BETWEEN REVENGE AND LOVE

49

Tuesday 08/10/1995

The wind is fresh, smells of autumn, of leaves, and heavy rain.

But it's a most lovely day. A lovely evening to be exact. The sinking sun tinches the Quidditch pitch into warm orange while shadows start growing larger and darker.

A glance around the deserted spectator stands makes me feel quite out of place. I'm in fact the only one watching.

On the pitch itself, I recognise familiar faces. Blaise, Goyle, Adrian, Flint, Terence. Draco and Theo. Every last one of them mud-splattered and sweaty.

For a few moments, I stare at the scene in front of me, thinking about how it could be cut directly out of a textbook.

I can well imagine someone sitting down in front of a still white page with a lot of thought and care and painting them all, Quidditch pitch and sunset and forest together included. As a perfect example of a Quidditch game. Despite mud and sweat.

Suddenly, that picture in front of me changes. From down here I watch their faces darken with tension. Fear even? The once cosy atmosphere changes almost uncannily fast.

Attentive glances of seven boys shoot across the field and as I follow their eyes I startle. Not because they make a particularly scary sight.

But because until now, I did not notice one single Gryffindor, not to mention seven of them. How could I oversee them?

My confusion only gets worse by the second. If they're about to play against each other wouldn't they at least need Madam Hooch for the game? The spectator stands are still merely occupied by me and some crows. Am I even allowed here?

Before I get to wonder about it further a bludger from Weasley shoots across the field, so fast that I'd swear I can hear how sharply it cuts the air.

I follow it with my eyes, waiting for Crabbe or Goyle or anyone to repel it, waiting for them to move.

But the only one or thing moving stays the Bludger, closer, closer. In horror, I watch how it nears Goyle and wince as it crashes into him unbraked. He starts swaying, losing his balance for everyone to see.

Why won't they help him? His Quaffle slips his grip first before he too falls towards the ground.

Shocked I witness how another Bludger gets sent on its way. This time they aren't fighting it off properly either. But at least they dodge it, flocking to all sides like startled birds.

It's as if they would have lost all their Quidditch skill out of nowhere.

As my eyes search the ground for Goyle he is nowhere to be found. How can that be? A fall from that height should have broken him at least one bone, if not all of them.

"Y/n!"

I hear someone calling my name. Theo. Looking up I spot him near me. He is on his broom still, thankfully. I don't want him to fall as well. I don't want him to disappear.

I take another look at the pitches' muddy ground. Goyle doesn't show up, anywhere.

"We're losing," Theo states, looking at me from above.

"Goyle," I ask, "where is he, what happened to him?"

"Goyle?" Theo looks confused. "He's alright I suppose. Right there, see?"

He turns around, searches briefly and points to Goyle, who is indeed sitting firmly on his broom some distance away.

"But, he fell, didn't he? He got hit by a Bludger you must have seen it. Is he alright?"