SEA, SWALLOW ME, remus lupin

sia deug, the badger growls

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
the badger growls

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QUIDDITCH IS EXTREMELY VIOLENT.

Those are the only rules you need to know in Cove's professional opinion — she's seen countless matches without ever properly learning the real ones and she understands perfectly well. She can see that there's some kind of primal switch that flicks on in the player's brains whenever they step foot on the pitch, the squealing of the whistle encouraging them to fight tooth and claw for a step closer to triumph over the other three houses. In all fairness, she has seen muggle weans in primary school get into fist fights over football before, so maybe they're not completely mad for taking it so seriously. Then again, she just isn't the kind of demographic that would understand the bloodthirsty yearning for victory that comes with playing in a sports team. She's never been in one and never will.

  Cove is teetering between the confluence of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs so that she can stand with Mary. The spectator stands aren't officially separate from one another, but with two halves of the school rooting for opposing teams, it usually divides no matter what. Cove had been roped into putting sunflower yellow glitter onto her cheekbones and across her nose, matching with her Hufflepuff jumper that's been knitted about ten sizes too big and is full of accidental holes in the inconsistent rows. Knitting isn't her strong suit, per se, but she likes to think that the battered appearance of the jumper makes it look all the more loved. She contentedly warms her hands around a mug of chamomile tea, steam curling cozily around the valleys of her face as chatter buzzes around her.

  Mary grabs onto the crook of her arm excitedly. "Look! It's starting."

  She casts her attention over to the main event, darting between both of the approaching teams as they surface from their respective tents.

Fallon strides onto the field with the Hufflepuff team tailing her, dark hair knotted back in two tight plaits Cove had fastened in place that morning. Her glare is lethal, but she makes sure to sport a good natured smile so the other team is aware that she isn't all bad, teeth bared behind her mouth guard. Yellow and black winged eyeshadow glitters on her lids to symbolise badger markings, charmed to be long lasting and sweat resistant. She looks absolutely mental, and it suits her perfectly. There's determination sparking in her doe eyes, knuckles turning ivory when she has to shake hands with the Gryffindor captain, James Potter. Cove swears that she sees him rolling his hand to try and regain the feeling in it afterwards.

They take off the second the whistle is blown, kicking up clouds of dust under their feet. Cove finds herself holding her breath as Fallon rises to float in front of the goalposts, eyes narrowed when she watches the toss up to determine who starts with the quaffle. Joan Nguyen, their centre position chaser, snatches it before Potter can make his move and suddenly swings it across to the other end of the pitch, where another chaser cradles it in the crook of his elbow. He takes off as quick as a dart, a yellow dot of sheer velocity swooping across the grassy field. The Gryffindors begin to close in on him the closer he gets to the hoops, so he throws it back over his shoulder into the open arms of a different teammate.

Deimos Powers (one of Gryffindor's prized beaters) reels back his bat, sending the bludger soaring towards the chaser that receives it. It hits her hard in the sternum, winding her and nearly knocking the poor girl clean off of her broom. The other beater, Stephan Ollivander, cheers with a wee bit too much enthusiasm when they collide. She forfeits the quaffle as per the rules, beginning the fly of shame back to the goalposts whilst someone on the opposing team swoops in to catch it. Cove can hardly watch the carnage unfold. The scores are rapidly changing by the minute, crescendoing in their favour until one wrong move knocks them down, much to Gryffindor's delight.