No one confronts me further about my poor lifestyle choices, but that's likely because now I stay in bed instead of going to the Quidditch pitch, and I convince them I'm eating more.
The morning of the Quidditch match brings empty nerves to my belly, and a headache that only gets worse with every word wishing luck from fellow Gryffindors. I head to breakfast, walking down the long table until I find my seat.
". . . beaters are weak, so we need to wrack up some points quick and use that to our advantage," James is saying, speaking to the rest of the team and then looking to me as I sit down, "Cass, it's clear today, so fly out of the sun and no one will see you coming."
"Roger that," I mumble halfheartedly, and James goes off again. I pick at a piece of toast and will myself to eat it in order to have at least a little bit of energy for the game.
"All right, Cass?" Asks Caradoc, who sits next to me. I nod meekly, giving him what I hope is a convincing smile before looking to the entrance of the Great Hall just as Sirius walks in with Remus and Peter. I stare back at my toast as he scans the room, sees James, and comes our way.
"Prongs," he says, glancing at me briefly, "Cooke is out. His potion blew up in his face yesterday and now he's got a frog tongue. Madam Pomfrey says he's not able to play."
"You're kidding!" Exclaims James, looking excited as he turns back to us. "Okay. Cooke is out, everybody."
"We heard," Dorcas says dryly, pointing out the fact that Sirius is right there.
"But he's their best Chaser," states Marcus gleefully, and we all look over to the Hufflepuff table, where their team has their heads together.
"Precisely." James turns back to Sirius, "Do you know who's replacing him?"
"One of their beaters," says Remus, sitting down next to me and eyeing my barely touched toast. I take a reluctant bite to prove something, but it turns into a lump in my throat, and I wince, "Maglieri, I think. And then you know that seventh year, Robinson? He's taking Beater."
"Robinson?" We all ask in unison, and I feel my toast resurfacing.
"You mean the guy who failed all his N.E.W.T's last year?" Dorcas inquires shrewdly, "He's an asshole! I saw him play at tryouts, he's really dirty."
"Fantastic. That's just what I need, another bat to the face," I speak up.
"He's the meanest Hufflepuff in history, I swear," says Marcus, shaking his head grimly and taking a bite of his sausage, "I've got potions with him. A girl bumped into his desk on accident and he poured his cauldron all over her. She was in St Mungo's for weeks."
"They can't let him play," says Dasher, Mary's brother, in a desperate fashion, "that's foul."
"That's the game," states James firmly, getting back into captain mode, "Okay, so this is a minor inconvenience. Robinson can hit hard, and he will hit hard. On the bright side, they've got a stand-in Chaser, and I imagine he won't be very good. We need to get our points up and get them up fast."
But this proves to be difficult, a fact made blatantly obvious within the first few minutes of the match. Robinson is, for lack of a stronger word, lethal. Six foot five, bulky, and mean, he nearly takes off Dorcas's head in the first thirty seconds, then proceeding to give Emmeline a black eye, which she is forced to play through. Marcus and I do our best to get the bludgers aimed at the Hufflepuff Chasers, but Robinson will push us out of the way if we even get close to him. The five minute mark brings me a split lip from a rough elbow and James a bloody nose, which he mops up with his sleeve before Hooch can see. If the injuries aren't distracting, the commentary is.
"And Robinson hits another bludger at Meadowes!" Calls Gardner, the fourth year Gryffindor, from the box, "I'd hate to see that pretty face ruined, good thing she dodged it . . ."
"Potter's got the quaffle, he's going down the pitch, passes to MacDonald, little brother of another gorgeous fifth year. You know where to find me, Mary," says Hocks, speaking loudly with the help of the wand pressed into his neck, and there are scattered laughs from the stands, "they're going to goal, pass fake to Meadowes, heading straight in, and — OH!"
The whole crowd hisses as Dasher gets a bludger right to the arm. There's a sickening crack, and he goes flying sideways, yelling out in pain. Robinson looks gleeful as the whistle is blown and the small boy is taken off the pitch.
I beckon Marcus over, feeling anger course through me.
"I've got a plan, and I might be barking mad, but we best try it considering how much of a catastrophe this is."
He nods, and as the game ensues — our team down one Chaser but not suffering too badly considering how good James and Dorcas are — I explain the plan, and Marcus and I venture to opposite ends of the pitch. I feel faint and nauseous, courtesy of the lack of sleep and eating, but I nevertheless nod grimly at my ex-boyfriend, our bats at the ready.
"Meadowes and Potter in a thrilling game of keepaway, meanwhile it looks like Milton and Borden are doing some strange synchronized dance," Hocks says, watching as Marcus and I begin in a circle around Robinson, the bludgers both flying our way.
The large boy looks around at us, confused, but we've already begun. Hitting both bludgers across the circle to one another, Marcus and I trap Robinson, leaving him to blindly try and bat the balls away and escape the circle.
"We've never seen this, folks!" Yells Gardner as the crowd cheers in excitement, "a sort of Bludger Tornado, and Robinson is trapped in the middle. He does not look happy."
Eventually, one of the bludgers hits him in the shoulder, courtesy of Marcus. This only seems to make him more angry, but also distracted, and my next hit clocks him straight in the skull, knocking him out cold. As he falls off his broom, Marcus and I dive forward to catch him, lugging his heavy weight to the ground as the whistle blows and the play stops once more. Madam Hooch looks livid, though we haven't technically broken any rules, so all she does is give me and Marcus stern glares as she calls people on the field to help get Robinson to the hospital wing.
James beckons everyone to the air, and we join together, one man short, all of us looking uneasily at the score.
"It's any man's game — absolutely brilliant, you two, never seen anything like it —" he says to me and Marcus as we approach, and everyone murmurs in agreement, patting us on the backs, "Dorcas, you and I need to keep the quaffle away from them, and stall while Caradoc looks for the snitch. We're outmanned on offence, so we just gotta keep it away."
We all nod, looking like quite the rough bunch. Emmeline is sporting a swollen purple eye, James's face is covered in dried blood and his teeth are stained red, half of Dorcas's hair has fallen from her ponytail, and my split lip breaks open when I yawn, more blood oozing out.
"And the game is back on, this has to be the dirtiest one we've ever seen . . ."
The match continues for half an hour before Caradoc catches the snitch, and by that time we're so beaten and exhausted we barely celebrate. We fly towards the ground, and I feel myself growing even more faint as I dismount my broom. I barely have time to process anything when the ground hits my cheek, and I realize I've fallen. The black that edges my vision consumes me, and I succumb to the darkness, hearing voices all around me but not caring what they say.
I wake up, like so many times before, in the hospital wing.
"Sooner or later you're going to have to start paying rent," quips a stern Madam Pomfrey, shaking her head in exasperation.
"What happened?" I ask the small crowd of people around my bed.
"You collapsed," says Lily, sitting in a chair by my head and dropping the braid she'd been working on prior to me waking up.
"Not eating can do that," adds Remus, and I look at him, trying to act confused, "Oh, come on, Cass. You can't hide anything from me, I'm the master at hiding things."
"Why aren't you eating, Cassidy?" Asks Mary, standing next to Lily's chair and having come over from the bed next to me, in which lies an unconscious Dasher. Robinson seems to be down the room somewhere, hopefully in a closed ward.
Momentarily, I look at Sirius, who is lurking near the back. Him, Mary, Lily, and Remus are the only ones here.
"I told you guys, I was stressed about the match," I say, though my voice is less than convincing. I'm tired, and hungry.
"Come off it," mutters Sirius quietly.
Everyone turns to look at him. It's been weeks since he's spoken to me, and finally he looks me in the eye, uneasy but firm.
"You've never been nervous like this before," he continues, "you've never stopped eating and sleeping."
"What do you know?" I ask angrily, all the rage that has gathered since we kissed threatening to blow over, "You haven't spoken to me in nearly a month."
It's silent, and Sirius frowns deeply. I expect him to yell back, as he's always been short tempered, but he just turns to the others.
"Could you guys give us a minute?" He asks in the same quiet voice, and the others share looks before nodding and venturing out of the hospital wing.
I watch them go before turning my attention back to Sirius.
"You can save your breath, Black," I say icily, "I've heard you telling other girls they've gotten the wrong idea. In fact, I think I've got your little speech memorized." I puff out my chest and deepen my voice to imitate him, "Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to lead you on—"
"Cass."
"—I just think you got the wrong idea here—"
"Cass."
"—this was more of a one time thing. I think we're better to go our separate ways—"
"Damnit, Cass!" He shouts, and I stop, eyes wide as he takes an angry step forward, "You didn't get the wrong idea! I just — I've never . . . You're not . . . You—I don't—"
"Today would be nice," I snap, and he stares angrily at his shoes, clearly trying to calm down and find the right words.
"I've never felt the way I do about anyone but you," he speaks slowly, almost willing himself to remain composed, "I thought if I gave it a bit the feelings would go away, but they didn't."
"Oh, fantastic," I say bitingly, "so you just decided to shut me out with no explanation because you liked me so much? Where's the logic in that? Leaving me hung out to dry wondering what the hell I did wrong! Leaving me telling myself I was so stupid for thinking I was worth more to you!"
"I know," he says earnestly, "I know, I just got scared. You have to understand that I've never done this before."
"Well you know what? I've never been dropped into another house halfway through my school career before this year, but I dealt with it! We all do things we aren't used to, but you aren't supposed to run away from anything that you aren't sure of." My voice has quieted now, and I lean back, "Look, I've been knocked in the face with a bat this year, and I nearly got drowned, and I got sliced open, and I spent a night in the Forbidden Forest, and I've been slapped in the face by some blond brat. And yet, I would rather deal with that than you not talking to me. Twice this year you've shut me out, and I can't take it. I tell Lily she shouldn't give Snape any more chances, but that's a little hypocritical if I keep giving you them."
He looks shocked at my words, and I feel a pang of sadness myself, but I keep a firm expression. I half expect him to walk out, give up. I almost expect him to tell me I'm not worth trying for.
But then he steps forward and lies down next to me, pulling the covers of the small bed over his legs.
"What are you doing?" I ask sceptically, scooting away.
"I'm staying here until you forgive me," he says simply, and I open my mouth to argue, but he stops me, "because I know I've been an asshole, but I refuse to let us drift apart because of my mistakes. I've spent this last month trying to stop thinking about you, but it just isn't possible. When I saw you collapse, all . . ." He takes a deep breath and looks away, "all I could think about was making sure you were okay."
"But you—"
"No, listen," he says, looking down at me with a hard expression, "I lose my temper a lot, but not like I did at Mulciber after what he did to you. I get strung up with girls a lot, but not emotionally, like with you. I think about people when I'm with them, but I think about you every minute I'm not. I'm selfish, Cass, but not when it comes to you. I tried being selfish for the last month and find a comfort in the old me, the one that didn't care about feelings and relationships, but it turns out you've changed me for good, and for the better. I like the me I am when I'm with you."
I have half a mind to argue, but before I can he speaks once more.
"I've always been scared of what my family wants me to become," he whispers, "I've always been terrified that one day I'll be a Death Eater, because surely I'm not a good enough person to be anything else. But I've never been scared of what I'll be when I'm with you. If you can go from being Slytherin to being Gryffindor, then you prove that things can be rewritten.
"I've gone mad these past few weeks. You're not the only one who's stopped eating and sleeping," he mutters, and his eyes are flickering to my lips as I look up through my eyelashes at him, "but it doesn't matter, because I'm here now."
This time, I close the gap between us, tired of his talking but still touched by his words. I connect my lips to his and kiss him gently, smiling as I do so. He seems surprised, and as I pull away, he raises an eyebrow.
"I thought you were angry?"
"I am," I mutter, then smacking him in the arm, hard, "if you ever do that again I will chop off your hair, understand?"
He laughs, "Got it."
I smile, leaning my head on his shoulder. He puts his own atop mine and starts fiddling with my fingers.
"So?"
"So what?" I ask, glancing up to see him sporting a cheeky grin.
"Wanna be my girlfriend?" He asks through a yawn.
I laugh, "I guess chivalry isn't dead."
"Is that a yes?" He raises an eyebrow, and I smile, leaning my head on his shoulder once more and playing with his own hand in my lap.
"I guess it is."