Not currently writing any more
Might rewrite in the future
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"Do you blame me for it?"
Did she? He'd caused her so much pain; he had hurt her so much. He had left for Morgana's sake but did she blame him?
"I blame you for everything."
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Lilith...
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"I don't give a single shit, Slytherin is not pulling out of the game."
"But my arm!" Draco whined, "and the weather, why would you possibly want to play in it?"
Cassius looked down at him, his face wearing a disgusted expression, "I'm not going to forfeit us the match. That's that."
Cassius strode down the sidelines of the field, the saturated grass sodden with muddy puddles, and said, "Now get in the fucking air."
Draco narrowed his eyes bitterly, "No," he hissed and folded his arms, "Get the substitute, I'm not doing it." And with that, he sulked away to Crabbe and Goyle who were looking miserable as they sat in the stands, water soaked his ankles as he moodily stomped his way back to the castle.
Cassius's mood had dwindled, he raced around the pitch, throwing quaffles at them left, right and centre as he criticised them for their 'terrible reflexes'.
Rain was drizzling from the sky, not heavy enough to affect the training session, but heavy enough to irritate them when the light rain tickled their noses. The dark, gloomy clouds gave the image that a storm was soon to burst out; but it never did.
The saturated ground squelched underfoot and Cassius had decided to make them do press-ups on the muddy ground, coating their training gear in a thick layer of mud and grass.
Soon enough, the training came to an end and the sodden quidditch team trundled along the dungeon corridors, their clothes soiled and soaking, hair stuck to the foreheads and mud caking their boots.
Quidditch was the only thing that gave her more joy than Balinor, although she would deny it profusely and say that her toad was the only love of her life, and it was the only thing that was keeping her occupied.
Ever since Snape had invaded her mind and resurfaced those horrible memories she'd tried so hard to forget, she had tried everything to keep her mind occupied.
She didn't want to think about it simply because she knew she would relapse and get sent back to that awful hospital again. She didn't want to go back, but looking down at the thin lines that decorated her forearms and seeing the lines of white painted on her shoulders as she looked herself in the mirror each day, she knew it was not long until the voices would come back.
*
The day before the match, the winds howled outside so loudly it was like a thousand people's screams were lost in the air, and the rain fell harder than ever, making the window frames shudder as raindrops the size of insects plummeted down like bullets. It was so dark inside the corridors and classrooms that extra torches and lanterns were lit, and the dungeons were the coldest of all.
