CHAPTER SIXTEEN
the badger growls
𖦹 ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ˚⋆˚ 𖦹
QUIDDITCH IS EXTREMELY VIOLENT.
Those are the only rules you need to know in Cove's professional opinion — she's seen countless matches without ever properly learning the real ones and she understands perfectly well. She can see that there's some kind of primal switch that flicks on in the player's brains whenever they step foot on the pitch, the squealing of the whistle encouraging them to fight tooth and claw for a step closer to triumph over the other three houses. In all fairness, she has seen muggle weans in primary school get into fist fights over football before, so maybe they're not completely mad for taking it so seriously. Then again, she just isn't the kind of demographic that would understand the bloodthirsty yearning for victory that comes with playing in a sports team. She's never been in one and never will.
Cove is teetering between the confluence of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs so that she can stand with Mary. The spectator stands aren't officially separate from one another, but with two halves of the school rooting for opposing teams, it usually divides no matter what. Cove had been roped into putting sunflower yellow glitter onto her cheekbones and across her nose, matching with her Hufflepuff jumper that's been knitted about ten sizes too big and is full of accidental holes in the inconsistent rows. Knitting isn't her strong suit, per se, but she likes to think that the battered appearance of the jumper makes it look all the more loved. She contentedly warms her hands around a mug of chamomile tea, steam curling cozily around the valleys of her face as chatter buzzes around her.
Mary grabs onto the crook of her arm excitedly. "Look! It's starting."
She casts her attention over to the main event, darting between both of the approaching teams as they surface from their respective tents.
Fallon strides onto the field with the Hufflepuff team tailing her, dark hair knotted back in two tight plaits Cove had fastened in place that morning. Her glare is lethal, but she makes sure to sport a good natured smile so the other team is aware that she isn't all bad, teeth bared behind her mouth guard. Yellow and black winged eyeshadow glitters on her lids to symbolise badger markings, charmed to be long lasting and sweat resistant. She looks absolutely mental, and it suits her perfectly. There's determination sparking in her doe eyes, knuckles turning ivory when she has to shake hands with the Gryffindor captain, James Potter. Cove swears that she sees him rolling his hand to try and regain the feeling in it afterwards.
They take off the second the whistle is blown, kicking up clouds of dust under their feet. Cove finds herself holding her breath as Fallon rises to float in front of the goalposts, eyes narrowed when she watches the toss up to determine who starts with the quaffle. Joan Nguyen, their centre position chaser, snatches it before Potter can make his move and suddenly swings it across to the other end of the pitch, where another chaser cradles it in the crook of his elbow. He takes off as quick as a dart, a yellow dot of sheer velocity swooping across the grassy field. The Gryffindors begin to close in on him the closer he gets to the hoops, so he throws it back over his shoulder into the open arms of a different teammate.
Deimos Powers (one of Gryffindor's prized beaters) reels back his bat, sending the bludger soaring towards the chaser that receives it. It hits her hard in the sternum, winding her and nearly knocking the poor girl clean off of her broom. The other beater, Stephan Ollivander, cheers with a wee bit too much enthusiasm when they collide. She forfeits the quaffle as per the rules, beginning the fly of shame back to the goalposts whilst someone on the opposing team swoops in to catch it. Cove can hardly watch the carnage unfold. The scores are rapidly changing by the minute, crescendoing in their favour until one wrong move knocks them down, much to Gryffindor's delight.
The seekers knock into each other, twisting and turning like a cyclone around the rapid golden snitch. Their uniforms billow behind them in a spiralling fireworks display of muddied citrine and blood red. When the Hufflepuff seeker, Nolan Macmillan, has his fingertips stretching out to graze the molten gold ridges engraving the snitch, a calculated bludger goes swerving into his shoulder and sends him catapulting to the ground with a sickening crunch. Cove squeaks, covering her eyes in terror as a thud resounds over the heckling audience.
She removes them warily when Mary informs her that he's been safely carted away, their alternate seeker taking flight and zipping away after the snitch with no time to waste. The quaffle is slowly being passed up the pitch towards their own hoops, Fallon steeling herself furiously against the oncoming competition. Pure joy shines in her eyes.
Cove startles at the sight of someone new sitting down in the row a few down from them, wrapped up in a scarlet cardigan to brave the elements. He's vaguely hunched over without anything to straighten up his spine, curling into himself as if trying to shrink down to appear less intimidating for the smaller people around him. Barely healed scars raise along his face, wearing a supportive yet completely uninterested expression. It worries her how many marks he has gracing his skin, though they highlight his beauty in such a special way she could never find the right words to describe. She also notices that his usual rings are absent from where she's sat, probably because of the harsh bruises around each finger in their place.
"Hold on, Mary," she says, wriggling out of her iron grip and handing over the half-full mug. "I'm going over to say hello to Remus. I'll be back before you know it."
Mary is too distracted by Fallon launching the quaffle out of bounds to form a coherent response. They can even see splinters break off of her bat from the force. Merlin.
Cove dodges past a rowdy group of Ravenclaws that are gleefully revelling in the drama, then ducking under the arms of several overexcited sixth years that look as if they've snuck too much firewhisky in their tartan thermos. As she approaches him, something about his demeanour shifts. He sits up straighter, craning his neck a bit without completely turning to look over his shoulder. It's like he's completely aware of her walking through the intense crowd before she's even come into his line of sight. How odd.
"Alright, Remus?" she chirps, settling down on the bench next to him. Up close and personal, she can even see a black eye developing, an array of concerning purples that fade into swollen red and yellow blotches — really displaying his house pride, she supposes. Cove hopes that he hasn't been getting into any fights. Then she'd have to worry about him even more furiously.
He raises his eyebrows. "Hi, Cove. What brings you over to enemy territory? Not that I'm unhappy to see you, of course."
"Came over to say hello," she explains. "I don't really believe in house rivalry, anyways. I think it's complicated and causes too many fights—" she pauses to look over her shoulder, "—but don't tell Fallon I said that. She'd drown me in the lake."
He chuckles, threading his hands together absentmindedly. His eyes jump between players as the game escalates further, a bludger from Hufflepuff knocking square into James Potter's shoulder. Remus winces.
"I don't know why they love this game so much," he mutters. "Those two give me grey hairs, I'll tell you that much."
"Aw, Remus, you're a proper mother hen," Cove laughs, nudging him gently in the ribs. His expression contorts in an almost undetectable manner, a sharp hiss of air deflating through clenched teeth. She apologises frantically and he forgives her just as quickly. He can't really imagine himself being angry with her.
Remus turns to say something but he's drowned out by one of the friends in question, Sirius Black, who starts shouting profanities down the pitch at the beater that hit James. Madam Hooch, their referee, adds to the chaos by yelling at him to be quiet and start watching the goals, which only spurs him on to get more creative with his insults.
"Am I a mother hen or am I the only rational one of them left?" he ponders.
Cove glances in the direction of the shouting match. "Okay, fair play to you. They're a bit mental. At least Peter isn't all bad."
"'Suppose that's true," he reasons.
Sirius' distraction seems to divert all of the attention away from the game at hand and back onto himself, a talent that he's perfected over the years. The more eyes on him, the more melodrama sparks in his little routine and the closer Potter gets to Hufflepuff's goalposts. Fallon lets her guard down, raising a hand to deflect the sun from out of her eyes. Everyone suddenly ignites into cheers around them when Potter scores a goal, thundering to their feet and erupting into war cries at the skyrocketing score. Her ears begin to ring.
"Ow, fucking hell!" Remus whines, hand lifting to his ear defensively. "Argh. It's so loud over here. Christ almighty."
"Oh, tell me about it." Cove falters when she sees the evident pain on his face. "Do you want to go somewhere quieter?" she worries, placing what she hopes is a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He tenses up under her palm, though he doesn't show any signs of moving it away.
"Yeah, that would be nice," he murmurs.
She grabs onto his hand, tentative of the bruising as she tugs him into motion. Her eyes pierce through anyone that has the potential to get in their way, shouldering through the crowds mercilessly, muttering a quick 'sorry' to all the (deserving) people she bludgeons with her elbows.
The crowd fades into a distant scene that's jumping with one of Cove's least favourite things; loud, screaming sports fans. No offence, Fallon! She'll take a quiet life, safely distanced from the lethal dramatics of people that take quidditch a tad too seriously. They walk across a path and up a small hill until they're securely inside the castle once again, sheltered from the distant bludgers and bats that fly about in the stadium. Faraway cheers ring out, loud enough for Cove to suspect that someone's managed to catch the golden snitch. Remus slumps onto the cold hard ground, clearly in no mood to celebrate, and she eventually joins him.
"Are you sure you're not wanting to go to the Hospital Wing?" Cove implores, face contorted in genuine concern. He looks a bit peaky, fingers still tentatively grazing around his ear to shield it from loud noises.
"No, that's really alright," he says weakly. "I'll be fine in a minute or two. God, I knew I wasn't up for going to that match."
"In that case, why did you go?" she asks. "Sorry if that's rude. Just wondering."
"No, it's not. Don't worry," he reassures. "You apologise too much, y'know."
"Sor—" she clears her throat. "I can't help it. And don't you go changing the subject! You were about to answer my question."
He sighs wistfully. "I'm not really sure myself. I just... well, I hate how gutted my mates look whenever I can't make it because of something small like a new bruise or a migraine. Even if I don't get all the quidditch stuff, they're mad for it and it makes them happy. I'd like to be there to support them but it doesn't always work out that way. It's shite."
Cove is at a loss for words. She just squeezes his hand sympathetically to try and convey the feelings she can't express with words.
She lets a minute tick past before she tries to spark conversation again, eyeing the marks on his face cautiously. "Right, I have another question, and you have to promise me you won't be offended when I ask it."
"I'll try my best."
Cove takes a deep breath, mentally preparing herself. "Have you been getting into fights?"
He blinks. For a second, she's afraid that she's gone and said something to upset him, but he does something she really wasn't expecting — he starts to laugh. Shoulders shaking, smile lines prominent. He's got a nice laugh, infectious and sunny enough to break through the thicket of storm clouds he had looming over him before. It warms her heart to see him smile after being so upset, but admittedly she starts to feel a bit ridiculous for asking in the first place.
"What?" she asks, a smile dawning on her. She shoves his shoulder as gently as she can muster to avoid hurting him. "What is it?"
"No," he reassures when he starts to calm down. "Nah, I don't get into fights."
His expression suddenly goes slack, connotations of regret mirrored in the way he gnaws on his lip and starts to pick at his cuticles. As if he should've leaned into the lie. The cogs turn in his brain frantically and she can practically hear his pulse squirming and quickening under his skin. She hates it when she can hear other people's heartbeats or sense the contractions of their lungs from her heightened senses, and when she's heard it once it's hard to tune back out for a while.
"I'm clumsy," he explains after a beat, bringing her back down to earth. "Always have been. My mam says I was a nightmare growing up because of how often I'd trip over something small and get sent to A&E."
She simpers, fondly imagining a smaller Remus toddling about and getting into just as much havoc as he does nowadays. "I can imagine."
He grins and thunks his head back against the cold cobblestone wall to straighten out his hunched posture from before, joints popping as his muscles flex faintly under the loose fabric of his t-shirt. Cove swallows thickly, finding her knotted shoelaces incredibly interesting.
"Are you gonna go to the after party tonight?" Remus asks. He inclines his head to peer down at her. "Doesn't matter if we win, to be honest. Gryffindor's doing one either way."
She nods. "Aye, probably. My plans are fairly dependent on whatever my friends are thinking. I mean, Fallon's a good sport but she might be a bit mopey if yous end up winning the match."
"I understand," he says. "James hides in our dorm for hours if he loses a match. He's a sore loser to his core—"
"—Remus! I've been looking everywhere for you, you absolute melt!"
They look up to see Peter Pettigrew rushing towards them at the speed of light, brown hair falling into his eyes. He goes flying across the threshold of the archway, skidding to a stop in front of them. He keels over, hands pressing against his knees as he tries to catch his breath. Judging from the state of him, he ran all the way up from the pitch.
"Alright, Cove?" he smiles warmly through aggressive gasps of air.
"Hi, Peter."
"Moons, we won the match," he goes on to announce. "Prongs sent me to say that he needs help setting up all the stuff for our party tonight." He turns to Cove curiously. "Do you think you'll come?"
"Yeah, I'll be there," she replies.
Out of the blue, he spins back around to face Remus, eyebrows raised. They have an almost telepathic back and forth, having what looks like a heated debate with vague facial expressions. Cove feels like she's intruding on something private.
"Right," she says judiciously, breaking up their little mental chat. "Since you're here, Peter, I should probably go find Mary and give Fallon a shoulder to cry on. I'll see yous two tonight though, yeah?"
"Yeah, of course!" Remus says brightly. "See you then."
"See you later," Peter choruses kindly.
She waves over her shoulder, advancing towards the intricate stone arch that serves as a doorway between outdoors and in. A lightbulb flickers on in her head, an idea that she personally thinks is fabulous springing. She slows down a bit, trying to decide if she should bite the gullet and go for it or avoid potential embarrassment. After mulling it over in her head for a few seconds more, she spins on her heel, shoes squeaking against the floor as she rushes back to hastily tell him something.
"Wear something blue tonight," she says boldly. "We can match!"
He nods, a bit dumbfounded. She doesn't want to linger for a moment too long in case it gets too awkward and starts heading back down the hill, bronze hair glistening like gold under the gossamer rays of sunlight.
Remus waits until she's disappeared around the corner to turn to Peter, who's practically jumping up and down on the spot with excitement. He looks as if he's about to burst.
"Wormy, I don't think I have anything blue."
"Oh, that's fine. You can borrow something off of me. In the name of young love, Remus. In the name of young love!"
"Shove off, twmffat."
author's note!
i find it very hard to believe that slytherin and gryffindor were the only houses playing violently ik ALL OF THEM were absolutely battering each other about for that quidditch cup 🙏🙏
peter is their no.1 supporter