❝HOW COME YOU NEVER TRIED FOR SEEKER?❞
❝I ENJOYED AIMING BLUDGERS AT YOU TOO MUCH.❞
The Gryffindor Quidditch Team finally has some real competition. And Harry Potter is totally conflicted.
warning: this book has many mature, NSFW scenes that contrib...
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TW: suggestion of self harm if you squint. mentions of death, war, and violence.
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HARRY WAS DISAPPOINTED to see the kitchens empty of her. When the urge to go down into the Dungeons for a snack and possibly a smoke came upon him, he wondered if that was the universe telling him that she, too, would be down there. But unfortunately, she was not, and the only trace of her was the tiny ashtray that held the tiny butts of her used cigarettes. Harry took a seat beside her empty one nonetheless, wondering how messed up it would be to ask one of the elves if they had a pack of camels and a lighter.
Unlike Ron and his other fellow teammates, he was not upset about Slytherin winning the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match. In fact, he could have caught that Snitch if he so desired it, for his arms were considerably longer than Jones'; but after she had said her Father would be attending, and after Harry had caught sight of the man in the stands, he couldn't catch that Snitch with a good conscience. Not when he knew Jones might get physically abused if she didn't win. He'd never tell her he let them win, though. She'd kill him. But if she ever found out... rather she hate him than her be in pain.
Seeing Jack Jones speak to his daughter in such a way had evoked such a fiery lividity within Harry that he simply could not hold himself back from barking the comment he did. Her hands were calloused enough as they were, Harry had thought, she really doesn't need anymore. And why the hell wasn't she wearing gloves? That's Quidditch safety number one, according to Oliver Wood!
Despite the spring air during the day being a blanket of sunny warmth, the night breeze was a biting chill through the cracked windows of the kitchens; through said windows Harry could see the tide of the Black Lack slap against the muddy ground, the murky water tucking itself underneath the Earth's grassy blanket. The clock on the wall read 11:46 PM, the black hands quietly ticking in endless circles.
When the door creaked open behind him, Harry wished he could have stayed facing front so he might look as cool and collected as Jones always had, but his eagerness had gotten the better of him; he whipped around in his seat, holding back a look of relief when he saw Jones creep in, wearing baggy beige pants and a white top, her mane of dark hair tousled about her head.
She seated herself beside him without a word, silently removing a box out from her pocket and slipping out a cigarette. It had taken almost every ounce of his energy to not stare at her as she flicked the lighter to reveal a flame, the cigarette dangling delicately from her plump lips and her eyelids lowered to watch as she worked.
"You are one hell of a Seeker, Potter," She finally spoke, exhaling a colossal cloud of smoke from in between her lips as though she had been building it up for years. His lips involuntarily twitched upwards at the compliment as she handed him the cigarette.
