Every Little Thing, James Potter.

06. Come to Your Senses

The only place Gwen could fully leave the worries of the war and the stress of N.E.W.T.s and the thought of her impending Potions project behind her was when she was on a broomstick and gliding through the air much faster than recommended on a Cleansweep 6.

The air was bitter and nipped at what little bits of exposed skin she had—her ears, her face, her fingers. Ethan Macmillan of Hufflepuff had begun smuggling in Muggle handwarmers, such that Gwen could stuff into her fingerless gloves and keep her palms nice and toasty whilst her fingers practically froze off. Her hair, while tied back in a make-do ponytail, whipped around her face, blocking her vision with dirty blonde streaks.

Still, her gaze was narrow, determined on catching the tiny golden Snitch that was taunting her from above.

She heard her teammates calling her name. She was up too high, going too fast, in too severe of weather. But she was close; too close to back down. What kind of a Seeker would she be if she just let the Snitch get away without even trying? A terrible one. She wasn't going to give up before that Snitch was in her possession.

"God, Gwen," Riley yelled up, louder than the others. "You're going to kill yourself!"

     "No," she responded, voice strained as she stretched her arm out as far as it could go. "I'm going to catch this bloody Snitch."

     "Gwen, it's alright, mate," Wood yelled. That was when Gwen knew she'd gone too hard, if Wood was telling her to reel it in. "Practice is over. Just let it come back another time."

     But finally, her nimble fingers brushed contact with the tiny ball, and she grasped it with all her might. She grunted, pulling her arm back into herself, slowly tugging her broom into stopping.

     She looked down at the rest of them, holding out the Snitch. "Told you lot."

     "Very impressive, Gwen," announced Gilderoy. He nodded, as if giving her his approval. "I would've caught it back when it tripped up, but you know. To each their own."

     "Grant," was all Gwen said, and Wood reached out to whack Gilderoy upon the head.

     "Okay, can we go in now?" Jackie rubbed her arms, her feet dangling and shivering from her broom. "I'm freezing!"

     Maxwell nodded, rubbing his red nose. "If Graham's made it so we all catch a cold, I'm kicking her from the team."

     "Don't be ridiculous," she said, gliding down to their level. "Where else could you get a Seeker better than me? And, Lockhart, I don't even want to hear your voice."

     "Oi! Wood!"

     The entire Ravenclaw team looked down to the very bottom of the pitch. Slytherin was hiking out; brooms in hand, scowls on their faces, a twat-ish disposition surrounding them.

     "We've reserved the pitch!" the Slytherin captain called up. "Come down now. Though Merlin knows you lot need it."

     The Slytherins all shared a snarky laugh. Gwen seethed, clenching her fists. He was referring to their most recent loss against Hufflepuff—a rather embarrassing one, at that. The final score had been four-hundred and three to ninety-six. Grant had been entirely red-faced when they'd walked off the pitch and didn't speak to any of them for an entire day after.

"Just give us a moment, would you?" Grant yelled back, holding out a hand. He looked back to his team, lips pursed. "Right. Look, you lot; we've got another match coming up soon, right? A real one versus Gryffindor. If we play like we did last game, I'll off myself. Understood?"