FLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT ► harry potter ¹

013. Quidditch Finals

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE QUIDDITCH STADIUM was roaring with excitement, students clad in their house colors cheering for either Gryffindor or Slytherin. The final match of the Quidditch Cup had everyone on edge, but for Lyra, the stakes felt personal. She waved her Slytherin banner with fervor, her eyes locked on the match unfolding in the sky above. Slytherin was leading by thirty points, and a triumphant smirk crept onto her face.

"I've got a feeling Slytherin's going to win," Charlotte said beside her, chewing lazily on a chocolate frog.

Lyra didn't bother to respond; her eyes were glued to the action. Draco had been flying aggressively, his focus set on sabotaging Potter rather than catching the Snitch.

"With everything that's been going on, I don't care about Quidditch," Tracy chimed in, scribbling angrily on a piece of parchment. "I don't understand why they're giving us extra work. Cancel exams, I say, but no—they just pile it on. 'No, no, no,'" she mimicked their professors in a whiny tone. "Fuck this school; I'm just going to drop out and work at a brothel joint."

"Thank you," Lyra replied, rolling her eyes, "for making that announcement that no one cared about."

"Bitch," Tracy muttered under her breath.

"Anyway, it's just basic Herbology," Lyra shot back, brushing off the insult.

"You got a P in Herbology," Millicent pointed out, speaking up for the first time since the game began. Her gaze had been wandering, no doubt lingering on Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor captain who Lyra had to admit was quite handsome.

"But who was the prettiest?" Lyra challenged.

"Um, I was in that class..." Daphne said hesitantly.

"Your point?" Lyra replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Suddenly, Lee Jordan's voice exploded through the megaphone, filled with outrage. "You cheating scum!" he shouted, dodging Professor McGonagall's attempts to grab the megaphone from him. "You filthy cheating b—" He cut off, catching sight of Draco yanking Potter's broom, throwing him off balance just as he was closing in on the Snitch.

The stadium erupted into confusion and whispers. Lyra's attention was pulled away by a movement below. She turned her head and noticed a boy with a nervous twitch, clutching a bouquet of flowers. His Hufflepuff scarf was tightly wrapped around his thin neck, and each step he took seemed more hesitant than the last. Finally, he stood in front of her, his face flushed and his hands trembling.

"L—Lyra Bla—Black, would you l—like to g-g-go on a date with—with me?" he stuttered, forcing a smile.

Lyra looked him up and down, her lips curling into a sharp, mocking smile. "Oh, absolutely not. You have all the charm of a dung beetle and the looks to match," she sneered, her voice dripping with condescension. The students nearby burst into laughter, and Lyra tilted her head, enjoying the reaction. "Maybe aim lower—find someone who appreciates the scent of desperation and unwashed robes. You might have better luck there."

The boy's face turned crimson, and his hopeful glint was quickly replaced by a dark, angered scowl. "You deserved what happened to you that night," he spat, his voice filled with spite.

Before she could process his words, Lyra's hand shot out and slapped him hard across the cheek. The boy staggered back, holding his face in shock. Lyra didn't wait for her friends' reactions; she turned and bolted down from the bleachers, rushing toward the Quidditch locker room.

Inside, she spotted a sink and rushed to it, gripping the cold, chipped porcelain rim so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her head hanging low as a single tear broke free and traced a path down her pale cheek. She shook her head in misery, her thoughts spiraling into darkness. She hated how easily someone could see through her defenses, how a few simple words could unravel her carefully built walls.