Chapter 9
"ALLLLLLLLRIGHT EVERYBODY!" Elle heard the distant voice of Daffyd Jones, magically amplified so that it boomed across the stadium as she rose uncertainly into the harsh November winds. Her two fellow chasers, Isla Eilhart and Archie Underwood gave her enthusiastic thumbs up. She looked back uncertainly to the two beaters, who had eyes only for the small box containing the bludgers that was still firmly shut below them. Henry Bloomingdale was the fifth year who had thrown her the Quaffles during her tryouts, and he was quite nice. Elle felt safe flying in his flank. The other fifth year beater however, Lester Reed, had been outvoted when it came to admitting Elle onto the team, and had not gone to great lengths to hide his feelings.
Although she had been absolutely ecstatic to make the team, it wasn't the perfect dream that Sam and Isidre seemed to think it was. She had a lot to prove as the youngest on the pitch, and as the youngest, she also often felt a bit left out from the changeroom banter. Still, the constant practices had had one unexpected benefit – she was so tired most nights that she fell into bed. Thoughts of her mother, and the letter (which Elle deeply regretted leaving in McGonagall's office) hardly ever kept her up. On the nights that they did, Elle had taken to roaming the halls, often popping into the kitchens for a quick snack or cuppa.
Elle had learned more about Hogwarts from her conversation with the kitchen staff, who she had finally found out were called 'house elves' than she had in two years of classes. The house elves were the ones that cleaned the common rooms and did her laundry, and they knew all the nooks and crannies in this school. Elle did still find it odd that they wore no clothes, only tea towels. A great many of them wore some type of jewelry as well, which was apparently a fashion trend started by a heroic house elf who had led their charge in battle of Hogwarts – many of the elves wore some type of locket around their necks. Elle felt as if she knew much more about the recent history of the magical world she'd been thrust into after a few firelight chats in the kitchens.
A sharp whistle suddenly jolted Elle out of her thoughts. The game had begun! "Slytherin takes possession of the Quaffle immediately, it's Quresha, or Oyun, the two are identical I'm sorry professor it's impossible to tell. Shafiq passes to Shafiq is the best I can say…" Elle's attention snapped to the Quaffle in question, watching as the three Slytherin chasers streaked down the field in a V formation. Elle tried her best to fly defensively, but there wasn't much she could do until Lester got a good bludger shot in and the Quaffle was in the air. Immediately, Isla was in possession and Elle was executing a hairpin turn, trying her best to get into an open position.
Isla had two bludgers from opposite directions coming directly at her before she could take a shot at the goals. Elle made brief eye contact with her, and suddenly the Quaffle was back in the air, soaring in her direction. Elle had it, she was sure. Elle held her arms out to catch the large leather ball, when suddenly it was gone with a streak of green. "Noor takes possession back, and it's to one of her sisters, then the other one… SLYTHERIN SCORES" were the next words Elle heard from Daffyd, and she groaned.
"Nice catch" hissed a voice behind her, and she turned to face an angry Lester. Elle blushed furiously but didn't get a chance to reply before Isla was yelling "WHERE WERE MY BEATERS! I HAD THE SHOT." Lester scowled and flew off, bat in hand. Despite her rocky start, and with the help of her growing dislike of Slytherin, Elle soon found a rhythm. Isla was an excellent captain – the flying formations they'd been practising for the last two and a half months were a good match for Slytherin, whose scoring power relied on the speed and intuition of the three sisters. It was harder for them to defend against rigid plays, since they didn't use them themselves, a fact that Isla was surely aware of.
Elle wasn't a big scorer in the game. Her main job was to pull attention away from Isla or Archie with her flashy flying style, going into swoops and dives that inevitably drew the attention of one of the Slytherin beaters and required man-to-man coverage from the chasers. It worked. Soon, the score was 300 Ravenclaw to 150 Slytherin, and Isla was on her way to scoring another goal when there was a telltale hush from the crowd that signalled a possible snitch sighting. Elle saw the flash of green off to her left, where Gordon Nott was making a quick ascent, in hot pursuit of the Ravenclaw seeker, Tom Thompson.
With some difficulty, Elle tore her eyes from the play, focusing on Isla and the Quaffle. She came in behind and underneath, ready to execute their 'hand-off' play, where she took her broom almost vertical to fly directly in front of Isla, faking a Quaffle pass, before the captain took her shot, when Isla let out a cry and dropped the Quaffle, barrel rolling out of the way of a well-aimed bludger. Cursing, Elle grabbed the Quaffle, circling wide to get high enough to take a decent shot at the hoops. She heard the familiar scream in the air that meant a bludger was coming her way and did a neat roll, keeping the Quaffle near her chest. With that danger out of the way, Elle had a clear shot at the net, and she was just about to take her shot when something hit her on the back of the head, hard.
Elle lost control of her broom and dropped the Quaffle, barely managing to stay aloft. Dizzy, she raised a hand to the sore spot near her ear, where she felt something hot and wet – blood. She was faintly aware of the shrill sound of a whistle, which was almost immediately drowned out by roaring crowds concentrated on the Slytherin side of the stands. The crowd's cheering died out quickly though, brought on by the vigorous shaking of his head and continuous whistle coming from Professor Blanco, the match's referee.
"Honestly, Avery, throwing your bat? That's an immediate penalty shot. If the game was still live, you'd be off the field" Elle heard Blanco saying. Slowly, she started to piece together what had just happened. Tom, the Ravenclaw seeker, had spotted the snitch, forcing the seventh year Slytherin to give chase, and catch the snitch, even though the scoring was not ideal – it put them at 300/300, a tie. The beater, Avery, had clearly realized that Elle was about to eke out a win for them, and, having failed at getting her to drop the Quaffle with the bludger, had thrown the bat at her instead in desperation, hoping Blanco wouldn't notice the blatant foul. And now Elle was being awarded a penalty shot, despite the game being over, since the whistle had been blown before the snitch had been caught.
"Y'alright Elle?" Isla called out to her, and she nodded in response. An encouraging Henry placed a Quaffle into Elle's bewildered hands, and suddenly she was aware that the entire stadium was eerily silent. Elle faced off the Slytherin keeper, dimly aware that she was still bleeding and didn't feel quite steady on her broom. The fifth year Slytherin opposite her was large and was doing her best to look intimidating. Elle barely registered the pressure.
Elle clutched the Quaffle uncertainly in her hands. She took a high approach, a muffled voice in the back of her mind suggesting that she take a sharp dive before her shot. What happened next was a jumble of confused seconds in Elle's brain. She went to take her dive, but her hand, still slick from her own blood, slipped off the top of her broom, causing her to lose balance and fumble the Quaffle. The next few moments were full of Elle grappling with the air, struggling to find a grip on her broom, as she was now dangling by one hand. She felt her foot connect with something solid as she kicked the air. She finally managed to find the broom with her free hand after another few seconds.
Elle landed on the ground, her brain still foggy, to see streams of Ravenclaw blue storming the field. "Kicked it in! I've never recorded that mode of scoring in my three years of team statistician!" She heard an exuberant Louis exclaim somewhere near the region of her right shoulder. Her teammates were all around her, and Elle dully raised her hand to respond to Henry's high five. "Holy shit Elle" swore Archie, and Elle looked to see that her hand was still red with blood.
The next few minutes were full of more confusion, as Henry and Lester, the two burliest teammates half walked, half dragged Elle to the hospital wing. A deep flask full of clear potion was thrust into Elle's hands, and the calloused fingers of Healer Henwick pinched her nose as she downed the foul-smelling liquid. Suddenly, everything was back into sharp focus. "Holy shit" Elle said, and Henry laughed loudly.
Healer Henwick made quick work of the cut on the back of Elle's head, muttering about Quidditch, and concussions the entire time. She was pretty sure he was advocating for banning the sport. After he'd inspected Elle for a few more minutes, she was given the okay to go back to her dorms, with strict instructions to return immediately if she hit her head again in the next seven days.
"That was one hell of a shot" Henry exclaimed as Elle pushed open the large doors to the hospital wing. "One hell of a lucky shot" corrected Lester, who looked less impressed. "You should have told Blanco you were injured. He would have let Isla take the shot for you, and she has the best scoring stats on the team." Henry hit Lester on the shoulder, but Elle was already nodding in agreement. "Don't listen to him" Henry shot back "he's still upset that he missed the bludger that almost knocked Isla off her broom". A clattering was heard at the opening of the hall in front of them, and Elle saw her friends running towards her, helter-skelter. "I think they're looking for you" chuckled Henry.
"We'll see you tonight eh?" Henry asked Elle before her friends caught up to her, ignoring Lester's shushing. Elle looked back in confusion "we don't have practice tonight?" "We do have a party though" Henry said. "Common room at eleven, I expect to see you there." "She's TWELVE" and exasperated Lester cried out. "And she's part of the team" Henry replied. "She'll have one butterbeer, participate in the team cheers and the player of the game ceremony, and go to bed." Elle nodded enthusiastically to this, and Lester had no choice but to shrug, still scowling.
The two older boys broke off from Elle just as Rose and Scorpius, the two fastest runners, caught up to her. It was several minutes before she could convince Rose that she was okay, and that Healer Henwick hadn't made a mistake by letting her out. "Tell us all about the game" Sam said after Rose was finally satisfied. Even Albus listened intently to Elle's play-by-play.
Elle could hardly get a bite of food in all dinner, there were so many Ravenclaws coming up to pat her on the back and give their opinion on the game. Elle didn't really think she deserved all the praise she was getting, since she didn't really even remember her penalty shot, and the fact that it had gone in at all was a complete fluke, but no one wanted to hear her protests. However, even though Elle knew it was mostly underserved, she couldn't help but get a bit caught up in all the hullabaloo. She had been invited to an upper year party! Sure, it was clear that Lester (and probably most of the older students, if she was being honest with herself) didn't want her there, and she was under strict instructions to only stay for the team activities, but still. Elle was going to her very first Hogwarts party. Even if she'd been undisturbed at dinner, she wasn't sure she could have eaten much. She was too excited.