𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍 | 𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘞𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘺

Chapter 37 - The Switching Spell

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I saw the maelstrom of the thunderstorms in your heart.

The brightness of constellations in your mercury eyes.

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At the start of October, Betelgeuse was eager to focus her energy on Quidditch again. Her fifteenth birthday had passed in a blur of sweets, butterbeers and presents. Her classes had become even more taxing than before. And the tense atmosphere of mistrust around the Castle was growing tedious even for the detached Black.

The Quidditch season was nearing, and Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor team, announced a meeting on Thursday evening to discuss tactics for the new season.

Oliver Wood was a burly seventeen-year-old, now in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. There was a quiet sort of desperation in his voice as he addressed his six fellow team members in the brisk changing rooms on the edge of the darkening Quidditch pitch. "This is our last chance —my last chance — to win the Quidditch Cup," he told them, marching up and down in front of them. "I'll be leaving at the end of this year. I'll never get another shot at it.

"Gryffindor hasn't won for seven years now. Okay, so we've had the worst luck in the world — injuries — then the tournament getting called off last year." Wood swallowed as though the memory still brought a lump to his throat.

"But we also know we've got the best — ruddy — team — in — the — school," he said, punching a fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye.

"We've got three superb Chasers." Wood pointed at Betelgeuse Black, Angelina Johnson, and Katie Bell.

"We've got two unbeatable Beaters."

"Stop it, Oliver, you're embarrassing us," Fred and George said together, pretending to blush. Betelgeuse smirked, fanning the two red-headed twins for effect.

"And we've got a Seeker who has never failed to win us a match!" Wood rumbled, glaring at Harry with a kind of furious pride. "And me," he added as an afterthought.

"We think you're very good too, Oliver," George grinned.

"Cracking good Keeper," Fred added. Betelgeuse nodded in silence.

"The point is," Wood went on, renewing his pacing, "The Quidditch Cup should have had our name on it these last two years. Ever since Harry joined the team, I've thought the thing was in the bag. But we haven't got it, and this year's the last chance we'll get to finally see our name on the thing."

Wood spoke so dejectedly that even Fred and George looked sympathetic. "Oliver, this year's our year," Fred stated with reassurance.

"We'll do it, Oliver!" Angelina added.

"Definitely," Harry finished.

Betelgeuse patted Oliver on his shoulder, sending him a firm nod.

Full of determination, the team started training sessions three evenings a week. The weather was getting colder and damper, the nights darker, but no amount of mud, wind, or rain could tarnish the team's wonderful vision of finally winning the grand, silver Quidditch Cup.