𝐎𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧/𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞
𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞
"𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐝..."
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The wind was brittle against Ophelia's face, stinging her eyes and tinging her cheeks with warmth as she made her way down to the Quidditch pitch. She trailed behind a group of older Slytherins, talking cheeky banter about the Gryffindor captain. Wood, was his name. A rather strange one at that. The skies were a clear cerulean blue, though in the distance sterling storm clouds drifted impending. She'd never been to a quidditch match, although Draco talked non-stop about it, especially the British team, Puddlemere. She didn't know much about the game but listened to him anyways.
"Ophelia!" Someone called out to her. She surveyed the ever-growing crowd of students, all flooding their way into the stadium. Eventually, she caught sight of Ron and Hermione, each sporting a knitted Gryffindor scarf and pendants. Flashing a radiant smile at the two, she weaved her way through the crowd to pull them into a hug.
"Hello," She said, craning her head around to look for a certain ocularly-impaired boy through the sea of black robes.
"Where's Harry?"
"He's in the locker room with the rest of the team. We wished him good luck for you," spoke Ron.
"Are you ready to go?" Ophelia nodded quickly, eager to get out of the cold and tucked her hands into her robe pockets, following after Hermione towards the admission gate. They planted themselves at the back of the cue, only to immediately be shoved forwards by a group of rowdy Hufflepuffs. Ron fell forward, causing Ophelia to crash her face into the back of the person before of her. Rubbing her sore nose, she apologized profusely, moving back a few steps. The person in front of her turned around, revealing themselves to be the same Ravenclaw boy she bumped into on Hallowe'en. He raised an eyebrow and smirked.
"Hello, again." He chuckled. Ophelia blushed gently, thinning her lips into a flat simper. Now that she could see him in daylight, his features even more defined. His ears poked out more than usual, flushed in the brisk air, giving him a rather charming, elfish look. His crooked nose was lovely, and his pallid skin spotless that contrasted his sapphire netted scarf that hung around his neck. He was attractive, though he appeared much older than she was. Realizing she was staring too long, jolting out of her trance, she replied.
"Hi," She stuck out a hand, which he graciously accepted, shaking it lightly.
"Jonah Nettle. Second-year." Oh, he wasn't that much older.
"Ophelia Barrows. First-year." She replied.
"It's nice to meet you, Ophelia." He flashed her another big smile before waving goodbye, flipping his scarf around his neck another loop and following his friends up the stairs to the Ravenclaw stands. She waved back, and began to follow Ron and Hermione to the Gryffindor stands, but was pulled to the side by a gloved hand. Rounding about, she met the unmistakable sterling eyes of a certain Slytherin boy.
"I thought you were done with those two?" Draco sneered at Hermione and Ron, who backed away reluctantly and made their way to the gantries. Ophelia ripped her arm out of his grasp, boring holes into his head.
"And who are you to decide my friends?" She snapped. He'd been touchy recently, especially after Harry had gotten the spot on the team. The blonde looked taken aback by her outburst, almost ready to fire back, but instead he let out an exasperated sigh and sucked on his bottom lip.
"I just... never mind." He shrugged and nodded towards the rickety wooden stairs to the Slytherin stands. Ophelia frowned, staring up into the scaffolding of the tower. How they managed to stay up in this wind, she didn't know. Taking one last look at Draco, she complied and took ahold of the splintery railing, watching as the grass below her feet grew thinner and thinner with every step. As the two made their way up, the crowds' cheering and shouting was opulent, filled with young and old voices alike, all cheering for their respective teams. The fabric of the stands wavered in the wind, their green and silver thread-work crashing against the wooden supports. The distant applause of the populace was now deafening, with Draco's shouting barely audible as he pulled her towards the rest of their mates. Staring at the lot of them, she couldn't suppress a smile.
Crabbe and Goyle were screaming and cheering as Madam Hooch walked onto the pitch, waving pendants like maniacs, their cheeks tinted pink and voice dry. Blaise was trying to woo a group of third-year girls, but by the looks on their faces... she almost felt bad for him. Pansy was eyeing down a group of boys, though as soon as Draco walked in the room, all attention was on him. All of their friends began to swarm the young boy, as if he was a Queen Bee that needed taking care of in the hive, never having to do anything for herself. She remembered learning about bees with Amelié, when she had been so afraid of a tiny little bumblebee, came running into the foyer with a raw pink sting and screaming for her mother to help. The pair squeezed themselves past the first few students in the pew, then sat down and admired the mowed virescent pitch, contrasting strongly against the clear azure sky and golden sun. As soon as they began to relax, Pansy was all over Draco. She twiddled with his scarf and complimented him thoroughly, about his "ravishing" hair and "striking" eyes. Ophelia silently gagged at the sight.
Suddenly, the crowds erupted with cheers and whistles, drawing her attention to the flying jerseys of green and red emerging from the barracks with immense speed. They zoomed around, some right to position while some took the time to gloat, especially the Slytherin Seeker, Marcus Flint, who decided to do a pre-victory lap, bringing another round of cheers and loud stomping from the Slytherin House. Draco gawked wildly, eyes blown with excitement as he whistled and cheered louder than everyone around him. Ophelia smiled, nudging him gently.
"That'll be you next year," She said, smiling broadly. He blushed pink, giving a bashful look and turned back to the game. Madam Hooch yelled something inaudible, her leather gloves creased by her sides and goggles strapped to her head, she kicked the sable chest in the middle of the field. The crowd watched as the balls were released, and the game had begun. Then Ophelia realized she knew absolutely nothing about the game. She could make out seven players and a whole bloody collection of balls that could hurt you in every which way, especially the croquet ball sized black ones that chased some of the players incessantly. Definitely not a sport she would partake in. Coats of green and red flew around the pitch, and she watched as a Gryffindor player swerved an extreme right, nearly falling off of her broom as she caught a large, red ball and zoomed off towards the opposite end of the pitch. Various groans and rude comments murmured throughout the crowds, and Draco slapped his forehead. The girl who caught the ball managed to out-fly a Slytherin player, looping around below and managing to score ten points for Gryffindor. Ophelia shouted in protest like the rest of her house before poking Draco's side with multiple questions, though she promised to refrain herself.
"Who is that?"
"Angelina Johnson. She's one of the chasers for that bloody team of idiots." He rolled his eyes and watched as the Gryffindor girl flew around the field with her arms above her head in triumph. Everyone was very... what was the word... egotistical, or vain. Politely clapping, Ophelia searched for the seekers in the sky. She hadn't seen his number all game. Staring at the jumble of green and crimson, she spotted a number seven jersey high in the sky. Hair rustling in the wind and stuck to his forehead, Harry whipped his head around, as if looking for something he misplaced. He didn't lose his glasses, not yet. He applauded for Angelina as well, utterly oblivious to the bludger heading straight for his head. Whether it was fear that elicited her reaction, or just pure adrenaline, Ophelia screamed out to him.
"Harry, look out!" The young boy whipped around, stooping low on his broom for the ball to just graze the crown of his scalp, letting one of the Weasley twins bash the ball towards a Slytherin teammate. Harry turned his head towards the Slytherin stands and flashed a toothy grin at Ophelia, his skin fair and flushed in the sunny daylight. She smiled back before hearing an audible groan from someone besides her. Draco was scowling at the brunette lad, who frowned back and zoomed away. Rolling her eyes, Ophelia went back to observing the game.
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Slytherin had finally caught the "quaffle" as she now knows what it was named after numerous explanations from Draco, who was still rather pissed from the friendly interaction between her and Harry. A few minutes later, he had happened to inch closer to Ophelia, Pansy still latched around his arm, twisting her scarf around her neck one more time insisting that she'll be warmer. It wasn't needed, but it was a nice gesture on his part. They watched as one of the Slytherin "chasers" veered right and left, avoiding the incessant "bludgers" sent flying at them by one of the twins. She guessed that the player's ego got in the way because they decided to cast the ball up and attempt to strike it into the hoop as a display of talent. The player managed to hit the ball, though barely making it through the goal as the Gryffindor "keeper" and Captain, Oliver Wood tossed it back to another player of his own. Groans and protests from the miserable Slytherins filtered through the shouts of the Gryffindor stands, and then it's right back into the action. Ophelia watched the players zoom around the pitch, trying to block the chasers from the beaters and painful-looking bludgers. A Gryffindor girl threw the quaffle towards the hoop, watching as the Slytherin Keeper missed the ball by a long-shot, evoking groans and judgemental glares from a few of his teammates.
"Another ten points to Gryffindor!" The announcer called over the amplifier. Draco groaned, tugging off his scarf in his miserable ire, tossing it to the ground with an aggravated huff. Pansy picked it up instantly, folding it into a tiny square to give to him later. She'd picked up on a few tricks as well as Ophelia had. Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the game.
She watched in horror as one of the Slytherin chasers practically rips a bat from one of the beater's hands, pounding one of the bludgers right to the gut of the Gryffindor keeper, and knocked the ball and the keeper right through the middle goal. She yelped in surprise and watched as the older boy swivelled to the ground, landing with a thump in the strand beneath the hoops. The rest of Slytherin laughed at the dazed boy, who stumbled into a face full of sand when he tried to stand up. Worried for the safety of the players, Ophelia frowned and stared up at Harry, who was still inert in the sky.
"Come on, Barrows, lighten up. It's only a game." Pansy jeered from Draco's side, clutching onto his arm for warmth, going back to laughing at the dazed boy. Sighing, Ophelia went back to clapping. Slytherin had just won three goals, while Harry was still looking for the snitch. Two of their own chasers had flanked a Gryffindor girl, now bashing back and forth in attempts to knock her off her broom. They barreled right towards a teacher's tower, and the girl slipped right through, crashing into the supports and tumbling to the bottom, splayed upon the grass at the foot. Covering her eyes, Ophelia shook her head in pain. Winces and protests emerged across the student body as Madam Hooch rushed over to the disoriented girl. Ophelia leant over the barrier to get a better look at the happenings. The rest of the Slytherin house encouraging Flint as he secured another five goals. She wondered as to how this was fair at all with two Gryffindor players down.
Suddenly, Harry zooms across the pitch with immense speed, diving down and around the goals, his crimson and golden-lettered jersey rippling behind him and he Slytherin seeker not far behind.
"Harry Potter has gone after the snitch! But- wait..." Harry's broom jerked to the left, breaking him off his streak to the golden ball. The Slytherin seeker tore past him, tossing a few jeers over his shoulder as he did so. Ophelia watched as the boy's broom spun out of check, bucking every which way like a wild, erratic horse. Why was Harry doing this? His hair flopped from side to side, and his leather-clad hands cinched around the broom tightly as he tried to get the object under control again. That's it! He wasn't in control!
"Looks like Potter can't handle his broom straight! What a shame," Draco quipped, earning a few hearty chuckles from Crabbe and Goyle. His sly smirk crawls across his face as he watches Harry struggle, nearly slipping off his broom in the process.
"No, that's not it," Ophelia shook her head, stealing the looking goggles that dangled around the blonde's neck to take a closer look. Through the magnifying lens, she could see the fear in his eyes. He wasn't doing this... no, it had to be magic. A charm... a hex. But who would want to hurt Harry?
"He's being hexed! Well, the broom is, but there's no other possible explanation." Draco rolled his eyes and swiped the goggles from her hands roughly.
"Whatever." He groaned and tugged on the ends of his scarf. The Slytherin Seeker is still zipping around the pitch, evading the advancing chasers and deviating around the bludgers hurled at him. With every move he made, Slytherin's erupted into cheers, and Ophelia had to admit, it would be nice to win against Gryffindor. A little piece of her still had some imprecise vendetta against the red house, just for the first few months of distress and childish taunts. Notes passed in class, scowls and gibes in the corridors. The occasions when Draco wasn't there was the worst. Apparently, everyone liked to mock her relationship with Malfoy, which made her question her friendships and whether they had good intents. Sure, she cared for Draco, even considered herself to be his best friend. At least she could form a comprehensive complete sentence. Dumb and dumber weren't really the best conversationalists.
The announcer began to commentate thoroughly on the match as Harry regained control of his broom, immediately swinging around and flying after the other Seeker. The young Gryffindor managed to catch up quick, earning shouts of praise and cheers from the students, and even some professors. Weren't they supposed to be non-biased? She watched as Harry crashed into the side of the Slytherin player, forming a barricade in attempts to block the Seeker from getting to the snitch. The two slammed back and forth, going into a deep dive as they followed the snitch around the field. Nearly vertical, a very determined Harry sped towards the ground. Out of fear, the Slytherin Seeker pulled up and cut off. The young Gryffindor didn't back away, nearing the field at high velocity and jersey flapping behind him in a wanton suit. Ophelia squeezed her eyes shut, avoiding observing the impending wreck and cause of his trip to the medical wing later today. She clamped her hands over her eyes, the heels of her palms digging into her eyes. But nothing happened.
Peeking through her fingers, Harry had pulled his broom up mere inches from the pitch, now gradually coming to a stand and beginning to reach out towards the golden snitch. His capes whirling behind him and knees bent slightly, hand outstretched in front of him, she watched as he leant far forwards, tipping his broom and launching him forward as he and his broom came to a tumbling stop. Letting out a yelp, she wrapped her hands around the barrier, nearly falling over the edge as she yearned to know if he was okay. Splayed limbs out on the grass, he slowly sat up, glasses crooked and m, though immediately convulsing and clamping a hand over his mouth and stomach.
"He looks like he's going to be sick!" Someone called out. It was true, he turned pale and was convulsing wildly. Suddenly, the snitch pops out of his mouth! The crowds go wild, Ophelia included. Slytherin is fuming, and Draco buries his face in his hands in shame.
"One-hundred and fifty points to Gryffindor, and that's a wrap everyone!" The announcer calls out, evoking another round of cheers as everyone filed out of the stadium. Ophelia shoved past multiple students, speeding down the stairs and barreling onto the field, where the Gryffindor team had Harry on their shoulders. She smiled so widely when they made eye contact. Ron and Hermione were off to the side, jittering with excitement as they waited for the team to put the new Seeker down. Eventually, he jostled his way down, running over to the trio and enveloped them in a group hug. He smelled rancid. Ophelia let out a little gag and stepped back. Harry looked at her with confusion as Hermione broke into a fit of giggles.
"What?" He fidgeted with his hair and glasses, but she shook her head.
"You smell horrible." He conjured up a face of fake hurt, shaking his head in shame before swivelling around.
"I'll go take a shower!" His bogus outrage was short-lived as he burst out in laughter like Hermione had done before, toppling on the grass near where he had caught the snitch.
"Good! You'll need it." Ron interjected, eliciting another set of laughs from the other two Gryffindors. Ophelia looked over her shoulder, now realizing that immensity of the stadium, before meeting eyes with a certain platinum blonde. Draco looked dejected, frowning slightly at her closeness with the three Gryffindors. A sense of guilt invaded her gut, filling her mouth with bile and curling her lips into a frown. Turning back to the trio, she waved her goodbyes and made her way across the pitch, though the boy was nowhere to be seen. Emerging from the stadium flaps, she examined the dispersing crowd only to see Pansy interlocking arms with the young boy. She hoped the attention would cheer him up.
Even after a full hour of a sport she didn't understand, she was happy that Harry had won, even if Slytherin didn't.