In Which Five Witches Strike a Wager
It was the morning of the first Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match of term, and even the sky had already chosen its side. The sun hung low and golden over the pitch, casting the grass with a crimson glow as the students of Hogwarts eagerly made their way to the stands.
Seated at the top row of the Gryffindor section, Kyle Codnor was desperately trying to cover his girlfriend’s face with a red and gold scarf. “No one cares that you’re a Hufflepuff,” he moaned. “We go through this every time and it’s always the same. As long as you aren’t a Slytherin, they don’t care.”
Kylie swatted his hand away. “Shut up, they’ll hear you.”
He made a face at her, and gestured at the two girls walking up the stands in their direction, both clad in Hufflepuff yellow, as if to say, I told you so. The two girls wore tiny red pins adorned with gold lettering that read ‘knock on Wood’, and they waved at Kyle and Kylie, beaming.
“Morning, lovebirds,” said the taller of the two girls as she slid into the seat next to Kylie. “Any chance either of you fancy a spliff before the game of the century begins?”
“Emma!” chastised her companion, hastily glancing around to make sure no professors were near. “It is half past eight in the morning. Surely it’s too early to be thinking about that sort of thing.”
“Don’t act like you weren’t the one who copped it off of Luna Lovegood, Tessa,” Emma said with a cheeky grin.
Kyle leaned over Kylie to whisper, “I thought we were going to stop buying from Looney after last time.”
“Don’t call her Looney,” snapped Tessa. “And anyway, what was wrong with last time?”
“Well, I think Finchy trying to jump out the window of Ravenclaw Tower because she thought she was a faerie kind of speaks for itself,” chimed in another voice from behind the four girls. Whipping around, they found themselves face to face with Slytherin prefect Sarah Sykes.
“What are you doing here? Slytherin getting you down?” asked Kylie, with a knowing smile.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “They’re all depressed because Kendall King said anyone who tried to sing ‘Weasley is our King’ again would end up at Madam Pomfrey’s with a broken jaw for disrespecting her, somehow. Honestly, maybe they should attempt to win at least one match off of pure skill alone, instead of resorting to intimidating first years or trying to hex Wood from across the Great Hall.”
“And how exactly did you wind up being their prefect?” Emma teased. Sarah smirked back at her before leaning back in her seat with a coy shrug.
“Wait, they tried to hex Dani?” Tessa interjected, running her fingers over the pin attached to her cloak. “Is she alright?”
“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Kylie said. “Knowing Dani, she probably ended up either sending them to hospital or shagging them in the abandoned broom cupboard on the fourth floor.” The four other girls turned to stare at her. “What? I only meant… Well I only meant that if anyone can take care of themselves, its Wood.”
“Speaking of,” said Kyle, pulling a few loose coins out of his robe pocket, “Anyone care to wager on the big game?”
“I’ve got Potter to catch the Snitch in forty-five minutes,” offered Tessa.
“I have four sickles on Gryffindor winning 250 to 30,” Emma said.
“No way Weasley only lets three in,” Sarah retorted.
“Between Ginny, Harry, and Dani, the game ought to be over pretty quick, even if Ron has an off day.”
“Ah, come off it. You’re a Keeper, aren’t you?” asked Sarah, raking her cool grey eyes over Emma, who nodded, flushing. “Well, then you should know better than anyone that Slytherin plays vicious and brutal. Girl Weasley may fly a fair game and Merlin knows Wood inherited her Quidditch-freak brother’s skill, but Vaisey and Urquhart will send Weasley through that hoop faster than he can say ‘oh bloody hell’. And anyway, something tells me Kendall’s out for blood today.”
“You can’t surely think Slytherin is going to win,” said Tessa, incredulously.
Sarah shook her head. “Of course not. I just think if ever there was a super team with a weak link, Ron Weasley would be it.”
The girls lapsed into silence, unsure of how to respond. Although she didn’t share her housemates' outdated beliefs, Sarah was a Slytherin through and through, and every so often, she made a comment in passing that left them floundering, torn between loyalties to their Houses or their friends. Emma in particular was fidgeting restlessly in her seat.
“Are we sure no one wants to smoke a spliff?” she finally asked.
“I would,” said Sarah, just as Zacharias Smith’s obnoxious, magnified voice filled the arena.
Groaning, they all fell back into their seats. “What a loathsome little bastard.”
"Wait! There they are!" cried Kylie, pointing at the red and green figures streaked across the sky. "Pass me the Omnioculars then, Em." Through the magnified lens, she watched as Gryffindor's star chaser seemed to exchange words with Slytherin beater, Kendall King. "What do you think Dani's saying to her?" she wondered aloud.
Kyle scoffed. "She's probably telling her to shove her broomstick down her throat and choke on it."
"Give me those," said Emma, snatching the binoculars back. She focused in on the Gryffindor chasers, all of whom were wearing their long hair in two plaits laced with maroon ribbons. "I can't believe we have to play them next month," she moaned. "Yesterday I overheard Mcgonagall telling Professor Sprout that the only team with even a hope of beating this Gryffindor lineup is Puddlemere United, and they've won the League Cup at least 22 times."
"If you're lucky, Kendall and Dani will tear each other apart and then no one will have to play them," Sarah said, drily. Emma rolled her eyes, then returned her gaze to the game just in time to watch as Madam Hooch released the balls into the air and the fourteen players flitted every which way.
Gryffindor quickly took possession of the Quaffle, Ginny Weasley's red hair glinting in the sun as she darted down the pitch toward the Slytherin hoops. She tossed the ball to Katie Bell, who neatly scored the first ten points of the match.
Fifteen minutes later, Zacharias Smith had begrudgingly announced that the score was 70 nil, and the Slytherin stands were grumbling with discontent. High above, Harry Potter and Harper, Draco Malfoy's replacement seeker, were circling the pitch, the Golden Snitch seemingly nowhere in sight.
"Where is Malfoy, by the way?" asked Kyle, turning to Sarah. "Seems unlike him to pass up a chance to trade quippy banter with Potter."
Sarah leaned in conspiratorially. "No one knows really. Malfoy's been acting weird all term, always dressed in that creepy black funeral suit. Kendall's been hanging all over him too."
Tessa shuddered. "Merlin, just thinking about those two together. Imagine all the poor little puppies they could torture."
"Now that we're on the subject of torture, what the hell is happening up there?" Kylie asked, reaching for the binoculars. "It looks like King is pulling Dani's hair. I mean, what is this, Muggle football? A primary school playground?"
"I told her those ribbons would be a bad idea," Kyle said, and it seemed he was right. Wood was gripping onto the Quaffle tightly with one hand, and with the other, delivering a sharp elbow to her opponent's nose. A Bludger soared narrowly past the two girls, sent by Gryffindor's Seamus Finnegan, and Dani took the opportunity to yank herself from Kendall's grasp and sprint down to the goalposts. "Blimey, I always forget how fast a Firebolt can go," breathed Kyle as Dani made it to the hoops and hurled the ball into the far left one.
The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff stands cheered belligerently, booing the Slytherin Beater who was being reprimanded by Madam Hooch on the ground. She barely had time to get back in the air before there was a sharp gasp from the crowd, and Harry Potter had caught the Snitch. "Gryffindor wins 220 to 10," came the nasally report from Smith. "And ladies, let's try to keep it clean next time. Or better yet, make it dirtier." The Gryffindor chasers flashed him a rude gesture before returning to their locker room, but not before they heard Mcgonagall's voice sharply informing Smith that the only unclean thing he should concern himself with was his mouth.
"How many minutes was that?" asked Emma as the girls made their way down.
"Just shy of forty."
"Looks like you'll get your three sickles then, Tessa," Sarah said. "Sorry about your loss, though, Em."
Emma shrugged. "At least we know there's going to be a sick party tonight."