Fight Me

You were sat on your bed, staring through the darkness as you waited for everyone else in the room to fall asleep, listening to their snoring as you played with the hem of your jumper. You got some weird looks from the other girls in your room for changing into a jumper and jeans instead of pyjamas, but they thought you were weird enough and luckily didn't question you. 

You decided that everyone was asleep, grabbing your wand off the nightstand and quietly fumbling over to the door, cautiously unlocking it and sliding out, closing it slowly after you so as to not wake anyone up. The common room was lit by the fire that was still crackling, heating up the castle as it fluttered. You walked past it, making your way out of the common room and standing just outside the entrance, slightly anxious about being caught by a teacher. It was about 10:58, thats what it said on the clock in your dorm, and you did as you were instructed; wait outside your common room at 11. You glanced around the dim halls, moonlight wafting in through a high window, painting the corridor a soft grey. 

Suddenly, you felt a hand snake onto your shoulder, sending a wave of panic through your body as you jerked away from it, snapping round and brandishing your wand. In the faint light of the moon you saw a tall boy in front of you, smirking slightly.

“Don’t scare me like that!” You whisper-shouted to George, who suppressed a laugh as he watched you tuck your wand into your back pocket. 

He held up his hands, raising his eyebrows. “Apologies.” He whispered back.

“What are we even doing?” You crossed your arms, slightly anticipating some sort of prank.

George turned round, glancing down the corridor before turning back to you. “C’mon.” He started walking away, glancing back at you and waving his hand.

You followed him, jogging to keep up as he confidently strode down the hallway. You followed him to the open archways that lead out into the field, walking out into the still night air. It was crisp, and tasted like autumn as you felt the cool breeze prick at your face, turning blank cheeks red. 

“Where are we going?” You repeated, raising your voice to a normal volume now you were out of the castle. 

“You ask too many questions.” George chuckled, looking down at you as he watched your unamused expression. 

It was light outside, the sky was clear leaving the moon to bathe the wide expanse of grassland in a blue-grey mist, that bounced off every surface, sucking the colour from the world. you were walking towards the quiddich pitch, and you realised what might be happening. You kept quiet, not wanting to disturb the quiet that hung around; it was rare, and you savoured it. 

After another couple minutes of comfortable silence, you and your lanky companion arrived at the quiddich pitch, making your way out to the middle of the grass.

“And why exactly are we here?” You crossed your arms, looking up at George.

He turned to you, smiling proudly. “You said you were gonna practise playing, why not with an actual quiddich player?” 

You smiled at him reluctantly, not wanting to show how happy this made you, but also not wanting so be a bitch. 

“Alright then,” You threw your hands down by your sides. “Teach me how to play quiddich.”

George hopped to action, immediately jogging over to the side of the pitch, where there was a pile of equipment. He came back with it all in hand, dumping it onto the ground. 

“Now,” He said, his voice painted with a tinge of excitement. “Safety first.” He said, holding up a set of protective gear that you'd seen him wear at games. “It’s important that you don’t die before tomorrow, or you automatically lose, and that would just be embarrassing.”

He held up a leather chest protector, smiling at you. 

“If you insist.” You smiled back.

He unclipped it, handing it to you to slide on. It was bulky, and smelled slightly of sweat, but at least it would reduce your chances of dying. As you put it on, George gestures for you to turn around. You did and he clipped it up on the back, pulling it tight do it didn't fall off. He ran his hands down the sides, checking if it fit, and the feeling of his fingers brush your body sent a small tingle down your spine, but you Chalked that up to you being cold and him being warm. Next, he held up a helmet, dusting it off before unbuckling it. He looked at you, hesitating momentarily before brushing your hair back, and putting it on your head. He bent down, carefully fastening it under your chin and you watched the concentration in his eyes as he did, watching the caramel irises throw the moonlight back out onto you. He clicked it shut, looking up at you before standing back up, surveying his work.

He hesitated for a second, before raising his fist and hitting you on the head.

“Hey!” You said, fully ready to tackle him.

“Just testing that it works.” He chuckled, before putting his own helmet on and picking up two brooms. 

He handed one to you, watching as you stared at it, half in awe and half in fear.

“You have flown before, right?” He said, slightly worried.

“Yeah, a couple times, in Madame Hooch’s class.”

“And how’d that go?”

“Well,” You said, realising exactly how shit you were at flying. “It went.”

George sighted, only now realising what he'd gotten himself into.

“So,” He started. “You know how to hover?”

You stepped over the broom, sitting down and leaning forward slightly, putting all of your effort into not falling off as you hovered above the ground. “Yup.”

George joined you, hovering a couple of feet above ground as he spoke.

“And you can fly?”

“I can try.”

He looked around, spotting the three goal rings as the right hand side of the pitch. “Follow me then.” He flew over to them, stopping in the middle of the tallest one.

You gulped, slightly intimidated by the height, but you weren't gonna show it. You leaned forward, flying smoothly over to him and stopping in front of him, trying your best not too fall, because you'd probably die.

“Great.” George said. “So, do you actually know how to play quiddich?”

“Yeah!” You said, slightly offended. “I think you're forgetting that I've been there the majority of times that you've played, and you literally watched me watch Harry play yesterday.”

“Ok, well at least thats a start.” He nodded his head, contemplating what to say next. “So, you and Harry are going head-to-head in a match to see how wins, and thats being determined by who catches the snitch.” He took a small golden ball out of his trouser pocket, holding it up in front of his face. “This little bugger here’s fast, and tricky to catch, so you better be smart about it.”

You nodded, looking at the snitch as the moonlight coated it, carving patterns and swirls against the shadows on its golden surface. 

George continued. “That’s all you have to do: Catch this thing, and then you win.”

“Simple enough.” You said, wondering why you were doing something so easy. 

George just laughed, looking at you with a pitiful look on his face. “It’s cute that you think that.”

Before you had time to react he opened his palm, and the snitch unfurled two wings, that buzzed like a particularly extravagant bee a few centimetres above his hand. It shot off, speeding away from you so fast that you could barely track where it was.

“Oh…” Was all you could say as you watched it zip around the pitch like a toddler on cocaine, making you severely regret making this bet.

“And,” George added. “Don’t forget that you're going up against the youngest ever seeker.”

You sighed, realising you were destined to loose. “So basically, I'm fucked.”

“I never said that,” He flew up next to you. “Im just saying that when you do win, the victory will be all the more sweet.” He looked down at you, hope splayed across his face as he grinned. 

You couldn't say you had much faith in yourself at that particular moment, but you trusted George, and if he said that you could win, then you believed that you could win. 

You spent the next hour or so chasing after the snitch, gradually getting more and more confident on the broom, and being able to flay after and turn quicker. It wasn't much, but it was far better than what you could do yesterday.

The cool air was nipping at your nose as you leant forward, your eyes fixed on the small golden ball in front of you. You zipped left, then right, then left again as you followed it’s trail, never lagging behind. George was next to you, also trying to catch it as you raced. It dropped down, and you dropped with it, falling down through the air until you were about a foot off the ground. The snitch was hovering a few inches above the ground as it shot across the pitch, the sound of grass hitting agent its belly faintly snapping through the air. You were gaining on it, rapidly, and it was only a little out of reach. George was also close, and due to him being one lanky motherfucker his arms could reach far further than yours. Luckily you were a little ahead of him, and directly in front of the snitch. You reached out your hand, leaning forward slightly as you grabbed at the air in front of you. You felt the smooth metal bench your finger tips as you stretched your arm out, victor almost in your grasp.

You were almost close enough to grab it when you leaned forward just too much, the front of your broom, skidding across the ground and stopping dead, throwing you off like a bucking horse. You were flung though the air, hearing the brook snap clean in half from the impact as you braced yourself. You were about to hit the ground, when you felt something collide with you, wrapping around your waist and curling around your body, acting as a shock absorber as you hit the ground, rolling violently across the grass as you closed your eyes shut.

The cold grass cushioned your fall, but not enough to prevent you getting hurt as you came to a stop with a ringing pain in your cheek. You froze for a second, eyes shut, body tense as you processed what just happened. You could feel something wrapped around you, pulling you in tight. You opened your eyes, realising that your head was tucked into Georges chest as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You heard his breathing, fast and short; scared. You tried to look up, realising that his head was pressed against yours, cradling you in the crook of his neck.

You took a second to catch your breath, hearing George catch his too, before speaking.

“George?” You muttered, almost inaudibly.

He didn't respond, only shifted, loosening his grip on you as he lifted his head up, unwrapping his arms form around you and laying out on the grass in relief. You were still laying on his arm, both of you catching your breath as you realised that you were, in-fact, alive. You looked over at him as he stared up, a slightly dazed expression painted on his face. He looked back, meeting your eye. 

You both burst out laughing. You couldn't contain yourself, you were so filled with adrenaline that your hands were shaking, and it was hilarious. You laid laughing in the middle of the pitch for a while, until you'd both calmed down a bit and could actually think. 

You looked back over to George, seeing a cut running down the right side of his lower lip, painting his lips crimson with blood that dripped down his chin. 

“George, your lip.” You said, immediately sitting up to inspect it. 

George sat up with you, looking at you as you grabbed his chin, turning his face towards you. The cut wasn't that deep, but it was quite bad.

“What about it?” He asked playfully, his white teeth painted with blood as he spoke.

“It’s split.” You muttered back, still focusing on his injury.

“I’ll survive.” He smiled, suddenly frowning.

“What?” You asked, seeing him look at you concerned.

George reached out a hand, gently wiping your cheek with his thumb. “You’re hurt.” He said, the most serious you'd ever seen him. 

“I’ll survive.” You copied him, chuckling. 

He didn’t react, too focused on the minuscule cut on your cheek. You looked at him, the concentration etched onto his face as he studied you, realising that the blood from his lip was dripping onto his trousers. You reached out, wiping it with your hand, holding it under his chin to catch any more blood.

“C’mon,” You said, “Let’s go back and get you patched up.” 

You both left your armour stuff where you'd found it, propping your broomsticks on the wall of the pitch. The air seemed much less cold than before, mainly due to the possible death scare that you'd just had, and you were too hot for your jumper. You looked over at George, who was holding his hands under his chin to catch the blood as he walked, and took off your jumper, stopping him. You took the sleeve, gently wiping his chin before holding the fabric up to his face, grabbing his hand and holding it over. Your hand lingered over his for a moment, before retreating to your side.

“Does it hurt?” You asked, feeling slightly bad. 

“Nah, it’s nothing.” George said, the usual light and welcoming tone laced though his voice that made you feel welcome. “Does your cheek hurt?” He asked quickly. “Because you should probably get it checked out, or at least clean it, or-“

“Alright.” You interrupted him as he seemingly spiralled into anxiety over the tiny cut on your cheek. You wiped it; it was a scratch, and it wasn't even bleeding anymore. “I’m fine, you're not, so let’s just focus on you.”

“Well, I-“ 

You took your wand out of your pocket, jokingly threatening him with it. “If you say one more word then I’ll turn you into a frog.”

Fittingly George shut up, miming a lock and key at his mouth. You walked in comfortable silence for a while, the air around you buzzing for one reason or another. You glanced up at George, catching him with a half-stifled smile as he watched his feet tread over the ground. You wondered what he was thinking about.