me cautiously, hesitant to ask his next question. "He didn't… he didn't manage to—"

"No," I answered quickly, cheeks taking on a slight flush. "No, of course not." Brow furrowing, I remembered my earlier question, "Who told you about it, anyway? I haven't said a word to anyone, unless Viper said something…"

"It was Flint," he muttered lowly, "on the pitch. Goddamnit, I knew I shouldn't have believed…" he shook his head, trailing off, "never mind, what's done is done."

At first I was slightly confused, eyes narrowing slightly; and then it suddenly hit me. "Oh, God."

"What?"

"You didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Please tell me that's not the reason."

"Reason for what?"

"Oh, God."

"Damn it, Wiles, reason for what?"

"For lunging at Flint during the match."

"Oh." He slowly dropped his glance at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck absently. "It might've had something to do with it…"

My eyes flew shut. Talk about the number one way to make a person feel completely and totally awful. "God, you're such an idiot."

"Well, thanks," he drawled sarcastically.

"You risked a match over that?"

"It's not—I..." he sighed. "You should've heard him, Wiles."

I shook my head, feeling absolutely horrible about myself. I'd just slapped him and called him a hypocrite. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"I was a bit busy with the whole broken rib situation."

I dropped my head in my hands—it all made sense. The unusually frigid demeanor, his outburst on the pitch, and here I was, getting angry and snapping at him when he had risked a match trying to defend me. However, that brought up another point: one that was a bit more complicated to ask. "Why did…" I trailed off, making him sigh a bit irritably.

"You've really got to quit with these fragments, Wiles."

Ignoring him, I lifted my head from my hands, meeting his eyes—they were returning to their normal, pale amber again, no longer darkened with anger or hardened with bitterness. His lips twitched at the corners as I frowned, searching for the proper way to put it before finally settling with, "Why did you care so much? I mean, I know it doesn't take much to want to throttle Flint, but…"

At this, the amused quality in his eyes dwindled somewhat, giving way to a more serious expression. "Honestly?" He tilted his head to the side slightly, letting his eyes sweep over my face slowly. "I'm not exactly sure."

Well, lovely. I'm not exactly sure, either. That's sort of the problem, you see. "Oh." For a moment, we both stood there, faces close and eyes locked, before I made the executive decision to glance away, not at all happy with the slightly lightheaded feeling I was getting. "We should go—Alicia's probably killed six people by now," I muttered, hastily tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.

"Yeah," he agreed, glancing over to the door briefly. "Hopefully they're all Slytherins." After a moment, he shot me a brief, examining look before finally just picking up his shirt, pulling it on over his head and grabbing his robes. "I'll see you out there in a few minutes, alright?"

"Alright."

"Oh, and Wiles?"

I turned around, expression expectant. "What?"

He smiled slightly, the expression charming and a bit frustrated. "For the love of God, stick to the game book."

I snorted at this, rolling my eyes. "Alright."

"Swear it."

"You're so melodramatic—"

"Wiles."

I sighed, crossing my arms grudgingly. "I swear."

He smirked. "Thank you."

Shaking my head, I turned around, heading back over to my locker until—

"Oh, and Wiles?"

"What?"

"The game book doesn't involve anything life-threatening."

My eyes veered into a roll, "I'm aware, Wood. Game book equals no excitement."

"No excitement in the least."

"Got it."

"That means no Pixie Veers or Grislow Maneuvers—"

"I got it, Mum."

"Good."

Sighing, I grabbed my robes off the floor, frowning at the fact that they'd simply gotten dusty all over again, though my irritation piqued at the sound of footsteps coming up behind me. If he bloody said—

"Oh, and Wiles?"

However, before I could snap out anything along the lines of 'say that again your nose will match your ribs', he'd swiveled me around to face him, his hands drifting around my waist as his lips captured mine in yet another kiss that I was entirely unprepared for. One of these days, just one, I wanted the upper hand in this whole ordeal.

Dropping the robes I had just picked up, I thoughtlessly brought my hands to his chest, wincing in realization as he inhaled sharply—I'd forgotten about the injuries. I tried to break away, though he merely counteracted this by pulling me tighter against him, murmuring, "Don't worry about it." His lips were on mine again, and I felt myself melting against him, my hands sliding up and meeting around his neck. I didn't understand what we were, and I probably never bloody would, but at the moment, it really didn't matter. All that mattered, cheesy though it may be, was that his touch made my heart flutter and my skin hot and my brain cells slow.

He nipped at my lower lip, parting my mouth with his as his hand grazed up my neck to my cheek, and I groaned: make that 'my heart emit seismic waves, my skin volcanic, and my brain cells die.' This continued on for a few more moments until a series of violent crashes made us break apart, and Wood turned to stare at the door bewilderedly. "What the bloody hell…?"

I'd bet my life on it having something to do with Alicia.

Turning back to face me, his face was adorably crumpled. "I should probably go out there."

"Yeah, I heard there's this really intense Quidditch match going on."

"Really? Who's winning?"

"Gryffindor, as far as I'm concerned—even though their captain's this total git."

"That's funny, I heard the Seeker was a piece of work."

"Oh, she was—but she fell off her broom so now they have this stunningly amazing one coming in for the remainder."

Wood gave me a flat look. "This is stupid."

I snorted, "Extremely."

"I'll see you outside, and oi," he said, his tone softening slightly as I made to turn away, "I meant it about keeping it safe, alright? Try not to let the rivalry and the cheering make you do something stupid."

"Like talk in third person?"

He smiled wryly. "Exactly."

With that, he swung the door open and emerged back into the pitch, leaving me with just enough time to change and conjure my broom and not have to think about what the hell was going on. Trying to reason him out would take hours if not days, and I only had about thirty seconds at the moment.

Hence, I pushed all of those thoughts aside, letting my focus shift wholeheartedly to the brilliant ending I'd make sure this match had. Everyone had played their hearts out—Wood was playing with shoddily healed ribs, for Christ's sake—I owed them a grand finale.

My heart was thrumming as I opened the door, my senses fired up and ready to play, though to my surprise, I emerged into a crowd of angrily booing Gryffindors. I halted, shocked, thinking the hostility was directed toward me, though I quickly realized that their stares were riveted on the other side of the pitch.

And on said other side of the pitch stood Irik Viper, uniformed and ready to play, unbearable smirk in place.

"Ladies and gents," Lee's voice crackled, filled with suspense, "we have ourselves a Quidditch match."