Reserve Seeker (day Moody 18 march Focused)
“…and that’s today's Slytherin team. Unlike the Gryffindors there's absolutely nothing surprising about this line-up. Both teams need to win today's match if they want to have a shot at the Cup. Tension levels between the two Houses have been rising higher than the Quidditch Hoops in the last week, and I don't think anyone feels the bad luck of Gryffindor's star players is coincidental.
The reality for the Lions is that three of Gryffindor’s star players are not playing today. I for one, would have liked to have been a fly on the wall in Professor Slughorn’s office when he spoke to the potentially involved students of his House and—”
“Callum, your job is to comment on the game, not to feed us conspiracy theories and gossip.” McGonagall hisses at the Ravenclaw sixth year sitting in the commentator’s box.
“Ah, alright Professor, so we have the Gryffindor Captain grounded, in a far more effective way than any teacher has managed in all of Potter's years pulling pranks at this school—- well, it’s not gossip if it’s true Professor.”
Every seat in the Quidditch pitch is occupied, some last minute arrivals try to find somewhere to stand and still have a good view of the game that’s about to begin.
On the ground the two teams, one clad in bright red, the other a vibrant green, are shaking hands.
“Ouch that looked painful. Captain Wilkes looks more than a little red in the face. Seems he wanted to disable Gryffindor’s reserve seeker before the match, with that excuse for a handshake. But it appears Wilkes miscalculated and is now feeling the sharp claws of the Lions. He should have known better, for she may be small, she’s fierce. I’d not like to be on her bad side, personally.
Now Madame Hooch has her hands full to keep Black, Potter, McKinnon and … the other Black, Mulciber and Sloane from duelling, instead of playing a match.
Down on the field you can see Potter is dragged back to his seat by his classmate. Our Head Boy is not happy to have to sit this one out, that’s for sure.”
Madam Hooch’s whistle pierces through the air. Fourteen witches and wizards take to the sky and soon the game is in full swing.
There’s no easing into the game as both teams aim their bludgers exactly where it will hurt the most. The Quaffle swaps hands rapidly for none of the chasers give an inch of room to the opposing team. The crowds catch on quickly to the atmosphere, and the cheering and vocal support dims to hushed silence within minutes after the game’s starting signal.
McGonagall shakes herself out of the trance that she’s found herself in, like most of the spectators and nudges the commentator whose mouth hangs half open.
“Callum, stay focused. Commentary?”
“Oh, I am sorry Professor. Alright then, we’re seven minutes away and so far the score remains nil-nil. Potter looks about to die down there and well, it seems his Housemates aren’t doing much better. Small conciliation that while he’s stuck on the ground, his broom is seeing some action. The reserve Gryffindor seeker is flying on Potter’s Comet 220, but it’s too soon to tell if it will be enough to compensate for the team’s heavy adjustments in their normal line-up.
We must assume she at least acquainted herself well enough with Potter’s broomstick, for she is still firmly in the saddle, so to speak—ah foul play by Nott, and…oh... another foul, this time it's Black. The handsome one.”
“Callum!”
“Well, how am I supposed to tell them apart, Professor?”
Madame Hooch whistles and gives a penalty to Gryffindor. The Slytherin students suddenly come alive. The yelling and booing is deafening. The other students start to stamp their feet and soon the world is a cacophony of sounds.
“And Tracy Cook scores. Wilkes is too slow, to absolutely no one's surprise. And down on the ground it’s Potter who’s giving last minute instructions to his teammates."
Again silence falls over the stadium as the play continues. Bludgers come dangerously close to taking players out, but by a miracle everyone remains on their brooms as both teams fight relentlessly to get the Quaffle through the hoops.
“It’s forty to eighty to Slytherin, despite the penalties and brave defense of Gryffindor. Slytherin have the more experienced team and they are playing at full strenght. It’s a shame as well, most people would have liked to see this match with Gryffindor's star players in the air instead of the Hospital wing or on the grass. Aurelia Fortescue is shouting at the Gryffindor chaser’s in the air, she’d definitely do things differently if it were her up there, but coaching is not the same as playing and there’s another goal to Slytherin.
Perhaps we ought to focus on more important things than who will win or lose this particular match, as there is more in the world than Quidditch. Such as the fact that James Potter received more Valentine fan mail this morning than anyone else in the castle. I’d say that might ease the pain for the Gryffindor Captain, should things continue this way.”
“Callum, the game IS still going. It's not over yet!”
“Sorry Professor— trying to see the silver lining....Aaaand another bludger straight at the shoulder or Cook, she drops the Quaffle in order to stay on her broom. Preferring not to plunge to certain death. It’s a killing out there. Not sure if that’s what sportsmanship should be about…”
“Callum… please refrain from moralising, just tell us what's happening. Facts. Not opinions.”
“Professor, it’s a fact that a fall from that height would be fatal… but I get your point. Facts. I believe the score is hundred to…nope, a hundred-and-forty to only fifty in favour of Slytherin. They are banking their advantage. I still think it’s unfair they would win this way…”
“Callum, what did I say?” McGonagall looks ready to pull the gangly teenager’sby his ears.
“And Black is on his way, he too got quite some post this morning. Is it enough to fuel his usually laid back play-style into something more energetic? It would seem that’s the case, or the fact he probably hates losing to his baby brother.”
“Ah” a collective gasp runs through the stadium, while the Quaffle flies through Gryffindor’s left hoop. Black curses loudly, at the same time everyone else is holding their breaths, Potter stands up and looks as if he’s about to run on the pitch.
“The score… what is the score? I’m sorry Professor but this game has the most annoying scoring system. Seriously, I swear that it’s worse than tennis. Wait, wait, what’s going on? It’s…”
The Gryffindor seeker who'd stayed far and high above the battle mid-air, so as to avoid any stray bludgers, suddenly dives down, almost in a straight line to the ground. It looks more like falling than flying from the stands below. Slytherin's seeker, also slight, but with black hair, turns sharply from where he's hovering and starts a descent, slower and without purpose. Moments later he spots what she must have seen and launches into a dive of his own.
“There’s another blasted bludger headed for our Head Girl, who seems to have lost control over her broom. I can not tell you if she’s doing this Radetzky Feint thing or if she’s lost all control and care for her own well-being. Last I heard she only got one letter this morning, rather confronting when your co Head has more chocolate boxes and flirting daffodils, not to mention the Rhyming Roses who are the real hit this year, to know what to do with. Frankly, if I were her, I’d go mad.”
“Callum, stick-to-Quidditch and Quidditch only.” McGonagall says, never taking her eyes off the two figures still hurtling towards the green grass of the pitch with alarming speed. Neither makes an indication they will pull up. The whole stadium has gone completely still. Everyone watches Evans and Black race down, faster and faster.
The beaters of both teams are still batting bludgers, and one sails uncomfortably close to the two seekers who are only focused on one thing. McKinnon chases and bats the bludger away but as a result the goalpost of Gryffindor is open and the Slytherin chasers pass the quaffle and shoot. The score runs up to a hundred-ninety to fifty. Black and McKinnon are both trying to protect the seekers from the bludgers, but it’s at a cost to Gryffindor's defence.
“Oh I can’t look at this, I’m sorry Professor, but I can’t watch them fall to their… Oh dear. What happened, did they hit the ground? There was a thud. Are they still alive? Did either of them catch the snitch? Who caught the snitch? I can’t tell from here. There's the whistle, game is over, but I don’t think even Madame Hooch knows who has the snitch."
Down on the grass Potter runs, a visible limp to his usually athletic stride. His face is drained of any colour and he curses loudly.
Professor McGonagall rushes down to the grass from her position of the commentator's box. Madame Pomfrey is already making her way to the heap of bodies and looks ready to murder someone, preferably anyone who considers Quidditch a good way to spend Valentine’s day, or any Saturday afternoon, for that matter.
“There’s a bundle of brooms lying on the floor. Both Black and Evans are tangled up in there somehow, Madame Hooch is going there now, but Potter is faster, even with his injury, poor guy. Too bad he’s also lost a perfectly good broom today on top of everything. He looks very angry. All that shouting, probably he’s not happy about it and well, losing to Slytherin, this is not a good day for Potter…Oh, Oh... I take that back. The Gryffindor Captain is not concerned about his broom, not at all. He’s fished Evans out of the rubble and, well, he’s kissing her."
From below Professor McGonagall can be heard shouting "Callum!"
"Well, Professor, you told me to stick to the facts. And fact is, our Head-boy is kissing our Head-girl. Who could have predicted this outcome?”
There’s a loud cheering from the Gryffindor students when it becomes clear that Black’s hand is closed over the fist of Lily, who still has her hand firmly around the snitch. The Slytherin students are booing and nearly in tears of frustration. Wilkes swings a bat at the Goalpost, and the hoop comes down with a huge crash. There’s a whistle from Madame Hooch and she’s back on her broom to give Wilkes a piece of her mind.
Callum keeps the commentary going, even now the game is truly and well over. “Can you believe this? He's not so much as looked at the snitch, but everyone else has seen it. What's the score then... Anyone? Huh, Gryffindor catching the snitch makes it 200 to 190, Gryffindor wins. Looks like our Head Boy is kissing Evans to celebrate the win. Risky move, she’s going to kick him in the balls at some point, isn’t she?"
The crowds are cheering and wolfwhistling.
"…Or maybe not?" Callum sounds more than a little surprised.
"The game is over, but Potter and Evans are still kissing… So... if anyone was wondering about asking Potter to Hogsmeade, here’s your answer. You do not stand a chance…could have known really, Potter’s not into chocolate or daffodils and roses, and Evans, she just gave him the snitch…”