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"All right, folks. We've done really well so far and the final is in three weeks! I want every one of you to give your best, we have to be at our best because this year the trophy goes to Gryffindor!" Oliver talks and talks and talks and I keep elbowing them every now and then so the team kindly listens and matches his words. We train almost every day now. The last games against the other houses showed us our weaknesses and we are working on them now. We may have won and, as I predicted, we're in the final against Slytherin, but there's still work to be done to win - and rest is not on the agenda. Finally, Oliver claps his hands. "So, and now on the brooms. Here we go!" Compared to the first training session of this year, everyone is trying really hard and Oliver himself is once again in top form. He won't let the Quaffle through any of the rings, even though I almost dislocate my shoulder throwing it. He is good. That means we have a good chance against Slytherin. I decide that for me this means that I have to get even better, train my throwing arm more, be faster and sneakier. I can do it, I just have to! I'm just returning to the rings with the Quaffle, raising my arm and about to throw with all my might when I suddenly fall. Afterwards, my upper body is in pain. I still hear screaming and feel myself falling and falling and all of a sudden the free flight stops.The world dawns before my eyes until finally a comfortable, painless blackness settles over me. I mean hearing Fred but definitely not sure.
I wake up and the light blinds me a bit, but I still open my eyes and look around. I'm in the hospital wing. Sitting on the right of my bed is our captain and he is clutching my hand and has his head resting on his other hand, looking at me gravely and with concern. My twins are sitting on the left side and for the first time they are quite pale and sad. "Hello, dear mourners," I croak, laughing, and they don't laugh. "So what's going on? I live. What happened anyway?" I ask now confused. All I know is that something shook me properly and then the pain catapulted me into the afterlife. "The two Bludgers got you," Fred says flatly. "One from the front, one from the back," George adds quietly. "On your right shoulder." I raise my eyebrows. That's not good at all, not the right shoulder. That's my damn throw arm! "You might not be able to be there for the decisive game." Oliver whispers now and squeezes my hand even tighter. "Of course I'm there!" I exclaim angrily. "I'll never miss the game in my life!" "If your shoulder isn't healed by then, you don't play," says Wood firmly. "If something like that doesn't heal, you're going to have problems for the rest of your life." "What does 'something like that' mean here? What is it exactly? Bruised?" I ask, glancing at my shoulder. Tied together. Nobody says anything. The twins look miserable. Wood actually too. "Hello? Can you tell me something?" I ask in panic. "Broken multiple times," Fred mumbles, and I feel sick. "But Madam Pomfrey..." "She was only able to do the bare minimum," Oliver tells me quietly, his light brown eyes looking at me sadly. "The rest has to heal on its own. This will need time." "The game is only in three weeks," I say defiantly. "I'll be fit again by then." "And if you don't, you won't play at all," Oliver then says sternly. "I won't risk that. You are our best player, but if you can't, you can't. I'm not arguing with you about this, Y/n." "You don't have to." I grumble. "It's going to be fine." My Weasleys still look heartbroken. "Now don't look like that!" I snap at them, laughing. "There's nothing that doesn't heal. It's all good. until the game I'm fit again." George gives me a pained look. "We screwed up. If we had seen the Bludgers... we would have had to take them to the other side of the world, but we both didn't see them." "It's alright.", I say now with a loving smile.Don't worry about it." "But we do!" Both of them protest at the same time and I have to grin. "It's okay, I said." I laugh. "It'll heal and I'm in the game, done. Only..." "Yes?" Fred asks immediately, alarmed. "Please, at the game... keep those bastards away from me," I laugh now and squeeze Fred's hand, which has gotten a shade whiter.
