Atropos → george weasley

xxxii. an aberrant foal

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thirty two

 an aberrant foal

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For the next couple of days, Ottilie avoided George. She didn't like the expressions he was throwing at her.

What right did he have to be angry with her, anyway? She had nothing to do with the so-called dementor attack. If George were paying any attention, he would know that—it was clear the rest of the team was furious with Draco and Marcus for losing Slytherin fifty points.

And, yes, she had stood there when Graham and Cassius were harassing the twins about their family's finances, but she wasn't responsible for the older Slytherins' behavior, even if she and Graham were friends. If she were to defend the twins, it would make Fred suspicious, and she'd risk him finding out about her and George's agreement.

And did they really want a third-year girl defending them as fifth years? She'd think it'd make them seem a bit pathetic.

Either way, it wasn't as though George was making any effort to seek her out either.

On Monday, Ottilie woke up before daybreak to meet Graham in the common room. He was holding two cups of steaming English breakfast (he was a big proponent of caffeinating before practice) and handed her one to sip as they made their way to the field. At the end of last year, she'd found a spell to use on the mugs to keep the liquid hot even in below-freezing temperatures and quickly cast it on both cups before they left the entrance hall.

The sharp air bit at the back of Ottilie's hands when they reached Hogwarts's front lawn. As they made their way down to the pitch, Graham told her about the drills he'd planned for that day. They were focusing on avoiding Bludgers, Graham going on about how Ottilie's Sloth Grip Roll was nearly perfect but that she needed to work on keeping her balance while flying backward.

She sat on her broom, clutching the hot mug to warm up her hands and waiting for Graham to return from the Slytherin changing room with his Nimbus 2001.

"You know, matcha has even more caffeine than black tea," Ottilie said, watching Graham chug half of his English breakfast in one go. "It's because you're actually whisking the powdered leaves with the water rather than just letting them infuse before taking them out."

His lips curled. "No amount of caffeine is worth it to drink grass water. I remember those matcha chocolates you let me try." He pretended to gag.

"Matcha is good. You're just uncultured." Ottilie frowned at Graham. He tended to dislike the Japanese food she'd share with him. Ernie and Justin did, too, in fairness, but at least they were polite about it. Graham had no qualms with letting Ottilie know when he thought they were disgusting.

By then, the horizon was glowing red, giving just enough light to see clearly, which was especially important for Bludger-avoidance training.

They left their cups near the Quidditch supplies. Graham got a Beater bat out of the box and then unclipped the Bludger. He wrestled with it for a bit before it relented, allowing him to tuck it underneath his arm.

"Okay, we'll work on the Sloth Roll first, just to warm up. Then, you'll do some laps in reverse while I hit the Bludger at you. Let's do those near to the ground so you don't pull a Potter and fall to your death," said Graham.

"Or repeat second year," said Ottilie, looking down at her frozen hands, recalling how Ashford and Fellowes had knocked her off her broom during tryouts.