Before the Dawn | George Weasley

9

The day of the match with Gryffindor was here.

My teammates and I suited up in a tense silence in the locker room. I exchanged a nervous glance with Miles as Marcus rounded us up and lead us to the doors that opened onto the pitch.

"No mistakes today, boys," Marcus said gruffly as we awaited our release.

"And girl," Graham countered with a nudge in my side.

"Maybe he was only talking to us lads because Doyle here doesn't make mistakes," Miles whispered.

An uncharacteristic giggle escaped me, and I slapped a hand over my mouth, eyes wide.

Marcus whirled around. "Focus!" he snarled.

I let my hand fall to my side with a guilty glance at Miles, who grinned.

At last, the doors opened, and we took to the pitch.

The air was crisp, the roar of the crowds meeting our ears and sending a surge of energy through my veins. I spied Fred flying in lazy circles around George on the other side of the pitch, their bright ginger hair visible even at so far a distance.

And then the match began.

Marcus went head-to-head with Angelina for the Quaffle, quickly wrestling it away from her. I veered sharply across the field, waving my hand to signal a pass.

Lee's voice rang out over the speaker. "Flint passes to Doyle, who dodges a Weasley—c'mon, Fred—and maneuvers her way up the pitch. Will this be a score for Slytherin? Ah, yes it will be. A nice shot from Doyle, I suppose, and Slytherin's on the board first."

A roar arose from the Slytherin stands at the first points of the match. Graham and Marcus flew to my side, giving me good-natured shoves. I grinned at them, and together we rejoined the fray.

The match quickly grew physical.

I caught a glimpse of Lucian using his Beater's bat to tip the front of Katie Bell's broom, throwing her off-balance and allowing Graham to steal the Quaffle and dart back towards the hoops to score.

"A dirty move from Bole! Using your bat to hit a player is against the rules, last I checked, but of course, no penalty is called. I wonder how much Bole's family donated to Hogwarts this year..." 

"Jordan!  None of that!"  Professor McGonagall's voice rebuked him over the speaker.

"Sorry, Professor, I was only mostly joking."

Draco and Potter were shoving each other around, their pushes growing more and more aggressive as they simultaneously tried to unseat one another and track down the Golden Snitch.

I scanned the field desperately, watching it dissolve into chaos around me.

Peregrine crashed against me just then, deflecting a Bludger shot from Fred with the tip of his Beater's bat while simultaneously grabbing my jersey in his fist to keep me from falling. 

"Get a move on!" he hissed, and took off before I could thank him.

And so I got a move on.

I dodged Alicia Spinnet and flew back around to where Graham was attempting to steal the Quaffle away from Angelina, working with him to sandwich her between us. Trapped, the Quaffle tumbled from her grip, quickly picked up by Graham, who tossed it to Marcus for an easy score.

"A score for Slytherin off a questionable trapping maneuver by Montague and Doyle," Lee called. "Johnson is looking a little dazed, probably because they nearly flattened her, but the match goes on with no penalty called, begging the question of what will need to happen before a penalty is actually called!"