𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐐 𝐔 𝐈 𝐃 𝐃 𝐈 𝐓 𝐂 𝐇 𝐅 𝐈 𝐍 𝐀 𝐋
𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐃𝐘 returned to her dormitory around two in the morning, escorted by Professor Lupin and her own considerably less terrified spirit. She slept, albeit briefly, and when she woke, sunlight streamed through her curtains, the glory of morning lifting her from dreamlessness.
She made her bed, changed her clothes, braided her hair with a faint hum. When she sashayed into the Great Hall fifteen minutes later, she was accompanied by the rest of the team and greeted by an enormous round of applause. Melody looked around, and to her surprise, the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were applauding them too.
She took it in, halfway cherishing the admiration and halfway wanting to vomit into the nearest bowl of oatmeal — the magnitude of the day was striking her in ways that she hadn't imagined, not even the prior evening. The Slytherin table hissed loudly as they passed, and Melody noticed that Malfoy looked even paler than usual.
Wood spent the whole of breakfast urging his team to eat, while touching nothing himself. Melody filled in a grand total of two words on her crossword (ocean and clusters) before she was uprooted from her seat by Harry's insistent arms. Wood was hurrying them off to the field before anyone else, so they could get an idea of the conditions.
As they left the Great Hall, everyone applauded again, and when they reached the entrance hall, they caught sight of Professor Lupin near the staircase. He, too, offered a brief few claps.
Melody tugged Harry over.
"Sleep well?" Lupin wondered. His eyes twinkled with mischief, a sensation he'd long forgone. It was welcome and familiar, a faint reminder of its own possibility.
"Not in the slightest," Melody responded, coming to a halt before him. "You?"
"Not in the slightest," repeated Lupin, but his gaze turned grateful. "I enjoyed the therapy, though. Thank you."
Beside them, Harry frowned. "Thera— what?"
Melody quickly interjected, tomfoolery glimmering in her grey eyes as well. "Glad to hear it. We'll see you at the match, right?"
With that, Lupin felt the nostalgia of a dozen prior Quidditch matches flooding his chest; all Cocoa and James and their spirited athleticism. He smiled, and said, "You will."
Melody beamed back, glowing with a strange sensation that could only be attributed to paternal endorsement, then took Harry by the arm and hastened in the direction of their team.
"𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐘, no wind to speak of — sun's a bit bright, that could impair your vision, watch out for it. Ground's fairly hard, good, that'll give us a fast kickoff—" Wood paced the field, staring around it with the rest of the team behind him.
Once he'd warned against the possibilities of another dementor attack, a sudden onslaught of angry hornets, and a hurricane, the front doors of the castle swung open in the distance. The rest of the school came spilling onto the lawn, a sea of crimson with islands of emerald.
"Locker rooms," said Wood tersely.
None of them spoke as they changed into their scarlet robes.
Melody had a feeling she knew why, and her sentiments were no different — it felt as though her stomach was home to a fleet of butterflies, a dozen asteroids, and a large cumulonimbus cloud all at once.
In what seemed like no time at all, Wood was saying, "Okay, it's time, let's go."
Melody was joining Fred and George in a small circle around him and murmuring "Knock on wood."
Harry was stepping towards her, looking extremely peaky.
Once he arrived at her side, she pulled herself away from her stellarly dissociative haze. His presence was enough to inspire the briefest of confessions, and she took a shaky breath before turning to him.
"I'm going to cry myself to sleep."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "If we win, or if we lose?"
Melody regarded this. She quirked her head to the side, scrunched up her nose, and gave her Firebolt a squeeze for good luck. "Both."
With that, they followed the team out onto the field.
A tidal wave of noise greeted them, all hollers and screeches and cheers. Three-quarters of the crowd were wearing scarlet rosettes, waving scarlet flags with the Gryffindor lion upon them, or brandishing banners with slogans like "GO GRYFFINDOR!" and "LIONS FOR THE CUP!"
Behind the Slytherin goalposts, however, two hundred people were wearing green; the silver serpent of Slytherin glittered on their flags, and Professor Snape sat in the very front row, wearing green like everyone else, and a very grim smile.
Then came a familiar voice, Lee Jordan's, as usual: "And here are the Gryffindors! Potter, Bell, Johnson, Prewett, Weasley, Weasley, and Wood. Widely acknowledged as the best team Hogwarts has seen in a good few years—"
An onslaught of "boos" rang out from the Slytherin end of the stands, and Lee was drowned out in the downpour.
"And here come the Slytherin team, led by Captain Flint. He's made some changes in the lineup and seems to be going for size rather than skill—"
More boos from the Slytherin crowd. When Melody scanned her newest archenemies, however, she concluded that Lee had a point. Malfoy was easily the smallest person on the Slytherin team; the rest of them were enormous.
"Captains, shake hands!" ordered Madam Hooch.
Melody watched as Flint and Wood approached each other, grasped each other's hands very tightly, and looked as though they were trying to break the other's fingers.
"Mount your brooms!" Madam Hooch said, whistle in hand. "Three . . . two . . . one . . ."
The sound of her whistle was lost in the roar from the crowd as fourteen brooms rose into the air. Melody felt her braids float behind her; her butterflies, asteroids, and hurricanes disintegrating in the thrill of the flight. She immediately sped towards the Quaffle, and seized it from the air.
"And it's Gryffindor in possession, Melody Prewett of Gryffindor with the Quaffle, she's got a Firebolts, folks — she's heading straight for the Slytherin goalposts, looking good, Melody!"
Melody veered left and hurled the Quaffle to Katie, but to her disappointment, Warrington snatched it from her path just before Katie could reach it.
"Argh, no — Quaffle intercepted by Warrington, Warrington of Slytherin tearing up the field — WHAM! — nice Bludger work there by George Weasley!"
Melody, grateful for her Firebolt more than ever, dived for the Quaffle. To the stands, she was nothing but a blur of crimson, but she was more focused than she ever had been. More than she'd cared for her History of Magic homework, more than she'd cared for her morning crossword, maybe even more than she'd cared for the constellations, she needed this game.
"Warrington drops the Quaffle, it's caught by — Prewett, Gryffindor back in possession, come on, Melody — nice swerve around Montague — duck, Melody, that's a Bludger! — SHE SCORES! TEN–ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!"
Melody's chest flooded with pride, and she gave a sparkling grin to the crowd, scoring around the end of the field to high five Katie. The tumultuous sea of scarlet below was screaming its delight—
Marcus Flint smashed into her left side.
"SON OF A BANSHEE!" she yelped, hanging onto her broom for dear life.
Flint shrugged, with a shout to the booing crowd: "Sorry! Sorry, didn't see her!"
Melody, slightly shaken, regained her composure and tried to strategize; tried to scan the pitch one more—
Fred chucked his Beater's club at the back of Flint's head.
"THAT'S MY COUSIN, YOU TURDHEAD!"
Flint's nose smashed into the handle of his broom and began to bleed, and within moments, Madam Hooch was on the scene.
"That will do!" she shrieked, zooming between them. "Penalty shot to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser! Penalty shot to Slytherin for deliberate damage to their Chaser!"
"Come off it, miss!" howled Fred, but Madam Hooch blew her whistle — her word was final.
The Quaffle found its way into Melody's outstretched palms, and she flew forward to take her shot.
"Come on, Melody!" yelled Lee into the silence that had descended on the crowd.
"Thanks, Lee," she muttered, halting about twenty yards from the goalposts. There was a deep breath taken, a silent prayer, and a hurl of the Quaffle, but when she spun back around, Melody was grinning.
"YES! SHE'S BEATEN THE KEEPER! TWENTY–ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!"
She pumped her fist into the air, overtaken — the scarlet crowds went wild, and she even saw her grandma clapping happily. Harry was out of her sight, probably hunting down his tiny glimmer of gold nearby.
Melody turned her Firebolt sharply to watch Flint, still bleeding freely, fly forward to take the Slytherin penalty. Oliver was hovering in front of the Gryffindor goalposts, his jaw clenched.
"Of course, Wood's a superb Keeper!" Lee Jordan told the crowd as Flint waited for Madam Hooch's whistle. "Superb! Very difficult to pass —very difficult indeed— YES! I DON'T BELIEVE IT! HE'S SAVED IT!"
Melody heaved a sigh of relief, gave Oliver a couple claps, then spun back around and zoomed up the field.
"Gryffindor back in possession and it's Katie Bell, Katie Bell for Gryffindor with the Quaffle, she's streaking up the field — THAT WAS DELIBERATE!"
Montague, a Slytherin Chaser, had swerved in front of Katie, and instead of seizing the Quaffle, he had grabbed her head. Katie cartwheeled in the air and managed to stay on her broom, but the Quaffle slipped from her fingertips like dreams after a morning's sunbeams.
Madam Hooch's whistle rang out again. To Melody's delight, she soared over to Montague and began shouting at him with the ferocity of a firecracker. A minute later, Katie had hurled another penalty shot past the Slytherin Keeper.
Lee screamed in exhilaration. He was a child on Christmas morning, eyes bright with excitement, glamor, and quite a few profanities. "THIRTY–ZERO! TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY, CHEATING—"
"Jordan! If you can't commentate in an unbiased way—"
"I'm telling it like it is, Professor!"
Melody smiled, but she had to stay focused. Warrington had the Quaffle, and they needed to further their lead as quickly as possible.
She sped towards him, but there came a Bludger, streaking past her right ear. She took a fleeting glance over her shoulder and noted that it had been hit by the gigantic Slytherin Beater, Derrick. Just as she turned back around, a second Bludger came grazing past her elbow. The other Beater, Bole, was closing in.
Melody had half a glimpse of Bole and Derrick soaring toward her, clubs raised—
She yanked her Firebolt upward at the last possible instant, and Bole and Derrick collided with Warrington. There was a sickening crunch, either broomstick wood or bones, and the Quaffle had fallen. Melody darted downward and plucked it out of the air.
"HA HAAAA!" yelled Lee Jordan as the Slytherin players lurched away from each other, clutching their heads. "Too bad, boys! You'll need to get up earlier than that to beat a Firebolt! And it's Gryffindor in possession again, as Prewett takes the Quaffle —Flint alongside her— poke him in the eye, Melody!"
Flint shoved Melody with all his strength, and the Quaffle just barely slipped from her hands, hurtling downwards. He gave her a final —and completely unnecessary— push before grabbing the Quaffle.
"It was a joke, Professor, it was a joke —oh no— Flint in possession, Flint flying toward the Gryffindor goalposts, come on now, Wood, save—"
But Flint had scored; there was an eruption of cheers from the Slytherin end, and Lee swore so badly that Melody's grandma tried to tug the magical megaphone away from him.
"Sorry, Professor, sorry! Won't happen again! So, Gryffindor in the lead, thirty points to ten, and Gryffindor in possession—"
It was turning into the dirtiest game Melody had ever witnessed, let alone played in. The Slytherins were rapidly resorting to any means to take the Quaffle, their rage at Gryffindor's early lead seeping into their spirits like dark splotches of ink.
Bole hit Angelina with his club and tried to say he'd thought she was a Bludger. George elbowed Bole in the face in retaliation. Madam Hooch awarded both teams penalties. Angelina scored, and Wood pulled off another spectacular save: the score was forty–ten to Gryffindor.
Melody caught the Quaffle from Wood, then sped down the pitch so fast that nobody could stop her with the air in her face like a welcome stream of success. She was at the goalposts, she was shooting, and the Keeper was too slow — the scarlet crowd screamed like madmen.
Melody pumped her first, and Fred and George immediately swooped around her, clubs raised, in case any of the Slytherins were thinking of revenge. Bole and Derrick took advantage of Fred's and George's absence to aim both Bludgers at Wood; they caught him in the stomach, one after the other, and he rolled over in the air, clutching his broom, completely winded.
Madam Hooch was beside herself.
"YOU DO NOT ATTACK THE KEEPER UNLESS THE QUAFFLE IS WITHIN THE SCORING AREA!" she shrieked at Bole and Derrick. "Gryffindor penalty!"
The Quaffle was shoved into Melody's hands, and she sailed it into the center goalpost like an asteroid headed for Venus. Sixty–ten.
Moments later, Fred pelted a Bludger at Warrington, knocking the Quaffle out of his hands; Angelina seized it and put it through a Slytherin goal. Seventy–ten.
The Gryffindor crowd below was screaming itself hoarse, and Melody didn't blame them — Gryffindor was sixty points in the lead, and if Harry caught the Snitch now, the Cup was theirs.
She found him in an instant. Harry was soaring around the field, high above the rest of the game, with Malfoy speeding along behind him. Suddenly, he put on a huge burst of speed and stretched out his hand, but Malfoy had thrown himself forward, grabbed hold of the Firebolt's tail, and was pulling it back.
Melody screamed in vexation like she never had before, and so did the rest of the stadium.
"Penalty! Penalty to Gryffindor! I've never seen such tactics!" Madam Hooch screeched, shooting up to where Malfoy was sliding back onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and One.
"YOU CHEATING SCUM!" Lee Jordan was howling into the megaphone, dancing out of Melody's grandma's reach. "YOU FILTHY, CHEATING B—"
Melody's grandma didn't even bother to tell him off. She was shaking her finger in Malfoy's direction, her hat had fallen off, and she too was shouting furiously.
Katie took Gryffindor's penalty, but she was so angry at Malfoy that she missed by several feet. The Gryffindor team was losing concentration and the Slytherins, delighted by Malfoy's foul on Harry, were being spurred on to greater heights.
"Slytherin in possession, Slytherin heading for goal —Montague scores—" Lee groaned. "Seventy–twenty to Gryffindor . . ."
Wood retrieved the Quaffle, and threw it to Melody with a desperate look in his eyes, one that she'd seen too many times before.
"All or nothing!" he yelled, but she'd gone — she was already racing down the pitch like a thunderbolt in an April sky.
"Melody Prewett gets the Quaffle for Gryffindor, come on, Melody, COME ON!"
Melody glanced around briefly; every single Slytherin player apart from Malfoy was streaking up the pitch toward her, including the Slytherin Keeper. They were all going to block her, she realized, and she thanked the stars for her quick thinking skills.
As they closed in on her, she bent low on her Firebolt, and kicked it forward. She was propelled out of the Slytherins like a cosmic bullet, radiating energy and light. Several of them tumbled from their brooms, and her path was clear.
"SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor leads by eighty points to twenty!"
Melody grinned around at the screeching supporters, high-fived Katie, and waved happily down at Flint, who was climbing back into the air.
But then, ever-fickle as the skyscape and genuine as the stars, her heart stood still.
Malfoy was diving, a look of triumph on his face. There, on the other side of the pitch not too far from him, was a tiny, golden glimmer. Harry was urging his Firebolt downward, but Malfoy was miles ahead.
Melody held her breath, and the entirety of the game halted. Silence followed, eerie and energetic all at once. Harry was gaining — he was at Malfoy's ankles — he was level. Finally, he threw himself forward, and both hands flew off his broom. He knocked Malfoy's arm out of the way.
He pulled out of his dive, his hand in the air.
The stadium exploded.
Harry soared above the crowd, but Melody was somehow already there, seizing him around the neck in an astronomical embrace. Wood appeared, half-blinded by tears. Fred and George looped their arms around them, and there were Angelina and Katie's voices: "We've won the Cup! We've won the Cup!"
Tangled together in a many-armed hug, the Gryffindor team sank back to the blessed earth. The air was now an old friend that they'd miss for eons to come, foreign but familiar.
Waves of crimson supporters were pouring over the barriers onto the field, an ocean overflowing. Hands were raining down on their backs, a welcome downpour. Melody had a confused impression of noise and bodies pressing in on her.
She saw Hagrid, plastered with scarlet rosettes — "Yeh beat 'em, yeh beat 'em! Wait till I tell Buckbeak!" Percy was several paces away, jumping up and down like a maniac, all dignity forgotten. Her grandma was sobbing harder even than Wood, wiping her eyes with an enormous Gryffindor flag.
Then, of course, the entire team burst into euphoric tears and threw themselves into each other's arms once more. Melody's head was buried in Wood's shoulder, then plastered against Fred's chest, then aligned with Harry's as she cupped his cheeks in her palms and screamed how proud of him she was.
The players were pushed towards the stands, where Dumbledore stood waiting with the enormous Quidditch Cup. Melody had dreamt this dream a thousand times, had tasted this victory in her wildest fantasies, but it had finally materialized.
They were champions, the sun shining so brightly that even their shadows dissolved into dignity. The battle had been fought with honor and drudgery — only the holiest gods and goddesses understood. Melody felt the sparkling, starlit tears on her cheeks, she heard the roar of the crowd like a waterfall of wonder, and she saw her team, her friends, beaming with the beauty of a job well done.
Surrounded by love, by prosperity, by joy, she was positive: this victory was sweeter than a dozen chocolate chip cookies, than the freshest of ripe summer berries. It was even, perhaps, as everlasting as the ceaseless constellations she'd always confided in.
And when the sobbing team hoisted the Cup into the air, she smiled through her tears, thinking of the stars.