Loyal | Tom Riddle

36: The Snitch

The sun's rays pierced through the clouds like arrows fired from some distant land, intent on shedding light upon the game of quidditch happening not too far below. Scarlet- and blue-robed figures on broomsticks flew through the air dynamically, swerving in every direction and chasing specks of various sizes, much to the delight of the hundreds of spectators amassed in the stands, decked out in the colours of their teams.

"It's been five minutes already, and I can't remember a match as exciting as this one!" Reggie Abbott's voice exclaimed, amplified to be heard throughout the entire stadium. "Well, except for maybe that Slytherin-Hufflepuff one when I was a first-year. . . or Gryffindor-Slytherin the year after. . . But today, Gryffindor has taken an early lead, thirty to twenty, but it looks like it won't hold-- and Colin O'Leary, supposedly a member of the Irish national quidditch team -- what, Professor? It's only a rumour! -- dives suddenly! Has he caught sight of the snitch with his eagle eyes? Pun intended, Professor."

Arabella did her best to tune out the commentator, but the seventh-year Hufflepuff's voice filled her head, pushing out her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the game at hand. She nearly dropped the quaffle once but recovered quickly and adeptly passed to Cahill, who swooped across the pitch as if on a breath of wind made especially for him and took aim at Ravenclaw's goalposts, letting loose a shot so powerful that it almost seemed as if the quaffle were to be lost forever in the wilderness beyond Hogwarts' grounds. Gryffindor's fan section rose to their feet, chanting his name at the top of their lungs, causing a grin to spread across his face.

"And that's another ten points to Gryffindor, thanks to their captain, Henry Cahill," said Abbott excitedly. "I think that kid's got a future, maybe even a professional one like his older brother, the famous Theodore Cahill, who currently plays for the historical Puddlemere United -- Professor Merrythought, you know how I meant that! I would never imply such a thing. . . no, I would not like detention. . . or house points to be taken away. . ."

"But Ravenclaw is not so keen to fall behind today! After dealing Hufflepuff a devastating loss last semester -- one of the worst in Hogwarts history, in fact, with a points difference of nearly four hundred -- pardon, three hundred.  I'm terrible with numbers, quite frankly -- this team is thirsting for another win to sail through to a third potential House Cup victory in five years. With O'Leary as Seeker, it is definitely more than just a possibility, since it's his last year, and he must be hungering for the sweet taste of gold again!"

"But Gryffindor lost their first match versus the Slytherin snakes -- ow!  What was that for, Professor? -- and Thomas Blackladder has just lobbed a Bludger towards the stands for no apparent reason! Merlin's beard, he's had trouble handling those this season!"

From somewhere behind her, Arabella could hear the Beater curse loudly. She would have smiled a bit at knowing the true reason why, but the unmistakable sound of a Bludger whooshing through the air made her swing low and clutch onto the handle of her broom for dear life. After she was sure that it had sailed past her, she readjusted her grip and raised her head again, scanning the air with narrowed eyes.

A dark blur caught her attention, somewhere near the professors' seating area, but it was so fleeting that she decided that she must have imagined it entirely. Her mind was certainly not in its sharpest condition, so she deemed the scenario likely. Shuddering, Arabella refocused her attention on the quaffle, which was now gripped tightly in sixth-year Hyacinth Peddleton's hands as she streaked through the sky, angling towards a visibly nervous Penny Gregors.

"Blackladder! Duggar! Do something!" bellowed Cahill, pointing wildly at the Ravenclaw Chaser as she neared the goalposts, already zooming closer towards her and the two other sapphire-clad Chasers bent over their brooms.