home (reader at hogwarts)

fifty seven

harry potter, the new and youngest gryffindor seeker in a century stands in the field now occupied by two teams, one in players dressed in emerald and silver and another dressed like him- in scarlet and gold.

his eyes wander off of you, onto the gryffindor stands where he waves shyly at hermione and ron and beams at a banner that flaps wildly in the wind and flashes the message 'potter for president'.

harry feels braver now and you can see it in the way he puffs his chest.

madam hooch calls for the players to stand around her in their formation and over their brooms. she addresses them, out of earshot and you watch her glare at marcus blatantly wandering if had anything to do with the rumours circulating slytheirn house- rumours that he had a reputation of playing a bit too rough for the rest of the schools liking.

in a second or two, the players mount their broom, opposite players leaning forward, glares slicing through one another and in with the blow of a whistle-

fifteen brooms rose up high into the air, zooming blurs of green and red and of madam hooch's grey.

they were off.

"and the quaffle is taken immediately by gryffindor chaser angelina johnson- and what a talented player- what an attractive girl too-"

"jordan!"

"sorry, professor."

the commentator, lee, is a great comic, you eventually decide. as a commentator, however, he does well to distract you from the game so you listen instead to francis avery behind you.

besides, his voice, older, raspier and very slightly french- is far more attractive.

"see that-"

you see a slytherin player go to defend a goal.

"that's our-" he pauses mid sentence and leans forward in anticipation but groans as the player's fingers brush past the quaffle, missing it. "bletchey. thomson bletchey, a keeper. and apparently a terrible one."

"who's that?" you ask, pointing at a player hovering over at the side. he mirrors harry. "he's not doing much."

"that's because he hasn't seen the snitch yet."

"he's the seeker?" you ask, looking up at francis.

"terence higgs, second year. a pain in my ass, always needs help with his homework."

you giggle and francis chuckles.

you lean back on his knee again. "if i were to play, francis- what would you suggest i should play as?"

"you?" he asks. you nod.

the two of you seem to have forgotten about the match. the cheering, jeering and bouts of boos are drowned out in the bubble you've created.

"do you fly well?" asks the blonde.

"mhm."

"are you stronger than you are agile? small and fast? broad? defensive?"

you tilt your head. "i've no idea."

"then before you are to sign up, snape, run some tests and find out. if you are stronger than you are agile, you'll make a good beater, if you are more agile you'll make a good chaser. if you are small and fast, you'll make a good seeker. and if you are broad and defensive you'll make a good keeper."

you smile. "i'll ask you again."

"i know."

"slytherin scores!"