Even some two weeks later, you were still having nightmares about your horrid detention with Professor Snape. It had taken six hours to put the room back in order and you hadn't managed to return to your dormitory until 2:30 the next morning. By the time you had finished, the room was immaculate, Snape had almost fainted from complete and utter shock. But you were more than happy to put the incident in the past, shaking a few fading memories of the horrid black goo—which had to be scraped off of the walls—out of your head, as your raced towards the Quidditch pitch. And, to no one's surprise, you were running late.
You burst through the doors of the stadium, broom in hand, observing your team, already floating in the air, idly. No one seemed to notice your sudden entrance, until a sharp, drawling voice pierced the crisp autumn air. "There you are Middlebrook! It's about time our team captain showed up," Marcus Flint shouted, emphasizing team captain, heavily.
You rolled your eyes, shooting him a disapproving scowl. Marcus Flint was two years ahead of you and arguably had more experience, though Professor Snape seemed to disagree, allowing you to take charge of the team. Flint was still in a bitter rage that a second year had managed to steal his title of team captain, even two years later. Marcus didn't like you, that was rather obvious, his irritating mindset still lost in the middle ages of male superiority. You were the only female on the team, but you were by far Slytherin's best player. You were faster, more intelligent, more organized, and more familiar in tactile strategy, than any of your teammates. Not to mention the fact that you were the first female Slytherin team captain in Hogwart's history. It had even surprised you, when you made the team your first year, despite all of the boys' opposition.
"Sod off, Flint! At least I'm here, lucky for your sorry ass! Or need I remind you that Slytherin wouldn't have won the House Quidditch Cup the last 3 years if it weren't for me!" You weren't one to indulge in arrogance and you found no pleasure in an inflated ego, but at the same time, you weren't one to take shit from anyone solely based on your gender. Flint snarled, his crooked and yellowing teeth showing. You sent him a harsh glare, as the rest of the boys averted their eyes in intimidation. They all knew that you were right, though they were far too prideful to admit it, especially in front of Flint.
"Then get your ass up here, Princess, and do your damn job!" Flint barked as you scowled. He was such an ignorant prat and if personality had affected Quidditch skills, Marcus would have never made the team to begin with. You kicked off the ground, your Nimbus 2000 soaring high above the rest, giving you a heightened advantage.
"I would, if you'd shut the hell up, long enough for me to get a sentence out, Flint," you spat his name in disgust. He rolled his eyes as you glared at him in frustration. You turned to face the rest of your team, looking at them expectantly. "Well?! What are you waiting for?! Get up there and prove to me that you aren't pathetic enough to lose to those damn Gryffindors!"
The boys groaned as they flew off in separate directions, Adrian Pucey cradling the bright red Quaffle in his arms, as Terence released the snitch from his grasp. You smirked to yourself, heading towards the center of the pitch. The Quidditch season had officially begun.
Time Skip
The boys fumed as the stormed off the filed, tired, sweaty, covered in mud, and enraged. Today's practice had centered itself around defense tactics, and while they had done well, they could have done better, as you had been able to slip past all of them, without fail. They needed to be pushed, harder than ever before. That meant more practices, more frequently. You rolled your eyes once again, placing the Quaffle back into its crate as Flint stalked over to you.
"What the hell was that?! What kind of demented practice was that?! I'll tell you what it was, it was pathetic! You call that training?! The fact of the matter is, Middlebrook, you're nothing but a show off. You think you're so talented just because Snape made you our damn captain! Big mistake! Trust me, your highness, I could have done better!"
"You're one to talk, Flint. Or did you forget that I just kicked your ass in defense drills, not even two hours ago? You know, I have always wondered why you didn't get into Ravenclaw, but I think I've figured it out. Or are you throwing a temper tantrum because a measly fourth-year girl was able to best Marcus Flint," you growled, your voice dangerously calm. He gritted his teeth in anger, taking a step closer to you in an effort of intimidation.
"Listen here (Y/N)! And listen carefully..." you snorted in amusement, cutting him off before he could finish. His rage seethed under your smug gaze.
"Or what, Marcus? Please, by all means, tell me what you're going to do? You may think that you have this team under your thumb, but unlike the rest of your so called friends, I'm not afraid of you and I don't give a damn about your opinion. But you are right about one thing, Snape made me captain, that means I make the decisions. I would tread carefully if I were you, because you are on my team and I am the on calling the shots. So, I suggest that you stay the hell out of my way, unless, you would prefer I find a new Chaser," you warned. He opened his mouth, ready to shoot back another snide remark, when, unexpectedly, his lips curled themselves into an evil smirk. You felt your anger surging as he looked you up and down, letting out a sinister cackle, that made your skin crawl.
"You know what, Middlebrook? You're kind of hot when you're mad," he commented, slyly, his crooked grin appearing, making you scowl in disgust.
"What are you suggesting," you spat out. Marcus stepped closer to you, backing you into the wall of the stadium. You felt your spine hit the wood of the stands as you glared up at him, jaw clenched, your fingers curling into a fist, ready to throw a punch.
"I'm suggesting... that we make a deal," he drawled, twisting his lips into a cruel smirk.
"What kind of deal..." you snarled as he moved closer, placing his palm against the wall, adjacent to your head, trapping you in place. He shifted, leaning in to whisper in your ear.
"You let me take you out on a date and I'll let you kiss me. Maybe we can get some of that practice you keep going on about, in tonight, down in the dungeons," he whispered, cooly. You felt your (E/C) eyes catch fire in an angry rage, as you looked up at him.
"In your dreams, Flint," you snarled, forcefully sending your knee into his crotch, making his scream in agony, as he fell to the ground. He looked up at you, writhing in pain, trying not cry, making you smirk. You gave him a pitiful look, just as your brought the heel of your boot down onto his shin, hearing something crack, as he released an ear-splitting cry. You walked past him, towards the locker rooms, with a wicked smile. "Better luck next time! Maybe I'll consider going a bit easier on you, Marcus," you taunted, exiting the stadium.
YOU ARE READING
Too Shy To Tell You (Cedric Diggory x Reader)
Fanfiction(Y/N) Middlebrook was terribly excited for her fourth year at Hogwarts, but at the same time, she was extremely anxious. This was the year she wanted to tell her crush that she was hopelessly in love with him. But how? Cedric Diggory. He was practic...
