𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨-𝙧.𝙖.𝙗

𝟬𝟲-𝘃𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆

ALL AT ONCE, JO REMEMBERS WHY SHE NEVER WANTED TO PLAY QUIDDITCH.

The rain is heavy, beating down on her skin all at once, overwhelming, heavy and cold. Jo feels as if her bones are soaked, weak, soggy, and mushy to the touch. It blinds her, forcing her to blink rapidly to push the raindrops out of her vision. But it's stormy and foggy and cold and so goddamn wet Jo thinks that she's about to go mad.

The Ravenclaw Chasers aren't nearly as pathetic as James had made them out to be, either. They're swift and organized, albeit predictable, using formations and plays she's seen hundreds of times before. She reminds herself of what James told her earlier. Davies prefers his right. Cattermole fakes the middle but will go either way. Hughes is a wildcard, but slower than the rest.

Mostly, Jo's just been going with her gut. She's right more than half the time, anyways.

The hundred to twenty score proves it.

Jo's blind to whatever's going on the other side of the pitch, has absolutely no clue where any of the Seekers are, and the crowd is just a large blur of brilliant reds and rich blues. It's all she can do to rely on Remus's dead awful commentary.

"Looks like Byrne managed to open his eyes this once to block the Quaffle, and he passes it back over to Davies, now Cattermole. Looks like they're doing the same thing they've been trying this whole time. Wonder if it'll work this time, lads."

"Mr. Lupin, please-"

"Sorry Professor. Back to Davies again, narrowly missing a Bludger from McKinnon. Decent dodge, I have to say. Better off, too. The other Potter's looking a little bored over there in the goal posts."

The other Potter. Jo would have to lay into him, for that one.

Jo sees the blue robes rush towards her, whipping in the wind behind them and she braces herself, hands tightening around the front of her broomstick. She tunes out Remus's ramblings and watches, watches as the Quaffle bounces from Davies, to Cattermole, to Davies, to Hughes, to Cattermole. They're trying to trick her, she thinks, trying to be too quick for her to follow, making her chase after them. The unnecessary passes, the way they weave in and out between each other. Jo feels like a cat, waiting to pounce on the right mouse.

"And it looks like Shacklebolt's finally stopped dicking around and spotted the Snitch-"

"Lupin-"

" And Vance is quick to follow. Brilliant flying on her part, though Merlin knows how she can see anything through all that hair-"

Jo narrows her eyes, focusing in on the Quaffle, and she notices that when Davies passes it over to Hughes, he catches it not with the entire palm of his hand, like he has before, but with the curled tips of his fingers.

"And now Black has pulled his head out of his arse and put that Beater's bat to good use-"

"I am tired of telling you to watch your mouth! Twenty points from Gryffindor!"

"Alright, well that's fair."

Jo jerks hard to the right when she sees the way the Quaffle curves, and she reaches her arm out, stretching long and leaning forward. She feels it slam hard into the curve of her fingers and she's quick to tuck it into her chest, barrel rolling to slow her momentum and when she straightens, she doesn't need to search for Prewett before she's chucking the Quaffle back at him, hard as she can, and Gryffindor is in possession again.

"A beautiful block from Potter, the younger one, obviously. Seems like McKinnon is currently trying to maim any Ravenclaw player she can get close enough to."