Annalise
“Can you please just tell me why I have to go to a quidditch match I care nothing about?” I complained as Vince dragged me outside, “It’s raining.”
“Isn’t your twin brother on the team?” he asked, “Aren’t you excited for him?”
“It’s raining.” I said again.
Vince rolled his eyes, “Just trust me on this,” he pleaded, “It’ll be fun.”
“Watching someone get struck by lightning doesn’t sound like fun. And why do I have to come?”
Vince turned to face me, “Let’s go over the facts, shall we?” he didn’t wait for my response, “Fact number one: I am going, and you can’t stop me. Fact number two: You hate being alone. Fact number three: You don’t have any other friends, so if you don’t go you will be alone. Which you hate.”
“Ouch,” I said before following him out to the field. After we took our seats, I said, “I think we need to lay a few ground rules if we’re really going to do this.”
“Okay.” Vince shrugged.
“First and foremost, do not hit Charles. If you break this rule, I swear on Merlin’s bloody balls, you will have to stay in the Hospital Wing for a month if I am merciful and decide not to kill you.”
“Oh,” Vince’s voice shook a little, “Anything else?”
“No, I guess not.” I turned toward the field just in time to see the players soar into the air. I looked at my brother, Charles. He had changed over the summer. For one thing, he was extremely tall. I had to crane my neck just to get a good look at his eyes, which were brown, like mine. But he was also more pleasant to look at, and people said the same thing about me. Some blame it on our summer trip to America. “You went to America and came back hot!” Vince would always tease.
“Should I do it?” Vince asked, pulling me from my thoughts. He held his wand firmly in his hand.
“I didn’t come out here to watch my brother lose, did I?” (Although he was hotter, he was still terrible at Quidditch in my opinion. Sure, he’s won the cup a few times, but still.) I glanced back at Vince, “Do it.”
He pointed his wand at a dark cloud and muttered, “Creo fulmen.” Lightning appeared inside the cloud and followed Vince’s wand. It moved down, toward the field, toward Cynthia Thomas-Finnigan.
“Stop!” I cried, which made Vince lose his concentration. The lightning missed her, but hit the goalpost instead.
“What?” Vince shouted, “That wasn’t even near Charles!”
I was too busy looking at Cynthia, making sure she was alright, to pay him any mind.
“Hello?” Vince waved a hand in front of my face.
“What?” I snapped.
“What the hell, Anna?” He cried.
“I-I just,” I stuttered, “That’s not even his girlfriend, there’s no point hitting her.”
“Well it’s a little hard to tell with them all flying around,” Vince complained, “I mean, do you know which is which?”
I scanned the air, “Number 23,” I said, pointing at Victoir, “That’s her.”
Again, Vince pointed his wand at a cloud and recited the incantation. Carefully, he moved it toward Victoir, and flicked his wand vigorously, making the lightning strike.
Apparently, Quidditch players are fast (Well, most of them, anyway). Victoir dove out of the way just in time, and instead of hitting her, the lightning struck the stands where all of the professors sat.
“Aguamenti!” came many voices all at once.
“Shit!” I covered my face with my hands.
“One more try.” Vince said.
“You won’t be able to hit any players, Vince.” I reminded him, looking up.
“I won’t be aiming for a player.” Once more, he pointed his wand at a cloud, “Creo fulmen!” He said. This time, he brought his wand toward the Gryffindor stands. The lightning struck. It hit a boy square in the chest. I could only assume it hit the boy whose life Vince had sworn to make miserable; Teddy Lupin.