Harry Potter and the Dovahkiin

It had been days since the first attack, and Dumbledore had yet to take any action. Or at least, that's how it seemed.

Ben hadn't seen anything to suggest the Headmaster was taking this seriously. Sure, it had only been a cat that got petrified, but the circumstances were worrying—very worrying. Not to mention Ben's very ominous and very pointed prophecy.

At the very least, if Ben hurried the Trio along, the whole fiasco would wrap up faster—or it might even force the headmaster to finally do something.

Maybe Dumbledore was doing something behind the scenes. Maybe he'd already handled things in ways Ben couldn't see. There was a lot to consider, but right now? Right now, he had Quidditch. And for the moment, that was all that mattered.

Owen Abernathy had a plan.

Unfortunately, he also had a team that couldn't care less.

"Alright, LISTEN UP!" Owen bellowed, gripping his clipboard like it might keep him sane. "We're running the Falcon Formation! Marianne, Roger, you flank. Ben, you hang back to—"

A Bludger came hurtling through the air. Owen barely ducked in time.

He turned slowly. "Tobias."

Tobias Alderton spun his bat in his hand, looking aggressively unapologetic. "What?"

Owen exhaled through his nose. "Please tell me that wasn't aimed at me."

Tobias shrugged. "Was aiming for Edgar."

Edgar, nowhere near the Bludger, narrowed his eyes. "Yeah? And I was aiming to be in a team that knows how to aim."

Tobias twirled his bat. "Keep talking, Cornfoot, and I might actually aim next time."

Edgar snorted. "Right. And you might actually hit something for once."

Tobias grinned. "Oh, I'll hit something, alright—"

Below, Owen whipped around, looking dangerously close to snapping his clipboard in half.

"I SWEAR TO MERLIN, IF YOU TWO WANNA BRAWL, EITHER TAKE IT TO A ROOM OR WAIT UNTIL AFTER PRACTICE!"

Tobias and Edgar exchanged glances.

Then Tobias muttered, "Guess we'll wait till after practice."

"Like hell we will," Edgar shot back.

Ben, lazily floating nearby, shook his head. "At this point, you two should just snog in a broom cupboard and get it over with."

Marianne nearly choked on laughter.

Edgar scowled. "Are you insane?"

Tobias frowned. "Do I look like I wanna snog him?"

Ben tilted his head. "Dunno, mate. You do keep finding excuses to throw things at him."

Edgar gagged. "Right, I'm leaving."

"Great idea," Ben said. "Might I suggest opposite directions?"

Meanwhile, Roger Davies was fully ignoring all of it, because some people had style to uphold.

"Alright, watch and weep, nerds," Roger announced, flashing a grin at the few Ravenclaw girls spectating. He streaked towards the goal, rolled under an imaginary opponent, flicked the Quaffle behind his back, and—just to rub it in—executed a perfect hair flip as he let it fly.

The ball soared—smooth, effortless—and Roger turned around to celebrate, holding a pose for the crowd.

CLANG.

The Quaffle bounced off the goal ring.

Silence.

Ben clapped, deadpan. "Yeah, mate, that was inspiring."

Marianne nodded. "Truly, the stuff of legends."

Ben sighed. "They'll be putting this in the history books."

Marianne gasped. "You think the Chocolate Frog company will make a card?"

Ben rubbed his chin. "Mmm… maybe as a cautionary tale."

Marianne grinned. "Roger Davies: inspiring future generations… to aim."

Roger scowled. "Alright, that one was a warm-up."

"That one was tragic to watch, was what it was," Marianne corrected.

"Oh, shove off, you two," Roger huffed. "Some of us actually aim for greatness."

Ben leaned toward Marianne. "When did we name the ring 'greatness' ?"

Marianne grinned. "Just now we did."

Roger flipped them off.

Before Ben could retort, Tobias absolutely launched a Bludger in their direction.

"Get a room, you two, will you?"

Ben swerved—straight into Marianne.

They crashed, nearly tumbling off their brooms, clutching at each other's robes in a desperate attempt to stay upright. At the very last second, they managed to stop their descent, just a few feet off the ground.

For a second, they just stared at each other, blinking.

Ben raised an eyebrow. "If you want to rip my clothes off, Annie, at least buy me dinner first."

Marianne snorted. "Next time, how about you dodge away from me and not into me, genius?"

Ben smirked. "You're just mad I didn't heroically throw myself in the way."

Marianne patted his shoulder. "One day, you'll learn self-sacrifice, Benny."

Ben grinned. "And one day, you'll—"

Marianne shoved him off his broom, and he landed on the ground with a thud.

Below, Owen massaged his temples. "FOR MERLIN'S SAKE, CAN WE ALL FOCUS ON THE GAME FOR A MINUTE?"

They could not.

Above them, Eleanor and Cho were practicing Seeker drills—or at least, they were supposed to be. Whitmore was watching Cho botch another dive.

"Yeah, alright, that was something," Eleanor said, arms crossed. "Not sure what, but something."

Cho straightened, shaking her head. "I'm just—off."

Eleanor shrugged. "Yeah, you do look off."

Cho shot her a look.

"What?" Eleanor said. "I'm not your mum. You wanna pack it in early, go for it."

"I'm fine," Cho muttered, though she looked anything but. A moment later, she shook her head. "Actually… I think I'll head in early."

She didn't wait for a response, glanced down at the pitch for a second and then flew off.

Below, Ben had stolen the Quaffle and was holding it just out of Marianne's reach, weaving away every time she lunged for it.

"Come on, Annie, jump for it!" he teased, smirking.

Marianne, looking supremely unimpressed, did not jump. Instead, she yanked his broom sideways.

Ben yelped as he spun off balance, the Quaffle slipping from his grip—straight into Marianne's waiting hands.

She twirled it on her fingertips before tossing him a satisfied grin. "Thanks, Benny. Real team player."

Ben scowled, steadying his broom. "That was so illegal."

Marianne winked. "So is a Beater touching the Quaffle, but you don't see me crying for mummy."

Ben huffed, watching her fly off. "Oh, we're playing dirty now?"

Marianne glanced back, smirking. "You started it, Benny. I just finished it."

Ben cracked his knuckles. "Alright. No more playing nice."

Roger, passing by, snorted. "Since when were you ever playing nice?"

Ben grinned. "Touché." Then he rocketed after Marianne.

-End of Chapter-