Rey was in hell.
Not because she missed Ben Solo or anything. Not because Rose kept giving her secret, sad looks that kept triggering an unexplainable aftershock of misery in her chest. Not even because Finn kept asking her again and again why she was so on edge during every breakfast, suspiciously eyeing the Slytherin table as if he was going to exchange pleasantries with his fists at any given moment.
Rey Niima was in hell because she couldn't fly for shit.
"Niima! If you drop that quaffle one more time, you're doing twenty laps around the pitch, completely broomless!"
With less than a month left until their game against Ravenclaw, Zorii Bliss had transformed into tyrant mode. Rey's general tenseness on the pitch and her shaky throws made her the perfect target for Zorii's ire, and she'd left each practice feeling like a punching bag with all it's stuffing knocked out. All of Bliss's comments were true, though. Without all three chasers playing at their best, they had no chance in beating Ravenclaw and moving on to Slytherin or Hufflepuff (most likely Slytherin, to be fair) during the finals.
Rey grit her teeth, swooping downwards to snatch the fallen quaffle from the muddy ground and trying to let Zorii's disdain slide off her shoulders during the descent. She stubbed her finger as she fumbled the quaffle into her hands, biting back a hiss and fighting the urge to clutch her injured hand to her chest. Furrowing her brow, she pressed the quaffle tighter to her stomach as she sped forward, tossing it over to Paige Tico so hard that the girl almost dropped it, as well. Thankfully, Paige Tico knew how to catch a quaffle, unlike Rey, apparently.
"Left!" Poe yelled as he sped past, nudging her shoulder and steering her out of the direction of a wayward bludger before it made contact.
"I can see that, Poe!" Rey said with gritted teeth, the bludger whizzing past with a metallic 'whoosh!' just past her ear. She cringed inwardly. Without Poe's input, she'd be sprawled on the pitch like some first year who'd mounted a broom for the first time in their life. "Cover Paige! I'll take right if you take left!"
Poe grinned as he shot ahead. "Nah, I'm taking below! You take above, Niima!"
Rey cursed as she sped behind him, dutifully positioning herself above Paige as they zoomed towards the goalposts. Take it on Poe Dameron to change the game plan halfway through a play. She could already hear Zorii's rant during their cooldown exercises. She only hoped it wouldn't result in a dozen and a half precision drill exercises before the end of practice. She could only do so many barrel rolls in a row before she could feel that morning's breakfast creeping up her throat.
"Rey! Pull up!"
Poe's warning was too late, however. It should have been second nature. Middle chaser scores, defending chasers get the fuck out of the way before managing to crash heads. But, as Paige's throw arked perfectly through the middle hoop, Rey's instincts refused to kick in and she hung dumbly in the air. Paige spun and throttled upward, crashing directly into Rey and causing her to whip her Cleansweep against the upper metal of the quidditch hoop, a sickening crunch echoing on the pitch as both Rey and Paige desperately attempted to straighten themselves and stop their ears from ringing.
"Walk it off, you two! We've got three more goals to run before we call it quits!" Zorii yelled as she hurtled the quaffle towards Paige's head. "Bludger gauntlet run! Tico, you first!"
Rey began to zoom behind them, yet suddenly had the sensation of her broom pitching forward before the rest of her upper body was able to catch up. Wobbling wildly] in her seat, she carefully descended downwards, her broom jerking sporadically before she finally touched the pitch. Inspecting the wooden handle, her blood turned to ice as she spied a sizable fracture in the wood, bending the stick at a noticeable angle that only increased with any attempt at gripping it.
"Fuck!" she shouted, slamming the broom to the ground. The cracked handle splintered further, the wood bending at an almost ninety degrees. Her stomach clenched in revulsion, like she had broken one of her own appendages rather than just her broomstick. Blinking back angry tears, Rey cursed herself thoroughly. This was what she deserved for flying like shit.
"Uh," Poe started as he dismounted his own broom and approached her warily. "Is something wrong?"
"Obviously," she stated icily. She motioned to her fractured Cleansweep, resisting the urge to stamp it into the mud. Poe swore under his breath as he took in the sight. Sucking in his breath, he gingerly lifted the broom and reached out to test the wood, feeling it crack further beneath his grip.
"Merlin, Rey," he muttered, turning the broom in his hands with the cluck of his tongue. He sighed, rubbing a hand against his brow as he tentatively gripped the handle as if about the mount. The broom shuddered to the ground before giving him a chance to lift a foot off the ground. He sighed again, shaking his head.
"Poe, I'm completely fucking aware of how fucked I am, so If you could just spare me the pity, that'd be just great!" Rey snarled, swiping her broken broom out of his hands and resisting the urge to push him out of her way.
"Okay, okay," he said, putting his hands up in defense, "So, are we at the point in our friendship where we can stop lying about everything being normal and you can tell me what the hell's been going on with you?" Poe asked.
"I don't know what you mean," she responded bitterly, clutching her Cleansweep to her chest. She scoffed. "Besides, like you care about anything besides quidditch."
"You fly well," Poe said with a shrug. "Maybe that's how this whole friendship started. But, also, you're a good person. And there's a passion to you that comes out on the pitch that I admire. But right now? For whatever reason, it's gone. So, yeah. Spill. Quickly, though, before Zorii comes over here and makes us run suicide drills."
"I'm just tired," Rey answered, her shoulders hunched forward.
"If that's the case, then you've been tired for the last five practices!" Poe argued. "Listen, I don't even care about the game or the cup or whatever." He halted, as if realizing the obvious lie coming from his lips. "Well, I do. Obviously, I do. But right now? I just care about you. Because, believe it or not, I'm just as much your friend as Finn and Rose are."
Rey deflated, seeing the genuine hurt on Poe's face. "I know you're my friend, Poe."
"Well, okay!" he said, throwing his hands upwards. "So, why can't you tell me what's going on, then?"
"I don't-" Rey paused, breathing out a sigh. "I don't like opening up to people. It's not something I really did when growing up."
Poe hummed to himself, as if lost in thought for a second. He bit back a groan, clearly still a bit frustrated. "Okay. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he finally admitted. A big step for him, Rey had to admit. Poe's stubbornness at getting what he wanted was legendary, even when it came to the typical Gryffindor. "Still, you know I'm here to help. I was being honest when I said I consider us more than just teammates. Also, not to brag and all, but I'm a surprisingly great listener. I know when to shut up and everything."
"I'm sure you do," Rey responded, almost managing to laugh. The corners of Poe's eyes crinkled as he shoved his elbow into her own.
"You'll be okay?" he asked
"I'll be okay," Rey confirmed.
"And your broom?" Poe asked, eyeing the cracked handle as if fearful that this would set her off on another angry tirade. She desperately fought the guilt that gnawed inside her and forced her voice to remain even.
"It'll fly," Rey answered. "Spell-o-tape does wonders, you know? Maybe I can ask Finn if he knows any good mending charms. Might not be good as new, but he's got a knack for that sort of stuff."
"He does, doesn't he?" Poe said with a reassuring pat on the back. "You'll fly like a phoenix, Rey. You always do."
Rey tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. She had a gut-wrenching feeling that she'd sooner end up bursting into flames than soaring to victory.
o-o-o
When the Slytherin team certifiably crushed Hufflepuff in their next match, solidifying their place in the finals, Ben couldn't help himself from inexplicably gazing out towards the sea of red and gold in the stands, wondering if she was watching. She wasn't of course.
Nor would she glance his way during meals in the great hall. Several times, he saw that friend of hers, Finn, glaring at him from his faithful perch at Niima's side, but he was unsure if it was directed specifically at him, or if it was just the constant general gaze of disapproval that most Gryffindor gits sent in the direction of the Slytherin table. He resisted the urge to levitate a bowl of potatoes over the boy's head.
Still, despite her friend's glares, she never once made eye-contact. Once, he purposely knocked into her while he was climbing the tower towards transfiguration, sending her books skittering down the stairs, but she very purposely shoved back without meeting his gaze before hastily snagging her materials and bounding down the steps without a single word.
It was, to put it simply, infuriating.
After all, shouldn't he be the one ignoring her? Didn't she reject him, not the other way around? Why on earth should she be the one to act so bloody offended when he was the one who was made to feel like such a fool. Each time she passed in the halls, pointedly ignoring him while laughing at whatever 'oh-so-funny' comment made by her Gryffindor chums, he resisted the urge to grasp her by the back of the collar and drag her behind the nearest tapestry, forcing her to finally acknowledge his fucking existence.
"Can you please at least talk to Rey?"
Ben Solo looked up from his essay on the protective qualities of wiggentree bark in order to take in the diminutive fourth year that stood before his table in the library. Her arms were crossed, face scowling with obvious disdain. Dark hair and Gryffindor colors. Rose, he recalled faintly. The girl Rey was always with.
"Rey, who?" he replied icily, returning to his essay. His quill dug into the parchment, nearly tearing a gash through his second paragraph, but Rose only stood over him with that annoying Gryffindor stare that they all seemed to possess. He sighed, tossing his quill to the table and leaning back in his chair when he realized the tiny girl would not leave. "Usually Gryffindors aren't so fond of receiving attention from big bad Slytherins. Should I pull her pigtails, next time? Insult her grandmother a bit?"
"You need to talk to her. Not just shove into her in the halls like some sort of deranged grindylow. Elbows to the face aren't really a conversation, Solo."
"Why should I care, anyway?" Ben continued, scratching out his entire second sentence after he'd written the same exact statement twice in a row. If this Tico girl caused him to fail charms, Rey wouldn't be the only one receiving a few elbows to the face.
"She broke her broom during last practice and is still planning to fly it," Rose said. "Badly broken. The thing barely hovers and is nose diving all over the place. And I know that you couldn't care less about whether or not Gryffindor wins against Ravenclaw, but you care about Rey. Deny it all you want, but I see the way you look at her," she continued, holding her hand up to halt the protest that began to form on Ben's lips. "She's going to get hurt out there. Can you at least talk some sense into her?"
"And why would she listen to me?"
"I dunno, maybe because she's been walking around like an angry zombie ever since you decided to act like an outright prat towards her after the Hufflepuff match?"
Ben halted.
"You know about that night?"
"I know about that night," she confirmed, puffing her cheeks outward in the perfect imitation of an angry chipmunk.
"She told you?"
"That's neither here nor there," Rose said quickly, brushing away the topic. Interesting. "The point is that the girl's been on a surefire path to self-destruction ever since Gryffindor's match against Hufflepuff, and all of this rage seems to stem from whatever you did. So if you wouldn't mind fixing your mistake? That'd be great, thanks."
"Of course I'm the one who-"
"She at least deserves some sort of apology, okay?" Rose continued, cutting off his protests. "A real one, not some insult hidden inside of a half-assed statement. Suck it up like a big boy and make things right, Solo. It's the least you can do."
"She doesn't talk to me anymore," Ben muttered, mostly to himself.
"Make her," Rose said with a roll of her eyes. "Obviously."
"Obviously," Ben repeated. He breathed in deeply, squaring his shoulders as he took in Rose's appearance. She was poised with a scowl on her lips and a wand gripped at her side as if ready to attack, a ferocious Manticore of a woman in a petite, 5 foot 2 inch body. Disconnectedly, Ben wondered if he'd ever have someone fight for him with the same sense of vigor that this Tico girl did for Rey and felt a sudden surge of jealousy in his gut. Sure, Hux was more than willing to send a sneer and a stinging jinx in the direction of any mouthy Gryffindor who insulted the Slytherin quidditch team or their mothers, but all of that paled in comparison to Rose Tico. Shifting his gaze downwards, a sudden sense of shame overcoming him. Rey was really that messed up? After turning him down and making him feel like a fool? And somehow he, of all people, was at fault?
"She hates me," he stated, glaring down at his half-assed essay. There was a shuffle, and Ben darted his eyes upwards. Rose reached out for him tentatively before hesitantly shifting her arm backwards and wringing her hands in front of her.
"She doesn't," Rose assured him. "Trust me, she doesn't."
Ben swallowed hard and nodded. In comparison to Rose, Ben knew certifiably nothing about Rey. He only hoped Rose was right.
o-o-o
"I do wonder how you plan to fly without a broom. Have all Gryffindors unlocked the secret of levitation, or are you just special?"
Rey halted midstep as she made her way towards the quidditch pitch a whole hour before her last quidditch practice before tomorrow's game against Ravenclaw. She needed to give her broom one more test flight before practice in order to handle the whole "random plummeting to her death" problem that had been popping up ever since the crash. Her broom, a fragile structure held together with little more than spell-o-tape and a prayer, somehow still flew, though handling it was more difficult than trying to wrangle a mob of irritated doxies. Finn had run a few mending spells, keeping the wood all in one piece, but it still was tender to the touch. Desperately, he urged her to borrow a school broom, but unless they adjusted the goalposts so that they were only five feet off the ground, there was no way she'd be able to score on those child-locked twigs. All she needed to do was get through one more practice and one more game. Her Cleansweep could handle just a few more flights. Ben Solo, of course, couldn't let that happen so easily.
"Leave me alone," she grumbled as Ben Solo's dark figure appeared before her like a dementor materializing out of the fog. She rolled her eyes. Black sweater and black jeans. Of course.
"Still didn't answer the question," Ben said, placing his hulking body directly in her path and blocking her way. "I've said it many times, and I'll say it again, Niima. You need a new broom."
"Wow!" she said, forcing her eyes wide like a small child being told of the existence of nargles. "You mean my decades old Cleansweep isn't up to par with your latest model of Silencer? Who would have thought!"
"Stop trying to be cute, Niima, it's utterly unbecoming of you," he muttered. Grumbling, he dug deep into his pockets, and Rey half expected him to pull out his wand and curse her. Some sort of hex that would cover her in Slytherin green boils that would hiss and pop until she made her way to the hospital wing (Hux had done that one to Finn before, cackling the entire time). Instead, he pulled out a manila envelope, packed fat and nearly bursting at the seams. He held it out to her with a scowl, and she peered at it with suspicion.
"Is it cursed?" she asked, reaching outwards but refusing to touch it.
"No, it's not cursed. Do you really think that every single thing given to you by a Slytherin is cursed?" he answered, clearly annoyed.
"Hexed, then. Really, that's the same thing, Solo. You should pay more attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Merlin, Niima! It's not cursed, or hexed, or jinxed! Would you please summon up some of that damn Gryffindor courage and take the bloody envelope!"
Rey muttered under her breath before hesitantly accepting the parcel and peering inside. Her eyes bulged as she caught sight of a thick pile of galleons glinting inside and jangling heavily against one another. Suddenly, the packet felt ten times heavier in her arms, and she had the urge to resist chucking it at Ben Solo's brooding face.
"What the hell is this?" she asked, truly flabbergasted.
"Look, I'm an asshole. I said it, happy?" Ben grumbled. "Just take the money and buy a new broom before Cara Dune sends a bludger at you and blasts it to toothpicks. Think of it as compensation for that night on the pitch. I won't tell anyone about it if you won't."
Rey was still frozen, brain slowly processing his words and the damnable fortune currently clutched in her hands. She suddenly was unsure if he was apologizing or bribing her. Knowing most Slytherins, it had to be the latter.
"This is supposed to make it better?" Rey asked, looking down at the packed envelope in her hand with disbelief. "You buying me off? Sorry, Solo, but it turns out you can't just throw money at a girl to get her to do what you want. I'm sure the establishments you and your little Slytherin friends visit in Hogsmeade might have you thinking that's how the world works, but it usually isn't successful unless the girls are named something like 'Candi' or 'Honey' and you're tossing galleons at them as they expose their naughty bits."
"You need a new broom," Ben argued, ignoring the jibe. "You don't stand a chance against Ravenclaw when yours is a shoddy mess like that. Please. It's the least I can do after everything."
"Everything," she repeated, eyebrows raised to her hairline. "And by 'everything', why, whatever is it that you mean?" Her voice was sickeningly sweet, a mockery of the pure-blood prisses that populated Ben's house with their simpering smiles and hidden fangs.
"You know what," he responded with a glare. "Just take it before I change my mind. You're right. The money would be much better spent on a 'Candi' or a 'Honey' at Madam Sphinx's Glitter Lounge."
"I'll be sure to owl them ahead of time so they can start preparing for their disappointment," Rey scoffed, shoving the money back into Ben's hand. He reached outwards before she could pull away from him, hand wrapping around her forearm.
"You are aware," he said, pulling her closer, "that you do not actually fuck the strippers at a strip club."
Rey reddened, peeling Ben's fingers from her arm one at a time before scurrying away none too elegantly. "Well, then! Good news for Candi and Honey! No need to fake interest beyond a couple shimmies this way and that!"
"Would you please just stop mucking around and take the money, Niima?" This time, he threw the package directly at her head, and Rey's chaser reflexes betrayed her, instinctively catching it before it could make an impact. Ben snarled in frustration as she charged at him, nearly tackling him to the ground in an effort to shove it back into his pockets. She wrestled with him a bit, the packet of galleons smacking painfully into Ben's side as she continuously tried to pry his fingers open. "No one's going to think you're some slag because you're getting help to buy an actually decent broomstick!"
Rey halted, her arms tangled with his and his body uncomfortably close.
"Why do you even know about my broom anyway?" Rey said as she peered suspiciously up at him. His dark eyes were a honey brown in the sunlight and he actually bit his lip, the utter prat. The damn idiot had the nerve to look attractive while acting like a complete arsehole.
"Well, Rose said that-"
"Fantastic. It's great to know that my friends are gossiping to you about me," Rey said, shoving the package back into Ben's chest with more force than necessary. "You know, I'd really not become indebted to the great Ben Solo. After all, I know what he would expect in return. What I should do for him to make it all worth it."
Ben froze, the words from that night being thrown back in his face like a bludger carrying a particularly nasty grudge. For a second, she hoped Ben would argue back that he hadn't meant it. That it was all a stupid joke that went too far. Instead, he just sighed and shook his head like she was some sort of petulant child who understood nothing. Maybe she was. Her cheeks flamed, feeling foolish as he shifted away from the topic entirely.
"Whatever," Ben said. "Just. Fly well, okay? And remember to lean to the right when Bo-Katan Kryze is guarding the post."
"I don't need help from you," Rey snapped. "What are you even trying to do? I don't get it, Ben! Suddenly you act like you care about me? Just because Rose guilt-tripped you? Well, I don't need your help, and I don't need your money. I'm not a charity case!"
"You're right," he said with his facial expression blank and unreadable. Accepting defeat, he stepped aside from the path and shoved the envelope back into his pocket. "You're not. Get that broom looked at before the match or Ravenclaw'll wipe the floor with you. I'd rather not have to go round two with Din Djarin on the pitch."
"It'll fly," she assured him, relieved to see the money disappear from sight. She'd said the same thing to Poe during last week's practice. This time, however, she felt like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone.
"Rey..." he started, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
"Please, just leave."
Ben stared at her, emotion still unreadable on his face, then nodded, clearly giving up.
"I'll be in the stands," he said. "I know it doesn't matter to you, but I hope you don't die. You owe me a rematch in the finals."
"I owe you nothing," Rey said. "And you owe me nothing. Goodbye, Ben."
She shoved past him, walking briskly down the path. Despite everything, the tiniest part of her wished that Ben would call after her, make her turn around and talk some sense into her. Apologize. Make up with her. Help her remember why she even liked playing quidditch again in the first place and then take out to the pitch for one final practice before the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game. Make her feel like less of a fuck-up.
He didn't. She couldn't blame him.
o-o-o
Twenty-two and a half hours later, Rey's broom broke mid-flight while trying to intercept a pass between Koska Reeves and Axe Woves.
There was no blood or broken bones. In fact, Rey suffered no less than a dislocated shoulder that was reset with a sharp and uncomfortable pop from Madam Kalonia. The damage was done, however. With Rey out of commission, the Gryffindor team was no match for the Ravenclaw quidditch team. Within ten minutes, the snitch was caught and Gryffindor had officially lost their shot in the finals.