Fatal Attraction | D.M. (Soft Rewrite)

Chapter Twenty-Nine - The Match

'Over here!' Hermione beckoned, waving her outstretched arms.

Ophelia followed her call, nimbly passing through the Gryffindor stand, already filled by students.

The atmosphere was infectious, as everyone started placing their bets. Making it impossible not to overhear the most repetitive theory, which assumed Harry would be first to catch the snitch.  

Smiling as she approached Hermione, bundled in layers of house colours. Her cheeks and nose where tinged with a blush that indicated she had arrived early to secure them front-row seats - regardless, of the chilly weather.

After hugging, Ophelia gripped her hands on the dividing barrier, peering down at the steep drop, which made her stomach feel slightly queasy. She had never been a fan of heights.

So, instead, she tried to focus on the stands, emblazoned in each house colour.

Their corner of the pitch was entirely decorated in red and gold. From outfits, to face paint, to the banners enchanted to hover above their heads.

Her attention snagged on an elaborate depiction of a snake trapped between the jaws of a ferocious lion. The gruesome image made her cringe as she considered how Slytherins were perceived.

Distracting herself, she spoke to the surrounding Gryffindors. And was soon passed a tankard of butterbeer.

Giggling, as Seamus challenged everyone to drinking competitions, and Romilda struggled to down shots of firewhisky.

Hermione caught her eye and grimaced, shrugging her shoulders. Her disapproving expression made it clear she didn't understand why anyone would want to drink before lunch.

Ophelia couldn't help but agree, on this occasion. Preparing for the long day ahead, and the hours of drinking that awaited her – she sipped slowly.

'You must come straight to our common room to get ready!'

'I suppose you'll have to borrow something red,' Parvati added, wagging her finger dismissively, 'because this just won't do!'

'N-no, of course,' Ophelia stammered, looking down at her less impressive outfit, 'but I can just transfigure it later!'

'Ha, of course - I'm an idiot! The alcohols gone straight to my head,' she giggled, before taking another shot from Romilda.

It had taken Ophelia ages to decide what to wear that morning. Since she knew walking into the common room without something green would cause a problem. And any trace of red or gold, would have given them an excuse to use her severed head as a bludger for the match.

Therefore, she compromised. Everything was black, from her tennis skirt to her cropped jumper. She had only accessorised with green, as she tried to pass under the radar of judgemental eyes. But out on the grounds, blending into the sea of faces, she had swiftly transfigured her scarf to red. 

Millicent had stubbornly complained that Ophelia's reasons for ditching her weren't good enough. Departing with a disappointed frown, when she'd walked to the Slytherin stand, in the opposite direction.

Ophelia felt guilty and hated the tension, but there had been no time to properly explain her reasons – at least not out of earshot.

Consoling herself, she remembered, everything is fixable. And even now, sat with the Gryffindor's, she knew she had made the right decision. No tension – no fear of being spiked – or accosted! It's a breeze.

She was drawn back to the present when shouting erupted around her. Everyone's eyes fixed on the procession of Gryffindor players, assembling on the pitch.