In Ink and Inheritance (Book 1)

Chapter 15 - When the Wind Fell Still

Oliver Wood's POV

The rain came down like a curse.

Not a drizzle. Not a storm. A monsoon. Sheets of icy water slammed into us from all directions, turning the air into needles and the pitch into a whirlpool of mud and chaos. I'd played in bad weather before - but this? This was the kind of game that turned into legend or disaster.

I squinted through my goggles, flying blind half the time. My fingers were numb on the handle of my broom, even with gloves. The wind screamed through the stands like a living thing.

Still, we flew.

Still, we fought.

Because that's what Gryffindor does.

Harriet was high above us all, slicing through the sky like she belonged to it. Even soaked through, she was still graceful - sharp-eyed and silent. She hadn't come down once since the match started, hadn't missed a beat.

I was so damn proud of her.

Until I saw her pause.

Midair.

Stiff.

Then came the cold - not from the storm, but from something else. Something deeper. Something that turned the marrow in your bones to ice.

That's when I saw them.

Dementors.

Dozens of them, gliding across the pitch like smoke with purpose. Not supposed to be here. Not during the match. Not this close to her.

Harriet hovered in place, swaying.

She didn't dive.

She didn't fly.

She froze.

And then her broom started to tip.

"NO-" I screamed, but the wind ate the sound.

I dove, fast - faster than I ever had before - my stomach bottoming out as she tumbled from the sky.

Her body spun through the rain, dark against darker clouds, her broom spiraling off in the opposite direction like a puppet cut loose.

The stands screamed.

I couldn't hear them.

All I could see was her.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

She hit the pitch with a sickening thud and didn't move.

I hit the ground seconds later, slipping in the mud as I ran toward her - legs numb, throat raw, water blinding me. The world narrowed to her shape curled against the soaked grass.

"Harriet-" I choked, kneeling hard beside her. She was pale. Drenched. Her lips slightly parted. Her wand still clutched in her fingers like she hadn't even realized she was falling.

I grabbed her hand.

"Harriet, come on-wake up."

Nothing.

Rain pounded down on both of us.

Someone shouted behind me - McGonagall, I think. And Pomfrey. I heard thunder crash. The Dementors were retreating. Someone had cast a Patronus - probably Dumbledore.

But I didn't care.

She wasn't moving.

I pressed my forehead to her wet knuckles, breath hitching.

"I've got you," I whispered. "You're not going anywhere. Not while I'm here."

Lightning lit up the pitch.

And all I could do was hold on.