The Season Is Opened
Alexander Bay
As October settled in, the once-verdant Hogwarts grounds were transformed into a tapestry of gold, amber, and russet. The trees surrounding the lake shed their leaves, and a cool, crisp breeze hinted at the approach of winter. Students bundled up in cloaks as they moved between classes, the echoes of their laughter mixing with the sound of leaves crunching underfoot. Evenings came earlier, casting the castle in a warm, golden glow before fading into the shadows of dusk.
For Alexander, the arrival of autumn brought a welcome routine. His Quidditch practices had fallen into a steady rhythm, and his team was beginning to gel well. With the season coming up, it was high time to.
He was also, like much of the students, counting down the days until the Triwizard Tournament began and their fellow schools arrived. Finally, one morning, when he stepped into the Great Hall, the air was full of the hum of conversation. Many students on both the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables were already dressed in their Quidditch robes.
The Quidditch season had officially begun and the Great Hall was draped in the colours of the respective teams.
As Alexander took his seat with the Ravenclaw team, he couldn't help but steal a glance at Amalia, her Slytherin team robes fitting her in all the right ways, the green and silver complementing her sharp features. She caught his eye and smirked, giving him a brief, teasing wave.
"Okay folks," Alexander remarked to his team mates. "Remember to pay attention and take notes. We are getting some free recon on two of our enemy teams today," he reminded them. "Especially keep an eye on your counterparts. Talking to you Fiona, Gryffindor drafted that Abbot girl from second year and Aston has been pretty smug about her."
"I trust you've heard good things about me too," Fiona countered, grinning up from her breakfast.
"I wish I had been," Alexander muttered into his drink, earning himself a kick against the chin from under the table.
He managed a smirk as he met Fiona's mock-offended glare. "All right, all right, I hear you're the best Seeker since Merlin's pet hawk," he conceded, giving her a sideways grin.
"Much better," Fiona said, her eyes glinting with playful defiance.
"And you?" he asked Maxwell when his brother finally slipped onto the bunch next to himself. "Are you planning to watch the game?"
"Good morning to you too," Maxwell replied grimly and poured himself a cup of hot chocolate.
"Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?" Alexander asked as he clapped his little brother on the shoulder.
"Samson decided to shove one of his wet socks into the oven this morning. The smell made for a rude awakening," he said and glared down the table at his dorm mates who were laughing about some joke Noah had made. "No peace for the wicked. Right?"
"Sounds delightful," Alexander said, chuckling at his brother's misfortune. "I'd say it's just another charming aspect of dorm life, but that's particularly diabolical, even for Samson. Anyway, are you coming to the game, or do you have other plans?"
Maxwell shrugged, sipping his hot chocolate. "I think the last time I watched a Quidditch match was Paris against Bordeaux three years ago when I was in Paris for a tournament. Was not impressed to much to be honest."
Alexander rolled his eyes. "Of course, you weren't. They are French!"
"They duel a lot better than we English do," Maxwell reminded him mildly.
"Well, if you are insisting on setting the bar quite so low," Alexander replied evenly.
Maxwell raised an eyebrow, his lips curving in a faint smirk. "Low or not, my point stands. But fine, I'll come watch. It might be amusing to see how many people manage to crash into each other today."
"Ah, the ever-supportive brother," Alexander said with mock exasperation, though he couldn't help but grin.
"And Lavanya isn't flying today, so we probably won't be seeing too many casualties," Fiona added.
"Eh!" the accused chaser complained indignantly. "I am not that bad."
Once breakfast was over, the crowds slowly began moving into the entrance hall and then out to the grounds. He noticed a surprising number of Ravenclaws sporting Gryffindor red and gold scarves, while others donned Hufflepuff yellow and black. Given he was Ravenclaw through and through, the idea of donning another house's colours was anathema to him. At least none of the Slytherins were dressed the red and gold. Over a thousand students and faculty began to make their way towards the stands.
Amalia and Philip were waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, a speck of green and silver and a sea of yellow and black clad Hufflepuffs passing around them, chanting house songs.
"Well, well," Amalia said with a smirk, crossing her arms as a sea of yellow-and-black-clad Hufflepuffs streamed past, chanting their house songs. "The captain of the Blueberry Brigade himself. Mind if we join your merry little squad?"
"Not sitting with your own team?" Fiona asked, her tone laced with suspicion as she eyed Amalia and Philip.
"Our team?" Philip chimed in, raising an eyebrow. "They've turned their section into a drinking club. There's a crate of bottles labelled as Butterbeer, but trust me, it's filled with something a whole lot stronger. I'd rather not be the one to tattle when the faculty inevitably catches on. Besides," he added with a shrug, "your lot tends to keep it civil."
"More or less," Amalia teased, her eyes glinting mischievously as she looked at Alexander. "So, Captain, any objections to us invading your turf? I know you blues will be scheming, but surely my company is well worth it."
She held out her hand, which Alexander took. "It is, you two are very welcome." Together they joined the large crowd streaming into the warm autumn morning towards the towering stands of the Quidditch pitch. Holding his very pretty girlfriend's hand, he thought to himself that it was a good day for Quidditch. They weren't the only ones. From the long path leading to Hogsmeade, a steady stream of witches and wizards made their way to the pitch—villagers, dignitaries, and the usual Ministry types—doubling or even tripling the audience.
. He even spotted the mayor of Hogsmeade, Diggle, among the crowd though he thought it best not to mention it.
"Hope Hufflepuff puts up a good fight or catches the Snitch early," Hector grunted.
"Yeah!" Mitchell agreed. "Would save us from having to make up points later in the season."
Finally they took their seats in the raised stand close to the pitch's halfway line, facing the stand with the teachers, headmaster, and the more exalted of the ministry guests. Slowly, the remaining seats quickly filled as students and visitors jostled for space. Even a few younger children from Hogsmeade's outskirts craning their necks for a better view. Scarves and banners waved from every corner, and the crisp scent of autumn leaves mingled with the distant hint of hot cocoa and cinnamon pastries drifting up from the refreshment carts below.
Alexander settled in beside Amalia and his teammates, feeling the boards beneath him vibrate as the crowd stamped their feet in growing excitement. The sunlight caught the edge of her hair, giving her dark locks a warm sheen, and she squeezed his hand before leaning against the railing to peer down at the pitch.
"Any snacks!" a voice squeaked. "Only one Sickle each! Biscuits and Butterbeer!"
They turned around to find a young house-elf clutching a broad wooden tray against his chest. His large, bat-like ears twitched nervously as he balanced an array of neatly wrapped biscuits and a stack of chilled butter beer bottles. A simple smock, or perhaps a pillowcase, bearing the Hogwarts crest served as his uniform. His eyes swept from one of them to the other.
"Only one sickle each! Biscuits and Butterbeer!" he piped again, bowing awkwardly.
Amalia flashed a smile. "A Butterbeer, please," she said, fishing a few coins from her robe pocket. She glanced at Alexander, raising her eyebrows in silent inquiry. When he nodded, she handed the elf two sickles. "Make that two."
The elf's face lit up, and with surprising grace he pulled out two glistening bottles of Butterbeer from beneath his cloth and handed them over. He then tilted the tray, presenting them the offerings: Honey-Spice biscuits in waxed paper wrappers, chocolate-dipped shortbread, and some toffees shaped like tiny Quidditch hoops. Fiona and Lavanya eyed the biscuits, and Fiona nudged Hector in the ribs.
"Come on, old man," she urged with a grin. "Time to spend some coin!"
His senior beater sighed and produced his own purse and pulled out a few coins and received a bottle and bag in return. He had barely set the bag down when Fiona snagged a biscuit from Hector's bag.
"Hey!" he complained indignantly. "You have your own!"
"Witch's Privilege," she declared, making a show of taking the first bite.
Hector glared at her, but then blushed awkwardly and looked down at his knees.
In their first or second year at Hogwarts, Amalia had one evening playfully sat on his lap in the library after no other free seats were to be found, and despite being best friends since their earliest childhood, he had never looked at her quite the same way since. Relationships, especially among teammates, had a way of getting messy. Better he nipped the problem in the bud before it got out of hand.
"You're having a laugh." Fiona growled suddenly, staring at their opposing stand.
He looked and spotted a familiar student taking a seat at the commentator's podium and raise his wand to his mouth. It was Tommy Madison.
"Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards of all ages," Tommy began, his voice dripping with practiced enthusiasm. "Welcome to the opening match of the nineteen fifty-two Hogwarts Quidditch season! Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff!"
A roar of cheers erupted from both sides of the stands, banners unfurling and scarves waving madly in the crisp autumn air. Tommy gave a self-satisfied grin, clearly enjoying the attention.
"It just had to be him," Fiona muttered, crossing her arms and slumping back into her seat. "Just when I thought this day couldn't get any worse."
"It was bad already?" Lavanya asked innocently, earning a giggle from Frederick.
"Oh man, I hate that fellow," Amalia complained. "Hope he takes a bludger to the face."
Alexander chuckled and sat down on the bench.
"The sky is a beautiful blue, and we have a pleasant twenty-one degrees with a mild three knot south west wind. It is perfect weather for Quidditch," he declared to even more cheers.
"The game will begin in a few minutes. The women, the myth, the legend, Professor Saint will be reprising her role as referee this year. You all know her, she is one of the best Quidditch players Hogwarts has ever brought out and is the former Captain of the Holyhead Harpies, flew for England, and recipient of the Best Beater award in three consecutive world cups."
As the commentator continued to extol the career of Professor Saint, and the crowd erupted into cheers as the short stocky woman herself strode onto the pitch. Dressed in crisp black-and-white referee robes, her weathered face grim, and the heavy crate thrown over her shoulder, she made her way to the centre of the pitch and then dropped the crate in the centre circle.
"And here come the teams!" he yelled.
"First we have the Gryffindor team, here today to defend the Quidditch cup after offering one of the best seasons Hogwarts has seen in a long time!" he yelled and a line of students clad in crimson and gold robes stepped out onto the field in single file, carrying their brooms over their shoulders with a distinct self satisfied swagger.
Alexander sighed, knowing deep down it was true. Philip snorted derisively, Amalia scowled, and Fiona, who had once snogged their Captain looked like she might be sick.
"I give you the number three and team Captain, Brian-" Tommy bellowed.
"Aston!" the collective block of red and gold clad students in the stand roared.
The first, a tall, athletic blond boy grinned up at the stands, and waved at the crowd to loud screams of approval. "Great season! Great player!"
"Returning in their roles, number two and four, Elera-!"
"Fitz!" the crowd yelled. "-and Duncan!" Madison continued.
"MacGregor!" the crowd again continued.
"MacGregor was pretty solid," Philip muttered.
In the same manner the keeper, Eddie Jones, and the two beaters, Molly Fraser and Cedric O'Hare were introduced to the spectating crowd.
Finally, the last in line—a small, skinny second-year student with brown hair—walked into view. "And last, we have number seven, Susan Abbott!"
When she heard her last name being bellowed by hundreds of voices, the little second year visibly blushed, lowered her gaze, and waddled after Cedric.
"Now to our Hufflepuff team!" Tommy yelled, his voice booming as the yellow and black dominated part of the stand seemed intent on screaming their heads off.
"Our Captain, Roderick Longfellow, reprising his role as captain for the second and final time this year," Tommy began.
One by one Tommy proceeded to introduce the other two chasers, Hattie Burte, and Oscar O'Malley, the keeper Harold Yates, and the two beaters Lila Meadows and Nigel Hobbs. Lastly, the long and lanky seeker, and Phoebus Summerby waved to the crowd as he was introduced to cheers from his house. The two teams met in the centre of the pitch and formed a circle around Professor Saint.
The professor, looking as ill-tempered as ever, said a few words to the players. After the two captains shook hands, they all kicked off and soared into the air to even more cheers. For a few minutes, the plays zoomed around their respective sides of the field. The keepers rose to their hoops, and the seekers climbed high above the pitch and began circling slowly.
Finally Professor Saint kicked open the crate and unleashed the bludgers with a flicker of her wand. The two melon sized iron balls rocketed off into the sky like cannon balls. He noticed as Fiona's leaned forward, her gaze fixed on the snitch as it was released, and then zoomed off. Fiona seemed to be able to track the tiny sphere a good few seconds after he had lost it, before finally also losing it.
Finally the former beater levitated the Quaffle up to hip height, and flung it off into the sky and blew her whistle just as the enchanted ball reached its apoapsis, and began to descend unnaturally slowly.
"And they are off," Tommy's voice echoed across the stadium. "Aston diving in from the top right, his side but is cut off by O'Malley and takes possession. Nice move there! O'Malley ducks Fitz, passes too Burtle. Off she goes dodges MacGreggor, nice move. Aston comes up fast from behind, and—oh, would you look at that!—he snatches the Quaffle right out of Burte's hands!" Tommy's voice rang out, filled with excitement. "Gryffindor takes control, and Aston streaks across the pitch like a comet, heading straight for the Hufflepuff goalposts!"
"Nice opening move by O'Malley," Amalia admitted grudgingly.
"No kidding," he said, mentally already restructuring some of their training routine. They would be facing Slytherine first, but this was not looking like the Hufflepuff team he had expected to meet this year. They watched the chasers zoom back and forth across the field, weaving in and out of each other.
"O'Malley passes Quaffle to Burte!" Tommy yelled, his voice seemingly stumbling over itself. "But the Quaffle intercepted by Fitz!"
Fitz, the Quaffle now clutched under her arm, streaked back up the pitch, her hair flying as she dodged a bludger sent her way Meadows.
"Nice dodge there by Fitch-watch her go. Dodges Longfellow!" Tommy narrated, his familiar voice grating on Alexander's nerves.
Fitz approached from her right side, and at the last third she started crossing down the median line across the goal and when MacGregor swooped in to block him, he tossed the Quaffle backwards where it was caught by Brian crossing through his wake.
"Nice block attempt, but Aston has the Quaffle. He is free in front of the goal. Yates coming out to close the range!"
Sure enough the Hufflepuff Keeper came out, trying to close the angle. But Brian drew his arm arm back, rotating his torso on the broom, and flung the ball. It was a solid, hard throw, and with his current velocity added the Quaffle shot through the right hoop. "Ten points for Gryffindor, Aston scores the first goal of the season after one hell of an assist by Fitz!" Tommy screamed, his magnified voice assaulting Alexander's ears, fortunately Tommy's voice was soon drowned out by the red and gold part of the stands erupting into cheers.
It was, Alexander reluctantly admitted. Alexander liked to think he was a good keeper, better than Yates, but he would probably not have saved that throw either.
As Yates zoomed off to retrieve the Quaffle, Aston made a little victory loop, and directed the ocean of red and gold in the stands cheers from the back of his broom. "Show off," Fiona muttered.
Yates lost little time and the moment the Quaffle reached the center of the pitch Professor Saint whistle sounded out and the game continued. In the next ten minutes Gryffindor scored three more goals, while Hufflepuff followed with two of its own. He had meant to take notes, but Amalia had claimed his right hand as her own, leaving him resigned to drinking Butterbeer and eating biscuits instead with his spare hand.
Suddenly a gasp passed through the crowd as Susan, who had been circling ahead far began, began diving down towards the pitch like a meteor. Phoebus Summerby, spotted her go, and tore after her. Alexander squinted down at the grass far below, looking for the gold glint of the golden snitch.
"Abbott goes into a sharp dive!" Tommy's voice echoed through the stands, brimming with excitement. "Summerby right on her tail!"
"Oh that must have Hurt!" he yelled as little Abbot was grazed by a bludger, seemingly coming from nowhere after being sent her way in the last moment by Hobbs.
Clutching her slight shoulder, the Gryffindor swerved off to the side, while the Hufflepuff seeker continued on his way. The yellow and black crowd began sheering, but fell silent again when the second seeker too pulled out close to the ground and slowed down as he began climbing back up.
"Close call for Abbott! A daring feint that nearly ended in disaster!" Tommy's magically amplified voice resounded, brimming with false sympathy. "Gryffindor's Seeker will have to be more careful—or just more lucky—next time!"
"Oh, just shut up," Amalia murmured under her breath, taking another sip of Butterbeer and leaning into Alexander's side.
"Fiona," Alexander asked quietly, leaning slightly in her direction. "What do you think?"
"I did not see a snitch," Fiona remarked quietly. "Could have been a faint."
"Or it could have been a genuine sighting," Lavanya added, her brow furrowing. "But the bludger threw Abbott off."
"Maybe," Fiona said doubtfully. "But Phoebus definitely made a blind dive there."
On the pitch, the Chasers wasted no time capitalising on the seekers' momentary distraction. Burte from Hufflepuff darted forward with a burst of speed, Quaffle tucked securely under her arm. MacGregor tried to flank her, but she dipped low and spiralled around his broom's tail and crowd gasped at the admittedly pretty graceful manoeuvre.
"Burte cuts inside MacGregor—nice flying from the Hufflepuff Chaser!" Tommy Madison's voice came booming over the crowd. "She passes to O'Malley—O'Malley making a sprint there—he's lining up a shot—"
O'Malley drew back his arm, aiming for the left hoop. The Gryffindor Keeper, Jones, hovered tensely in front of the rings, ready to move at any hint of the Quaffle's trajectory. With a sudden burst of acceleration, O'Malley hurled the crimson ball straight at the hoop. Jones dove for the Quaffle—and missed it by a whisker.
"Hufflepuff scores!" Tommy Madison shouted, his voice rattling through the stands. "Burte and O'Malley show us that teamwork pays off! That brings the score to forty all and the game is tied!"
"Hufflepuff is better than last year," Lavanya muttered.
"Not that is saying much, they were horrible," Hector replied evenly.
"They've certainly improved their passing and positioning," Alexander agreed, leaning forward on the bench. The tie score had breathed new life into the stands. Clusters of Gryffindor supporters chanted old house songs, trying to rally their team while the Hufflepuff contingent roared with an optimism that hadn't been seen in a while.
Its pride wounded, Gryffindor neither would nor could let that stand. In a matter of moments, Aston, Fitz, and MacGregor ramped up the pace, coordinating a lightning-fast series of passes while the two beaters flanked them, knocking the Quaffle back and forth between them and then sending it at Longfellow when he came in to put pressure on Aston. Fitz ducked and sped up, darting beneath O'Malley's outstretched arm before dropping the Quaffle into MacGregor's waiting grasp. MacGregor to accelerated, hugging the edge of the pitch's boundary as he surged towards the Hufflepuff hoops.
"Look at that passing!" Tommy Madison's commentary rang out, his tone vibrating with fresh excitement. "Fitz and MacGregor trading the Quaffle as if they've practiced all summer—which they likely have! MacGregor closing in..."
A bludger, slammed hard by Hufflepuff's Nigel Hobbs, whistled towards MacGregor's ribs. The Gryffindor Beater, Molly Fraser, shot forward, her club meeting iron with a resounding 'crack!' that sent the bludger spiralling harmlessly away.
It was home free from then, and Duncan MacGregor slammed the Quaffle past Yates and through the left hoop just before Burte or O'Malley with their fancy racing brooms could catch up. Perhaps the rapid counter score had undermined their confidence, because Hufflepuff lost the Quaffle after it was back in play, and twenty seconds later Aston followed up with another throw that let the keeper in Alexander squirm, making the score sixty to forty, and letting the red and gold part of the crowd erupt into cheers and house carols. Another forty seconds later Fitz followed up, making it seventy to forty, sending Gryffindor house into a fever pitch while his fellow teammates and Amalia groaned. Philip even offered a few colourful curses.
Finally, Hufflepuff seemed to recover from their shell-shock because Longfellow called back his chasers and they took up position deep in their side of the pitch, blocking any straight attempt at the goal while the two beaters put on a sterling show of sending a out bludger after the Gryffindor chasers whenever they tried anything fancy. They held quite well, but despite some very solid positioning on Hufflepuff's side, a few very good saves by both Hobbs and Jones, Alexander watched Gryffindor expand its lead. "We need to adjust positioning," he muttered to Fiona. "We play our current doctrine against Gryffindor they'll crush us."
"And manoeuvre play," Fiona added sardonically. "That too,- basically everything."
Alexander leaned forward, elbows on his knees, studying the patterns of Gryffindor's attack with a keen eye. He noted how Brian Aston led the chasers in tight, overlapping arcs, forcing Hufflepuff's defenders to commit early and spread thin. Fitz and MacGregor would hover off to the sides, ready to cut in at a moment's notice, their movements less predictable but clearly rehearsed. It was a choreography of feints and sudden bursts, and for all of Hufflepuff's efforts, it showed they still lacked the aggressive precision Gryffindor had built over the years and Alexander had learned to grow weary off.
"And Summerby is diving!" Tommy yelled, his voice grating on Alexander's nerves. He looked up sure enough the Hufflepuff seeker was in a steep dive down towards the pitch. Aston and Fitz also put in a burst of speed to block him, opening up the path for Burte who had just won the Quaffle to hard-charge for the Gryffindor goal. It was a beautiful faint, if Alexander had ever seen one. A moment later the Abbot girl also dove, though in an entirely different directions.
"She found it," Fiona muttered under her breath. Alexander took her word for it. He himself hadn't spotted the bloody thing, but then, she was their Seeker for a reason.
Burte took his shot, though it was saved by Jones and suddenly the other plays seem to notice the second year diving through their midst. "Oh!" Tommy exclaimed, his voice rising in an excited pitch as if only now realising that the Gryffindor seeker was now also moving. "Abbott is diving, where does she think she is going!"
While Phoebus Summeerby pulled out of his faint, Susan Abbot pulled out of the dive into the horizontal, and then turned and sped towards them. As she approached she raised her hand. Finally Alexander spotted the snitch, a glint of gold, speeding towards them, with the second year in hot pursuit. Phoebus, apparently also realising he was very much in the wrong place at the wrong time, also accelerated towards them. He was far away, and with the points in Gryffindor's being as far ahead as they were, the snitch would be a lot less crafty at evading than it would have been earlier. The second year reached out, and a moment later her gloved hand closed around the winged golden sphere.
The crowd erupted as Susan pulled up sharply, her hand raised high, the glittering Golden Snitch clutched in her fingers. The roar of cheers and gasps of disbelief from the Gryffindor supporters blended into a cacophony that shook the stands.
"Abbott catches the Snitch!" Tommy Madison's voice thundered across the pitch, this time tinged with a mix of genuine excitement and surprise after professor Saint's whistle sounded and she rushed after the bludgers to herd them back towards the crate.
Susan triumphantly flew a lap around the pitch, her hand raised above her head as she waved around the Golden Snitch. The Gryffindor supporters erupted in a deafening roar, their red-and-gold scarves waving wildly as the chants of "Gryffindor! Gryffindor!" echoed across the stands.
Hufflepuff fans sat stunned, their cheers faltering as the scoreboard updated:
Gryffindor: 230 Hufflepuff: 60
Tommy Madison's voice boomed with unabashed excitement, despite his house having lost, "And Gryffindor wins! Susan Abbott catches the Snitch, sealing an overwhelming victory for the Lions! What a debut for the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts—truly a performance for the ages! Despite that, a good game by both teams."
Susan looped around the pitch, beaming as her teammates rushed to meet her midair. Brian Aston gave her a celebratory high-five, and the rest of the Gryffindor team joined in a victory formation around their newest star. The crowd's energy was electric, with Gryffindor fans singing their house anthem at the top of their lungs. The visitors too, were cheering after being properly entertained for more than an hour.
While the jubilant Gryffindor team slowly descended to the ground, the Hufflepuff team rallied at their goalpost and he saw Longfellow making a point of clapping his teammates on the shoulders. Despite their loss, they didn't seem too upset. After last year's dismal performance, they had punched well above their weight and held their own against a team that had thrashed all of them the previous year.
Lavanya exhaled deeply, puffing out her cheeks. "Gryffindor is going to be a problem."
"Are you really surprised?" Alexander asked, smirking.
Amalia leaned in, resting her chin on Alexander's shoulder as she watched the Gryffindor team celebrate. "Not surprised, but annoyed. They were already insufferable last year, and now they've got this Abbott girl making a name for herself. How long before they'll start acting like they're the best thing since Merlin?"
Alexander smirked, nudging her lightly. "They do have the trophy, Amalia. And they just made a statement with that game. We're going to have to step up if we want a shot at taking them down."
Fiona crossed her arms, still staring at the pitch. "That Abbott girl is fast. A bit reckless, but fast. We'll need a better strategy to keep her out of the game next time."
Lavanya leaned back, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Oh, I can take her out of the game if push comes to shove. But we also need to focus on Aston and Fitz. Their coordination is leagues ahead of ours."
"Speak for yourself," Philip said and yawned deeply. "Slytherin is ready to meet them."
"You might want to save that confidence for the pitch, Philip," Alexander said, leaning back on the bench as the crowd began to disperse. "Gryffindor's got depth this year, and it's not just their chasers. Fraser and O'Hare were very solid too."
Amalia snorted softly, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "Always the tactician, aren't you? Can't you just admit they're good and let it go for once?"
Alexander turned his head slightly, smirking. "Where's the fun in that? Planning to crush them is half the joy of Quidditch.
Their first match would be against Slytherin, and it was bound to be a friendly but competitive game, however, both of them would have to make their stand against Brian Aston's team sooner or later.
They joined the jubilant crowd heading back towards the castle, chanting Gryffindor house songs, though a few Hufflepuffs braved the tide and responded with their own. So, Maxwell. Did you like it?" Alexander asked as they made their way across lawn.
"I was entertained," his little brother admitted and Alexander slapped him on the shoulder.
Amalia tightened her hold on Alexander's arm, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "Entertained, Maxwell? High praise coming from someone who finds the game beneath him."
Maxwell raised an eyebrow at her, his expression as impassive as ever. "I didn't say it was beneath me. I simply don't find it worth investing time in beyond the occasional spectacle."
"You mean beyond Alexander dragging you out here," Amalia teased, leaning slightly into Alexander.
"That too," Maxwell admitted with a faint smirk, which was as much as anyone could expect from him and Alexander snorted.