Settling the Score
Brevity is the Soul of Victory
"Captains, shake hands."
Wood's glare was colder than the temperature outside as he stared down Marcus Flint, whose ridiculing eyes were bright black and galling. The usual roar of the audience had silenced into less than a murmur as the two faced off in the center of the field, silent and unmoving, their breath coming out in fleeting puffs in the wintry air.
They stood at equal heights, barely a foot of space separating Flint's burly frame from Wood's leaner one, and the result was a glare-match fit for the Winter Olympics. Viper, standing off to Flint's right, was watching Wood with a darkly amused expression, posture characteristically arrogant and blasé, while the rest of the teams were gathered by their goal posts, waiting for their new Seekers to be sworn in.
All that was needed was the handshake. Seconds passed. Neither moved.
"Captains," Hooch repeated more firmly, "shake hands."
Silence met the request. Wood's jaw was set and Flint's leer was in place—neither had any intention of initiating the gesture. The stands were humming with the sound of bated breath; every spectator was watching, every teammate was waiting, every referee was standing by, every professor was expecting trouble—not a single person was focused on anything other than the tension spiraling between the two captains standing in the center of the field.
Not a single person but me. I happened to be the wild-haired wreck standing beside Wood, not paying a single shred of attention.
No, my head was still reeling from the cascade of developments that had just transpired not five minutes ago—honestly, this match was on bloody heroin. First, Lee announced that not only was Dorian Flotts out of the game for what seemed to be no apparent reason, but Irik Viper had magically been relieved of his suspension because, according to Snape, 'I gave the detention, so it's within my jurisdiction to invalidate it.'
He then proceeded to ask Lee if he even knew what the word jurisdiction meant, which started all kinds of wonderful arguments and dictionary citations, until Viper and I were finally granted our customary five-minute warm-up. God knows that went awry. It made my head spin just thinking about it—Merlin, I could still hear Zach Davies' obnoxious voice…
"ALL BETS ARE OFF! I REPEAT: ALL BETS ARE OFF! CHANGE 'EM OR CONFIRM THEM NOW, OTHERWISE THEY'RE NULL AND VOID, PEOPLE! WILES AND VIPER ARE BACK!"
Zachary Davies had gone what one could logically, philosophically, and artistically call 'absolutely ballistic', yelling like a madman as he twittered about changing everyone's gambling preferences. People were flooding the blonde Seventh Year like vultures, yelling out their new bets and adjusting the amounts they were gambling in light of the change in Seekers, and the result was chaos.
"Put two more galleons down for Andy!"
"Put me down for three on Viper!"
"One galleon for each, Davies!"
"Mate, that's not even gambling."
"Blimey, I'm a bit torn; Andy's bloody brilliant but Viper's fast as—Jesus Christ!"
"Was Jesus really that fast?"
"What? No—bloody hell, did you see that, though!? I'm sold, ten galleons on Andy!"
The corners of my lips curled slightly against the biting wind as I pulled up from a practice hairpin dive, having let myself plummet dangerously close to the floor before wrenching the tip of my broom upward, leveling. A few feet above me, I heard Viper streak by, the brief wind caused by the lightning speed of his broom ruffling the hair fallen loose from my ponytail.
My smile sobered quickly as I caught a brief flash of his leering face, the Slytherin crowd going wild as he suddenly pulled up straight into the air, arced backwards into an effortless loop and dove downward toward the ground. It was a cheap trick, not at all remotely hard, but he had a finesse about his flying that made anything he did look bloody fantastic and epic, and he milked it for all it's worth.
Useless idiot.
Leveling his broom with the ground, he shot me a smarmy smirk, raising his brows in a smug way as the cheers grew considerably high-pitched and female. I merely scoffed, shaking my head before wrenching my broom off to the side, launching back into flight. Honestly, Hooch had only given us five minutes to warm up – I wasn't going to spend it launched in some stupid competition of who-can-do-the-best-tricks.
Bringing my chin down toward my broom, I threw on the speed, determined to ignore his blatant challenges and do what I needed to do. I hadn't been on a broom since my disastrous try-out, which meant Viper had a huge leg-up in this situation, and I was growing a bit frustrated with how rusty certain things felt. My left turns felt uncomfortable, and some of my maneuvering wasn't as sharp as it usually was.
And to think agility was supposed to be what I had going for me.
Veering a cutting left, I cursed as my broom swerved the slightest bit too much, overshooting the turn. These were the little things daily practices ironed out—the things I shouldn't be having problems with. Viper was flipping and swerving up a storm, his flying immaculate after weeks of grueling training, and mine was having little snags here and there.
Sighing irritably, I lowered my pace, shrugging the turn off and getting ready to try it again. However, within seconds, I felt Viper speeding up beside me, and for a moment I thought he was going to try and race me. Feeling my annoyance piquing—hell if I was going to use up all my energy on racing—I gritted my teeth, though the moment he reached my regulated pace he stopped accelerating.
Oh, lovely. So all he wanted was to chit-chat. And here I was, getting annoyed for no reason.
"Your left turn's shit," he drawled smugly, drawing his broom within inches of mine and sneering. "In case you've forgotten, this is how it's done."
"Bloody—!" Without any other form of warning whatsoever, he'd wrenched his broom into a cutting left directly in front of mine, sending me screeching to a halt to keep from crashing into him. Nearly losing my balance from the total shift of momentum, I flew backwards a few feet to try and stabilize, anger sparking dangerously as Viper soared off with a throaty guffaw.
That stupid little useless piece of—
"Laaadiiess and geeenntss!" Lee suddenly boomed, the sound of his magnified voice cutting through my spiraling anger. Eyes narrowed, I forced my gaze up to the booth, hoping perhaps a good ol' dose of Lee Jordan could help me find my stride. "Now that we've gotten everything sorted, I believe I have some new introductions to do!"
A good bit of laughter and cheers filled the audience, everyone but the Slytherins finding Lee's comments amusing and entertaining, and Lee made a grand show of clearing his throat. "Now, as you all know, Dorian Flotts has been taken out of the game for reasons Professor Snape has yet to disclose, though, knowing our dear Severus, I'm sure they're perfectly innocent and justified and reasonable and the very picture of fair."
His sarcasm was about as easy to miss as a hippogriff in a conga line.
"On the Gryffindor side, Fiona Price was injured, thank Merlin—" a sharp smack upside the head from McGonagall followed this statement, prompting a sharp inhalation and a hasty, "she'll be severely missed; send her a fruit basket." A brief squabble ensued, in which Lee clearly tossed out a scandalized 'What do you mean, "have some tact"!?', though after a moment, his voice returned, composed.
"Now, due to this switch-out, I'm pleased to announce that we have two new Seekers coming in—or should I say, two old ones," he pressed on, as if there had been no interruption. I felt my lips twitch despite myself—Lee really was something else. "So, without further ado…"
My slight smile turned into an all-out snort of laughter when his voice suddenly took on a Martin Luther King quality, vibrating with melodrama. "People of Hogwarts, I give you a dream—a vision—a legend!" he cried, his rich voice rumbling through the stands and easily filling the entire arena.
"She's incredible, she's almighty, she's bloody terrifying when she's angry! Her Grislow Feint can make you shiver, her Bottleneck Dive will make you cry! She eats snitches for breakfast, she eats snitches for lunch, she eats snitches for dinner, hell, she even eats snitches for her midnight snack—"
"Mr. Jordan—"
"She's dangerous, she's out-for-blood, she's a savage Amazon woman—!"
"Mr. Jordan, really!"
"—she's Andy Wiles!"
I couldn't help but choke out a strangled laugh as cheers filled the stands, unable to keep it in any longer. I'd never been compared to a savage Amazon woman in my entire life, what with my pale skin and dash of freckles, and despite my growing sense of frustration I couldn't help but shake my head at the ridiculousness of it all. Giving a brief wave, I tossed Lee a pointed look from my broom, smiling begrudgingly as he merely winked.
Oh, if Kats only knew what she was missing.
Swinging my attention to the wild audience, I spotted Gabe amidst the rowdy clan of the Seventh Year male Gryffindors, lips twitching at the stupid thumbs-up he sent in my direction. I felt the knot of tension clenched within my stomach loosening slightly, trying to make myself feel a bit lighter.
I shouldn't stress this too much, it was messing with my head—I was overanalyzing and over-thinking my movements, and things were coming out wrong. I just needed to relax a bit; let things come naturally. Right now everything felt slow and heavy, and I was letting myself get overwhelmed by little mistakes—and this was all in the bloody warm up. I just need to relax, breathe, and fly.
Relax, breathe, and fly.
After a few minutes, the cheering died down, and a sense of expectation hung in the air as everyone awaited Viper's introduction. I stifled a snort at the idea of what Lee would come up with, wondering how on earth he'd keep his disdain for the Slytherin down to a level that McGonagall would tolerate.
Apparently it wasn't a problem for him, however, because he'd taken instead to eating a sandwich, oblivious to the waiting crowd. McGonagall sent him a pointed look, though Lee merely smiled innocently, motioning to his sandwich. "Nothing like liverwurst on a stormy afternoon."
She arched a brow, expression expectant and unamused. Lee remained stubbornly oblivious, brow furrowing. "Did you want some?"
"Mr. Jordan."
"Yes, Minerva?"
You could simply hear her withering glare through the megaphone. "Haven't you forgotten someone?"
Lee feigned confusion for a moment, scratching his head. "I dunno, Professor, I can't think of—oh!" he exclaimed suddenly, smacking his head in realization. "Oh, of course, how thickheaded of me, I can't believe I almost forgot him!"
McGonagall rolled her eyes briefly before settling back with a satisfied air, giving a nod of approval as Lee grabbed the megaphone yet again.
"Everyone give it up for Martin the Towel Boy!" he cheered, making McGonagall's expression instantly sour. "He's been doing an excellent job distributing moist towelettes throughout the whole season, and I think it's about time we showed some appreciation, yeah? You go, Martin!"
The Gryffindors went wild as the scrawny towel boy was propelled forward by a raucous horde of students, giving a shy smile and waving the towel clutched within his hand a bit awkwardly. "That's right, Martin, you wave your towel!" Lee sang, though McGonagall promptly ripped the megaphone out of his hand, heaving a sharp sigh.
"Since Mr. Jordan seems to have developed a suspiciously selective case of amnesia, I will finish off the introductions," she announced, a touch of derision in her tone. "Reclaiming his position of four years as Seeker for the Slytherin team will be Irik Viper. Mr. Viper and Ms. Wiles are in the midst of their five-minute warm up, after which the match will recommence. Best of luck to both teams, and remember," at this point she became frightening, her eyes sharpening into stalagmites.
"Keep it clean."
"Captains, refusing to shake hands qualifies as an official forfeit," Hooch's voice boomed over the loudspeaker, pulling me out of my reverie as my eyes refocused. Apparently I hadn't missed much—the image of Wood and Flint still standing a solid foot away from each other, eyes locked and expressions steely, redefined itself before me.
An impatient sigh worked its way out of my throat—honestly, enough was enough. Defending my honor was great and all, but I wanted to play some bloody Quidditch.
"You're slut's getting impatient, Wood," Flint goaded in a throaty murmur, cutting a glittering glance at me. "I'm sure she's eager to get on a broom—from what I hear, she can't go very long without something shoved between her legs."
My eyes instantly veered into a roll—well, color me shocked. He went for the sexist insult. See, here's the thing with Slytherin insults: they're wonderfully formulaic. If you're a girl, you're a worthless slut. You could be a sodding nun and this would still apply. If you're a guy, you're a poof or a coward, and your girlfriend's a worthless slut. It's a beautiful system, really; makes it very hard to actually feel offended.
Despite this, however, I felt Wood physically tense beside me, and Flint's lips curled into an ugly sneer at the reaction. "Wood, it's fine, he's a stupid oaf whose shoe size matches his IQ—just shake his hand and get it over with," I murmured from a few inches behind him, keeping my voice low enough to elude the avidly listening audience.
"Aw, how sweet," Flint mocked equally quietly, black eyes flickering over to me. "You tell him what to do. Is this a dominatrix sort of thing?"
"She does like that, if memory serves," Viper drawled from beside him, and I could feel Wood's violent reaction to sound of his voice.
I put a furtive hand on the back of his shoulder and tossed Viper a cutting look. "If you're referring to the part where I kneed you in the bollocks four times, I'd be more than happy to do it again," I said, cool tone coupled with a frosty smile as Viper's jaw tightened somewhat. I held his gaze for a moment before glancing back over at Wood, unsurprised to see him unmoving and rigid.
He honestly had to be the most stubborn thing I'd ever met in my life.
"Oh, for the love of God," I sighed, exasperation flooding my face as I pulled him to the side for a moment, turning him so that his back was to Flint and Viper and lowering my voice even further, "Wood, I say this with all gratitude, here, but you're being an idiot."
He was barely listening to me, turbulent gaze straying back over his shoulder to where Viper stood sneering, and I had to grab his chin and force him to look me in the eye; testosterone, honestly. "Listen to me, damn it," I growled, bringing my hand up and smacking him upside the head, which finally garnered a response.
"Bloody hell," he growled in surprise, glare finally snapping over to me. "What?"
"You're letting them get to you, and it's stupid," I scolded, bringing his chin level to mine; I felt like I was talking to a five year old. "I could walk around the school wearing a sodding chastity belt and they'd probably stuff sickles in my bra and ask me how much—just ignore them." Talk about the student becoming the teacher—'don't let them get to you' was practically Wood's creed, second only to 'stick to the game book'.
"I'm not letting them get to me," he began irritably, though the pointed look I threw him made him roll his eyes and, after a revelatory moment, sigh. "Fine, I'm letting them get to me."
"Yeah, you are—so get over it and shake the troll's hand so I can beat the shit out of Viper, alright?"
His eyes remained dark and lined with an edge, though the tight set of his jaw loosened ever so slightly. "Since when are you more levelheaded than I am?"
I felt the corners of my mouth twitch, though before I could say anything, Flint's mocking drawl interrupted. "I'm sorry, did you want a room?"
Wood's eyes darkened with annoyance as he turned back around to face the ugly Slytherin, grabbing his hand before he could say anything more and giving it a rough, reluctant shake that ended as abruptly as it began. "We're ready to go, Hooch," he called out to the woman hovering up in the air, and a squawk of irritated relief that could only belong to Alicia Spinnet sounded through the air.
"Alright, teams, we're finally ready to assemble," Hooch announced to the pitch with a hint of a tone, beckoning the respective players to join in the center of the field. "Get in your formations—Seekers up, Chasers spread, Keepers back to the goals," she quipped, the Chasers dutifully working into a spread offense as Viper shot straight up into the air. I made to follow suit, though before I could go, I felt a pull on my arm.
"Keep your hairnet on, Spinnet, I was telling them to hurry u—" I cut off my sentence as my eyes landed on a pair that weren't wide, blue, and obnoxious, but instead a warm walnut.
"Thanks," Wood said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he took in my surprise, "for keeping me in line back there—I don't really know what got into me." And then, after a moment, "I'm sorry I underestimate you sometimes."
The bafflement on my face must've been pretty evident, for he did little more than give my arm a light tug before wheeling around and flying off to the goal posts, leaving my rather dazed 'no problem' to fizzle out in the air.
And I repeat: this match was on heroin. The scary thing is, by this point, I didn't even know the half of it. Hell, I didn't even know the eighth.
"Montague takes the shot—no good! Spectacular block by Wood; Spinnet with the hand-off."
For every blessed second of the opening twenty minutes, everything was fine. Well, by fine I mean Angelina getting fouled a few thousand more times, the temperature dropping to unbearable lows, the thickening mist making it almost impossible to see anything, and Flint and Montague finding immense joy in trying to crush me between their burly frames.
You know, normal stuff. Expected. Easy-peasy.
My left turns were still giving me a bit of trouble, and Viper had smacked me on the bum with a demeaning guffaw at least three times, but all in all, things were keeping stable. The scores were still relatively even, with Gryffindor leading by slight margin at the moment, but the lead was fluctuating every three minutes or so, so none of that really mattered.
What mattered was the Snitch. And thus far, the damn thing was nowhere to be found. I'd spent the first fifteen minutes hovering in the dead center of the field, silent and unmoving, stare sharp and trained to react to even the slightest of glimmers—the sparkle of a bracelet, the gleam of an earring, the flash of a camera.
Fifteen minutes. Not one sighting.
It was frustrating, since I'd spotted it at least seven times from the stands while Fiona had been faffing about, but at least Viper was having just as little success. We were both on a silent vigil now, prowling about the pitch like predators, minds immersed in the kind of focus that mutes everything but the whispering whir of tiny, golden wings fluttering in the distance.
And Lee Jordan.
"Merlin, another stunner by Gryffindor Keeper Oliver Wood—the man's on fire!" his voice boomed through the stands as Wood deflected a tricky corner shot, the Quaffle ricocheting off the end of his broom. "Merlin, I don't know where this sudden burst of motivation's coming from, but I have the faintest suspicion that it has to do with a certain curly-haired Seeker coming back into the game…"
My head shot up—did he… did he seriously just—
"I think we all know what I'm talking about, here, they make it stupidly obvious. The real question is if Gryffindor pulls this off, do y'reckon we'll finally get that big, movie moment public snog or—gah!"
He ducked as a Bludger came hurtling at him, courtesy of the bat I'd yanked out of George's hand and slammed it with. He snatched up the megaphone immediately after it rebounded, expression positively scandalized, "Could the aforementioned curly-haired Seeker please learn how to take a bloody joke?"
I scowled as his eyes met mine, brows lifting in an irritated look that clearly said 'try that again and see what happens', though his appalled face merely crumpled into a cheeky grin. I rolled my eyes, shaking my head as I tossed George back his bat and caught sight of Wood staring up at the commentary booth with a completely exasperated expression.
After a moment, he dropped his gaze down to mine, and I instantly tensed. It was instinctive—things were just so damn confusing between us, I didn't know what to think anymore. We shared a look of rather forced annoyance that had a definite layer of awkwardness to it before I hurriedly glanced away, feeling skittish all of a sudden.
Goddamnit, of all the things to say… comments like that really didn't help my situation at all. They simply stirred the tension, spiked the uncertainty, and launched my brain into a horribly inconvenient bout of overanalyzing that detracted my attention away from whatever it was supposed to be on and instantaneously redirected it to answering the godforsaken question of what the sodding hell was going on with u—
"Oi, Seeker!" Alicia's angry snarl sliced through my thoughts, jolting me back to reality as my stare snapped up to hers. She was racing toward me on her broom, eyes bright and vicious as she hurled her finger toward the other end of the field. "How about paying fucking attention!"
Face crumpling in confusion, I glanced over to where she was pointing—and my stomach dropped. Viper was hurtling up into the air at an alarming speed, figure streamlined against his broom, his body a barely discernable streak of colors: he'd spotted the Snitch.
I was off in a heartbeat.
"…tosses the Quaffle to Warrington an—bloody hell, the Seeker's are off!" Lee cried suddenly, drawing an instantaneous roar from the stands as everyone jolted to their feet in surprise. "Viper rockets toward the sky with Wiles close on his tail! He's got a definite lead but she's closing in quick!"
Anger and frustration all but blinded me as I barreled forward, the wind cutting into my eyes and fiercely whipping about my hair—how the hell could I have let this happen!? I lose for focus for one fucking second and that stupid idiot manages to—argh! Throwing all caution to the wind, I threw on even more speed, fueled by the frustrated rage flooding my thoughts.
I had to catch that Snitch. I had to catch that bloody Snitch—if I didn't, these past four hours of living hell would mean nothing. Every foul Angelina suffered through, every rib Wood broke, every cut Alicia endured, every bout of rage Fred quelled, every dirty Bludger George got slammed with, every bruise Katie ignored—it wouldn't matter, because in the end, I fucked it all up.
In the end, I was too busy daydreaming to do the one thing that would make it all worth it. In the end, I—the girl who begged to be put back in—lost them the game.
No way in hell. That Snitch was mine.
"…barely see them anymore… can't tell… tied…"
Lee's voice began fading as I continued rocketing toward the darkening sky, Viper now only a dozen or so feet ahead of me. He was starting to swerve a bit, his broom leaning the slightest bit to the right, and I had just begun to mirror the motion when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, he cut a knife-like left.
I cursed, violently swinging my broom to the left to try and follow him, though I predictably overshot the turn and ended up spiraling backward. "Damnit!" I cried, fighting fiercely to stabilize my out-of-control broom, though by the time I did, it was too late; Viper had disappeared into one of the many thick storm clouds clinging to the sky.
My heart was pounding as my desperate gaze snapped from cloud to cloud—there were hundreds of them. Black, billowing, and entirely obscuring, they were gathered around me like a ring of doors, giant question marks hovering over every single one. Which one, which one, which one!? I chorused in my head, stare flitting about wildly.
Last I'd seen, he'd gone to the left. But what if that was just to throw me off? He knew my left turns were giving me trouble—that could've been a way to get me off his back. But then again, would he really risk losing sight of the Snitch for that? He'd had a few feet left on me, he didn't need the space. But what if…?
Questions flooded my mind at the speed of light, each consideration overriding the previous one, until randomly, impulsively, I cut a knife-like right, surging into a charcoal storm cloud.
And everything went black.
The air in the cloud was thick with saturation, my robes instantly soaking as I blindly maneuvered through the darkness. Goosebumps flooded my skin as my teeth fell into a vicious chatter; Merlin, it was fucking freezing in here, and I couldn't bloody see through the condensation. I reached back into my robes and fumbled for a set of goggles, though I promptly remembered that these robes were spares—only Seekers' robes had pocketed goggles.
"Shit," I hissed, blinking furiously as the ice-like shards of moisture dug into my eyes. They were watering like crazy, causing my already darkened surroundings to blur and making it all the harder to maneuver. Despite the sting, however, I forced them to stay as wide-open as possible. I had to find that Snitch.
Teeth bared against the cold and knuckles white against my broom, I suffered through the remaining stretch of cloud, ice gathering along my eyelashes by the time I emerged back into the open sky. It was darkening now, the sun setting quite quickly, though I could only linger on this for a moment before I saw a flash of green robes diving into a nearby storm cloud.
I was off like a shotgun, shooting into the cloud like a rocketing bullet and ignoring the ripple of shock that the cold shot through me. Viper was only a dozen or so feet away, his pace appropriately labored and cautious due to the harsh weather conditions, though I, being me, merely braced myself, ducked my head down, and ripped into full speed.
Cautious was never my style.
I shot past him like lightning, eliciting a ragged roar as I blindly raced after the faint glimmer of gold zigzagging before me. My eyes were practically screaming in pain, entirely bloodshot, but I forced them to stay unblinkingly locked on the Snitch, refusing to back down.
It was only ten feet away. Five. Three. One… "Gah!" I choked out as my broom wrenched back, courtesy of a vicious yank from Viper. My fingers fell just short of the golden surface, reflexively abandoning the ball to clasp about my broomstick for balance, and I heard Viper's growl of triumph as he raced passed me.
Recovering quickly, I threw the speed back on, eyes slitted and turbulent as I approached from behind—that move was completely against the rules and he knew it. We were neck and neck within a matter of seconds, the Snitch streaking forward a good dozen feet ahead, and Viper let out a growl of displeasure before angling his broom and ramming straight into my body.
"Jesus!" I cried as I swerved wildly, losing control for the briefest of seconds before swinging my broom right back in line with his. Before I could fully stabilize, however, he rammed into me again, and I choked out a curse as I went hurtling to the side in a frenzied spiral. That bloody fuck! Moves like that were illegal for a reason—they could be lethal at speeds this high!
Readjusting my grip on the handle, I wrenched myself out of the spiral, arcing backwards into a sharp loop that put me right back into my former place alongside Viper—but this time, I was ready. Like the predictable Slytherin that he was, he made to shove me aside again, though before he made contact, I yanked my broom back into a dead halt—from 70 to 0 in less than a second.
He didn't have time to readjust and instead went flying to the side, his balance entirely helter-skelter, and I didn't hesitate a moment: I went streaking after the Snitch.
"Don't even think about it, bitch!" I heard him snarl behind me as I neared the skittering ball, my hair whipping angrily about my face as my velocity hit dangerous heights. I wasn't listening—my eyes were trained purely on the flash of gold hurtling forward, so close yet so bloody far, waiting to be caught, waiting to finish the damn game, waiting to put an end to this godforsaken—
FLASH!
I staggered back as bolt of lightning ripped through the sky, cutting right through the darkness of the cloud in a zigzag of blinding white light. I slipped down a few inches on my broom in shock, hands having to grab at the wood to keep from falling off—holy hell, that was close! Heart racing, I glanced over at the Snitch—it was hovering anxiously in place, a whirring hummingbird in a shroud of darkness, and a bloom of relief swelled through me.
If the professors had spotted the lightning, the game would've been called off and the Snitch would've deactivated. Instead, it just seemed to be a bit disoriented—it was thrumming nervously from side to side, sparking a bit, and I wondered briefly if the lightning had interfered with the charm placed on it. I couldn't ponder this long, however, because within the same beat, the ball shot to the left, shot to the right, hovered for a moment…
And then it plunged.
I felt Viper take off the same moment as I did, both of our bodies flipping into 90-degree dives in a matter of half a second. Wind seared against me, freezing my damp hair into ice, chapping the raw skin of my cheeks, burrowing like shards of glass into my unprotected eyes, but I only pushed my broom to go faster, adrenaline surging through me like electricity.
This was it. This ended here. I didn't care if I got fucking hypothermia and lost half my face to frost bite—that Snitch would be in my hand at the end of this bloody dive!
The ball was little more than a blur of speed as it broke through the final bout of storm clouds, emerging into the clear night sky and hurtling toward the pitch below, and both Viper and I streamlined even further against our brooms—we were getting into the final stretch.
"Oi, Wiles," Viper gritted out as we streaked toward the ground, his voice fraying to shreds in the deafening wind, "when you lose…" he spiraled briefly for momentum, "and Wood doesn't want to fuck you anymore…" I pressed my lips together in restraint, grip growing white on my broomstick as we dove closer and closer to the ground, "remember that my door's always open…" he readjusted his grip, "for round two."
I heard the sneer in his wind-shredded voice and did my best to ignore it, merely pressing my lips even harder together and keeping my bloodshot eyes on the prize. We were closing in on the ground quickly, the Snitch getting within 400 hundred feet, 200 hundred feet, 100 hundred feet—neither Viper or I slowed, hurtling downward at full speed.
"…lina gets blocked, Derrick with the stea—THE SEEKERS ARE BACK!" Lee's voice suddenly erupted as we exploded back onto the scene, ripping through the air, headed straight for the ground. The crowd burst into frenzy as everyone scrambled to their feet, clinging to the railings and straining to see what was going on, though the mayhem fell on deaf ears as Viper and I plunged.
80 feet… 70 feet… 60 feet…
Neither of us slowed. "…they're neck and neck in a dive, the Snitch only a few feet away from them and—damn, son, they're cutting it close!"
50 feet… 40 feet…
Full speed. "…flying straight toward the bloody ground with no signs of slowing—!"
30 feet… 25 feet… 20 feet…
"…need to stop or else—!"
At fifteen feet, Viper pulled back with a furious snarl, yanking his broom into a stall that managed to bring him to a stable halt about five feet or so from the ground. I didn't. My eyes were focused on the Snitch, everything else blocked out—the speed of my broom, the proximity of the ground, the screams of my teammates telling me to pull up—nothing else bloody mattered.
I stretched my hand out; it was only inches, centimeters, millimeters—
"—Jesus Christ, she's going to bloody kill herself—!"
SMACK!
Right at the very last moment, without any sort of warning, something long and hard slammed right into the side of my head and sent me flying off my broom. The shift in momentum had me hurling through the air, my broom crashing into the ground and shattering into a hundred splintered pieces, and I followed suit, my back crashing into the hard-packed earth with a deafening thud.
And then, for the briefest of seconds, everything went black.
Everything slowed down.
Everything stilled.
I felt like my eyes were open, but I couldn't really see anything. I heard vague whooshes and a faint ringing in my ears, but other than that, everything was pretty quiet. Within seconds, I realized my head was throbbing, but I didn't quite know how to move my hand to it. Everything was just… blurry.
"…wake up, you chit—wake the fuck up!"
"…say something, please, if you hear us!"
"…get Madame Pomfrey!"
"…not responding, damn it!…"
The voices all whirled into a confusing ring of fragments, blending and inverting into each other like mad, and I managed a raspy groan of irritation in response. They all fell silent, and I suddenly felt a pressure on my cheek; a hand, it seemed. "Andy," a low voice said; familiar, accented, tight with worry. I struggled to place it as I pressed my cheek into the warm, calloused fingers, enjoying the feeling. "Andy, can you hear me?"
"Mmm," I responded vaguely, delighted when I felt yet another hand brush against my forehead, smoothing back my hair.
"If you can hear me, say yes," the voice pressed on, the tension and anxiety so apparent that I almost slurred out a 'who died?'.
Instead, I managed a hoarse, "Yes."
Exhalations of relief seemed to flutter around me, and slowly, surely, I began to reorient myself. I had been flying. I was in a dive. I was about to level my broom, and something smacked me off of it—a wince immediately flashed over my face as pain roared to life in my head. Goddamnit, that hurt like mofo.
"Can you open your eyes?" the voice pressed on, and instantly, I knew whose it was. In fact, I knew whose everyone's was—Katie was the one hyperventilating in my bloody ear, Alicia was spit-firing something about impaling Viper with his own femurs, Angelina was barely breathing, Fred was telling Angelina it'd be alright, and George was hissing out death threats alongside Alicia.
And then something else struck me.
"Open your eyes for me, love," Wood pressed tightly, worried thumb brushing over my cheek, and with an obscene amount of effort, I managed to crack my eyelids open into a wince. The blaring torchlight of the pitch assaulted my irises and my pupils instantly shrank, eyes taking a moment to focus on their surroundings. Everything was blurry at first.
After a minute, however, Wood's face sharpened into view. It was haggard and worse for wear, his jaw clenched and his brow a series of furrowed lines that made his cheekbones look even sharper, and at the moment, it was looming mere inches over mine. "Do you know who you are, Andy?" he asked, the urgency in his tone reflected in his darkened eyes, and despite the dizzying pain, the disorientation, and the overall lightheadedness, I felt the corners of my lips curling.
"Yeah," I managed to croak out, my voice hoarse and thick, eyes holding his gaze as everyone seemed to silence in tense expectation. "I'm the girl who just won you your Quidditch match."
And just as his brow furrowed in confusion, I held up my closed fist, uncurling my fingers and letting the Golden Snitch flutter out of them like a merry, newly freed hummingbird.
And within two seconds flat, the entirety of the Quidditch pitch positively erupted.
"Holy Mother of—Andy Wiles has caught the Snitch!" Lee roared, his head about to spin-off Exorcist style if his voice was any indication. "Gryffindor wins! GRYFFINDOR BLOODY WINS! GRYFFINDOR—DEAR LORD, I'M HAVING A HEART ATTACK OF HAPPINESS! GRYFFINDOR IS THE WINNER! GRYF—"
The megaphone was promptly snatched by someone, and the dry, disgusted voice of Severus Snape filled the stadium. "In case you haven't gathered from Mr. Jordan's veritable meltdown, Gryffindor has won. For those deluded few that seem to think this is of note, please go to your common rooms to celebrate, as the shrill cry of the self-believingly triumphant Gryffindor gives me a migraine. If I hear you, detention for six months. That's all."
Within half a second, Lee had repossessed the megaphone and gone back to his victory chant, though it was almost impossible to hear over the roar of the crowd. Fights were breaking out, cheers were soaring over the East stands, boos were flooding over the West stands, streamers were being shot into the air—it was mayhem.
I started laughing despite my headache, relief surging through me like a resuscitative life-force. It was over. The match was bloody over. Thank God.
"You psychotic bint!" Alicia shrieked, breaking me out of my thoughts with a wince. She was staring at me with her gigantic blue eyes, livid and thrilled at the same time, relief intermingled with anger. "I thought you'd died!"
I snorted, grinning as cheekily as I could given my exhausted state. "Surprise."
"Don't you ever do that again," Katie demanded, eyes wide and earnestly relieved, "I almost had a heart-attack, I was so scared."
"We mean it, Andy," Angelina warned, expression hard and authoritative, "you scared us half to death with that stunt." After a beat, however, she grinned. "It was pretty spectacular, though."
My smile grew wide. "And it would've been even better if something hadn't whacked me in the sodding face—"
George let out a growl of anger, glare cutting over to the Slytherin side. "Viper's beyond dead."
"Was it him?"
"Yeah," Fred said with a scowl. "Miserable git saw you were about to wipe the floor with him and smacked you off your broom with his broomstick."
I laughed, despite myself. "Classy."
Friendly banter like this continued for the new few minutes, my body feeling the lightest it had in weeks, though it wasn't until Madame Pomfrey scuffled over in a frazzle and started asking me questions that I realized something. Wood hadn't said anything yet.
Not a single word.
I glanced over at him briefly, my brow furrowing the slightest bit as I proved to Madame Pomfrey that yes, I could indeed count to ten. He had that inscrutable look on his face again—the one where his eyes were locked, his lips formed an expressionless line, and his jaw was guarded. It seldom meant good news.
"…and now backwards, dear."
"10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3…" and then my attention span snapped in half. "What's wrong?"
"Er… she means two, one," Katie assured Madame Pomfrey, though I barely heard her, eyes focused on Wood's averted ones. He didn't respond.
A knot of tension twisted in my stomach—shit. This could not be good. "Oliver," I tried again, hoping the use of his first name would inspire some sort of reaction, but he simply remained still. "Er… I don't know if you heard Lee's mental implosion, but we sort of won."
The light-hearted joke fell flat. My brow furrowed, mouth parting to try again, but he straightened suddenly before I could, glancing up at everyone else. "I have to go." He gave a tight smile. "Potions essay—you know how it is. Amazing job, all of you, really; you're the best team a captain could ask for."
And with that, he merely got to his feet, grabbed his broom, and walked off, ignoring the cheers trailing behind him. My head started spinning for reasons entirely unrelated to my injury: what the hell was that? Something had clearly pissed him the hell off, otherwise he wouldn't have just walked away from a victory in the biggest match of the season like that.
"Now wait just one minute," Madame Pomfrey was calling behind him, "you have ribs to be healed, young man!" He paid her no attention, however, disappearing into the castle without so much as a backward glance.
I impulsively got to my feet. It hurt like hell, but I tried to play off the dizziness as nothing for Madame Pomfrey's sake—I had to talk to him. Now. Otherwise he would just brood over it for a while, come to a conclusion, and then bottle it up. Lock it away. Shove it into the recesses of his mind and never let it see the light of day.
And I hated that.
"And where do you think you're—"
"Castle; be right back."
"Miss Wiles, you are in no condition—!"
"I'm fine, Madame, really, it'll just take a second," I reasoned, already walking off and hoping to God she didn't hit me with a stunner to knock me out. My vision was spotting a bit, body feeling a bit like jelly, but I continued forward as steadily as I could, roaring cheers followed my path. I threw the stands a quick wave of acknowledgement, but my mind was somewhere else entirely as I exited the pitch.
More specifically, it was on Wood. And the fact that, even on the happiest of occasions, something always seemed to go wrong. And the fact, somehow, it was always my fault. And the fact that this bothered me. A lot.
Irritation began prickling my skin as I pushed the doors to the Entrance Hall open, my thoughts fueling the emotion—honestly, couldn't he just be happy for once? We'd won the damn game; wasn't that enough? What was with the dramatics? Storming off the pitch—yeah, real mature, Wood, I thought irritably. Not like you were ruining the moment for anyone or anythi—
My thoughts silenced the moment the heavy door closed behind me. Standing in the center of the hall, bruised and battered, gazing up at the portraits with a dark expression, was Wood. And suddenly all I had was nerves. Lots and lots of fluttering nerves. He must've heard me come in—his profile was to me and he was only a few feet away from the door—but he gave no visible indication of it.
I tensed a bit, tucking a matted strand of hair behind my ear and clearing my throat. "What happened to your Potions paper?"
His eyes flitted over to the next portrait, the movement tight and controlled. "Why aren't you in the Hospital Wing?" His voice matched his face: raspy, tense, hardened.
"I figured fighting with you might be more fun," I joked, though again, he failed to see the humor in it.
"Sorry to disappoint," he replied tersely.
My skin bristled slightly, surprise fluttering through me. He was really off. "Can you at least tell me what's wrong?" I ventured, though apparently this was the wrong thing to say. His jaw immediately clenched, eyes blackening into a dark shade of coffee as they remained dutifully trained on a sleeping portrait. I took an unsure step forward, frown rippling my face, "Oliver—"
"I only asked for one thing today, Wiles," he interjected, anger simmering dangerously beneath the surface. "One bloody thing."
My frown deepened. "What are you talking about?"
This seemed to set him off, for he swung his frustrated eyes over to mine, abandoning his portrait-gazing pretense. "Does it give you some sort of thrill or something?" he growled, exasperation and anger bright in his stare. "Do you get a high, is that it?"
Confusion swept through me, crumpling my entire face, "What the hell are you on about?"
"Oh, come off it, Andy," he scoffed, shaking his head, "you know exactly what I'm talking about."
"Actually, I don't," I snapped, irritation starting to set in now. It was one thing to be angry with someone, it was another to act like the reason why was the most obvious thing in the world. It was what he said next, however, that really struck a chord.
"Well, then you're really fucking selfish."
"Excuse me?" I sputtered, indignation crashing through me like a tidal wave. I'd just nearly killed myself trying to make this match worth all the hell it'd put everyone through, and yet I was selfish? Things had just gotten a hell of a lot more personal, and quite frankly, now I was pissed. "By what kind of skewed logic do you figure that?"
"By the same logic that tells me you don't give a damn about the people that care about you," he growled, making the outrage soar to new heights within me.
"What gives you the bloody right to—"
"Do you even realize how fucking terrified everyone gets when you pull the stunts you do?" he interjected, stare knifelike and cutting, jaw tight with frustrated anger. "Do you not see the way Bell nearly faints, Johnson has a panic attack, and Spinnet's ready to charge in and risk her life to save you?"
Slowly, word by word, accusation by accusation, I realized what he was talking about. And an overwhelming wave of understanding crashed over me—the final dive. Naturally he hated it; it was exactly the kind of move he despised: dangerous, risky, and tending toward the life-threatening side. But still, what the hell was with this sudden explosion of hostility? "Look, I'm sorry about the dive—"
"No, actually, you're not," he snapped, cutting me off entirely. "As far as you're concerned, it was a success, because, hey, we won the match! Our Seeker almost killed herself in the process, but no harm done!"
"Why are you getting so worked up about this?" I demanded, anger welling up alongside his—I mean, really, this was nothing new. I always broke Wood's rules; they were just too cookie-cutter for playing someone like Viper. "Nothing happened to me, I'm perfectly fine!"
"Yeah, this time!" Wood growled, thrusting his hands up into the air angrily, acting as if I was missing some sort of point. "Just because you've been lucky enough to get through life unscathed doesn't mean you should go around tempting fate every ten seconds—believe me, Wiles, it's not always so fucking gracious!"
"I understand that, Wood, I'm not a little girl!"
"Well, you sure as hell remind me of one I used to know," he hissed icily, and something about the sentence shifted his entire demeanor. It stiffened, stilted—he drew back quickly, as if surprised by his own words.
Despite my anger, curiosity bloomed within me—clearly this was something personal. A piece of the elusive puzzle that was Oliver Wood. "Who?" I asked, tone still guarded and eyes narrowed, though he merely shook his head stiffly.
"No one."
"Wood—"
"Go to the Hospital Wing, Wiles."
"Wood—"
Just then, the doors of the Entrance Hall crashed open, admitting a flood of rowdy fans from the stands. "GRYFF-IN-DOR! GRYFF-IN-DOR! GRYFF-IN-DOR!" they were all chanting, shooting sparks into the air and waving banners, and just like that, the room went from quiet and tense to absolute mayhem.
The front few erupted into roars when they saw me standing there, obviously missing the clear distress etched onto my face, and before I knew it, I was swarmed—and Wood was officially nowhere to be found. "Andy! Andy! Andy!" they cried in triumph, lifting me up despite my protest, and my headache magnified by tenfold with all the jostling.
"Guys, no, really," I tried, struggling against their grips as they passed me from shoulder to eager shoulder, "put me down, I can't—" I winced as a blinding white shot of pain surged through my head from a particularly rough movement, my vision immediately spotting, "can't do this right now, I…"
A wave of dizziness suddenly shot through me, making my arms and legs feel like jelly, and slowly, my entire body felt incredibly weak. And then numb. The roaring chants, the jagged movements, the bright sparks being shot off, it was all becoming too much, and I started going into two-second blackouts. "Really… can't…"
"Whoa, whoa, guys, stop!" a familiar voice called, slowly but surely halting the momentum of the crowd. "Look at her, she looks like she's about to pass out, for Merlin's sake!" The jostling stopped for a few moments as everyone turned to look at me, silence slowly filtering through the room, and the last thing I remember was falling into a pair of strong arms, looking into a face of green eyes and ruffled blonde hair, and hearing a very distinct, "Shit."
And then everything went black.