Duplicitous | T.N.

XL • The real Fox

By a quarter to six am, Theo and the team were on their brooms going through tactics and strategies. His lungs strained as he pushed on. "Ravenclaws are ruthless strategists, they are good. Be better." Flint roared amongst the soaring brooms.

Theodore had been a chaser since third year. He found the most thrill in the centre of the storm, the action. No moment was boring, every second depended on the game. Of course no matter how fun, and action pact his position may be, it was also the most tiring.

The ball came to him, and off he went. Chest lowered he pushed through the air at reckless speeds, he clutched the quaffle with one hand, as he gripped with broom with the right. Dodging past the opposition was easy for him, along with scoring, he liked to believe those were the qualities he was chosen for, but it was probably because of his ambition, his shared thirst for victory. That was the one trait each and every boy on the field shared.

No girl had been on the Slytherin quidditch team for over thirty years and by the looks of it, Theodore predicted it would remain that way. He once had urged Pansy to join, fifth year, she had a knack for beating people up, he figured her arm would be much more precise and vicious than the current buffoons elected beaters, Crabbe and Goyle. She wasn't interested.

If anything Pansy would be the most feared on the team, she was most certainly one of the strongest people he knew. Not only physically but mentally too, an openly gay girl in the time that they lived in, with the entitled snobs that they lived with. She had to have the thick skin, and hers was shielded with the richest and purest rocks known to man and woman, if Pansy were there she's insist he add that, despite the knowledge that his monologue was internal, he thought it regardless.

"Daydreaming Nott?" Flint roared from bellow, arms lifted at his sides in condescending questioning. "Stop thinking about your next shag, and get on with it!" Rolling his eyes, Theo returned his focus to the game, careful not to allow his thoughts to slip once again.

Quidditch was a phenomenal outlet for the Nott boy. Anger had been his drive for year, his core emotion, it's what inspired him to be the way he was and despite how well he had managed to mask the bubbling fury that tented to temper rather easily, he couldn't go around causing chaos as he wished. Quidditch solved that for him, kept him calm, for a good minute at least. When he was on the field he liked to believe he had a better chance to unleash that un-quelled rage.

His Slytherin team mates did not oppose to his careless outbursts of anger, for the field was the perfect outlet for all of them. Amongst Theodore that morning, he was surrounded by temperamental and easily triggered wizards. Each had their own dark story to tell. That was an unspoken truth they each shared and the Slytherin team was ruthless for it.

The exercise increased as their breathing worsened. Their complexions glistened from the beady sweat that had been forced from them, gravity seemed to be working against them, tugging harshly as their body's pleaded to give in. The floor looked so cozy. Flint himself grew tired, and only then were they given the relief of escape.

•  •  •

After their quick showers, changed into their casual sporting attire, the boys rushed back to the castle, each rushing for a goblet of water, any source of refreshment. As the group of young athletes jogged through the entry of the castle, Theodore came to a sudden stop at the sight of Aurora Flores with her head down as she scurried past the bunch.

The two hadn't conversed in weeks, the library meetings they continued to have became dull and silent, back to the way it was before. She never made an effort to speak to him unless it was vital or if she happened to be in a glorified mood.

Suddenly he no longer noticed how desperate his throat was for water. The warning his mind released became a faint tap in the back of his head in appose to the consistent banging before hand. Refreshment was no longer his priority.
Instead he quickly ruffled and puffed his hair, using the reflection of the nearest window to guide him. Licking the pads of his thumb he ran his finger over his eyebrows in an attempt to fix them.