Atelophobia

11_ quidditch match

Theo

The Quidditch match hasn't even started and Crabbe and Goyle are already annoying the shit out of me.

Even Malfoy has had enough of them messing around.

"Crabbe, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you to shut your fat mouths?" He yells.

I laugh under my breath, but he catches that too.

"What are you laughing at, Nott? Surely not when we lose to Gryffindor because none of you are taking this seriously?" Says Malfoy.

I put my hands up defensively—the only reason we're going to lose is because our strategy is ass.

I finish putting the rest of my equipment on while Malfoy continues to yell at everyone and saying something about how he can't lose to Potter.

I swear he's always talking about either Potter, his Father, or himself.

Soon enough, we walk out onto the pitch, the cold wind stinging the second we do.

It would make it much harder to control my broom, but the conditions could always be worse.

"Captains, shake hands," says Madam Hooch.

"Captains," she repeats when they just glower at each other.

They finally agree, both of them visibly almost breaking the other's wrist at how hard their grasps are.

But it's when the whistle blows that the adrenaline finally kicks in.

I push hard off the ground, my broom easily escalating into the air.

Ginny Weasley already has the quaffle, so she's the one I fly towards to steal it.

"Back off, Nott!" She yells, spinning out of my reach.

Damn it.

I fly towards her again, but Crabbe beats me to it, almost knocking her off of the broom.

When the quaffle falls from her arms I speed after it... almost there.

I smile to myself when I grab it right before another one of their Gryffindor chasers does.

Though the wind was strong, I speed towards the other end of the goal, but not right before I spot a bludger coming right towards me.

Thankfully Pike is there, ready to catch the quaffle as I throw it as hard as I can at him.

He manages to secure it, knocking into anyone in his path as he flies towards the goal.

But the idiot throws it right where Weasley can block it, which he does.

"Merlin," I mutter.

The Gryffindors are already quickly coming across the field, easily dodging through our formation.

They pass it strategically, somehow avoiding every single attempted interception and soaring towards the goal.