𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 | 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

Arresto Momentum

Elodie winced. "Yes, sir."

The spell was simple: "legilimens", but the execution was much harder.

Elodie tried very hard to produce an outcome, but was wracked with nerves-probably why it wasn't working. Elodie's magic never worked well when she was nervous.

Occasionally she would get flashes of what he was thinking about: sometimes it would be a pair of big green eyes, and others it was a rusting hospital sign.

Elodie couldn't work out where these images were from, and they disappeared as fast as they came.

She had to have tried the legilimens spell on him at least 60 times, feeling more drained after each attempt. Snape was on the verge of shouting at her; he was of the opinion that mind reading was an unfailingly simple task.

He tried it on her, and it worked immediately. Scenes brimmed to the surface of her mind, the ones she wanted him to see the very least. Oliver's lips, on the Gryffindor couch, her mother, sobbing on the floor of their one-bedroom apartment, the roof of the Hogwarts Express, Fred, and the Whomping Willow-

"Stop!" Elodie sobbed. "Please, stop."

Snape lowered his wand. "Weak." He muttered.

It was midnight when she got back to the common room, as it usually was. Fred and Romilda were in one of the squashy red armchairs, curled up like cats against each other.

Elodie felt a habitual pang of jealousy, and promptly let it go. She was too tired for this.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

September 5, 1993

"Listen, ladies. Lads. If we loose this match, I will physically harm all of you."

Oliver was pacing back and fourth in the Gryffindor changing rooms, eyes blazing. He looked a bit manic, to be honest.

"Ollie," Katie chided. "Calm, deep, breaths."

Oliver didn't seem to have any intention on taking calm, deep breaths, and instead stared stonily at his team. It was his last year at Hogwarts, and there were scouts in the stands, Elodie was sure of it. She didn't blame Oliver for being on edge.

Elodie's stomach churned, as it usually did before games, but in the good, exhilarating way, and not the anxious, going to throw up way that she felt whenever she was near Fred these days. Of course, she was always near Fred, so this was a bit of an ongoing problem.

"Does anyone have a better pep talk?" Alicia prompted.

"Ok, lads, ladies!" Fred stepped up to the front of the room, speaking in his usual, energetic, commanding voice. "Get out there and fuck shit up!" He grinned.

Everyone laughed thankfully, set at ease for the first time. The team placed themselves in formation as Madame Hooch blew her whistle.

Elodie immediately took possession of the quaffle as the game began, and whizzed off toward the Hufflepuff hoops, their beater right on her tail.

It was a brilliant day-she felt completely alive, the wind in her hair and a steady flow of rain nipping her skin. She scored at least three more goals in the first five minutes on the pure thrill of adrenaline.

Oliver had abandoned the goalpost in hopes of helping the beaters attack the opposing team, and the three chasers were tasked with keeping the quaffle in safe hands while he flew.

Harry and Cedric Diggory were high in the clouds, probably in hopes of finding the snitch, but making the game arduous to track for Lee.

"And Spinnet- no, Florence- ah, now Bell, now Florence again- is in possession of the quaffle, and I think I saw Potter and Diggory right up there, and George Weasley causes Randy Singh to almost fall of his broom there-brutal, mate!" He was shouting over the loud cheers of the crowd.

Alicia had the quaffle, and was sticking it to the poor Hufflepuff keeper: she was new, couldn't have been more than a third year.

Elodie had just spotted Harry once more when something made her stop dead in her tracks. The voice, the one from the train, rang out in her head.

You're a failure. You're going to lose Gryffindor the game. You always lose.

Elodie scrunched up her eyes, a the beginnings of a headache budding in her skull.

The dementors were back; they had to be. The voice hasn't afflicted her since that awful train ride.

A couple other players must have felt something too, as they were playing sluggishly and distractedly. Alicia missed the goal, staring open mouthed at the sky.

Elodie followed her gaze. They were far away, that was for sure. But they were there. Multitudes of hooded figures, swooping about the thick clouds.

You useless slag. He'll never love you.

God, did her mind always have to be on Fred?

The melancholy was back, stronger than before. So was the chill, in made the front of her broom freeze up in blue ice.

Someone was screaming. Who was screaming? She recognized it faintly; a pained type of wailing.

Fall off your broom now and it'll put you out of your misery. C'mon, darling... fall.

The dementors were swarming the sky, like a flock of seagulls at the beach. They were circling someone, someone in red robes...

Your mother didn't want you. Your father doesn't want you. Fred will never want you. Everyone thinks you'll be better off dead, anyways.

Harry. He was falling, she had to reach him. He would die, surely he would die.

You should die.

Elodie couldn't move, she felt frozen. The other players were at a standstill, watching the dementors.

Harry was the only one moving-but, no, he wasn't moving, he was falling. Hurtling towards the ground at an alarming pace...

"Arresto momentum!"