LYOVA RASMUSSEN - A Durmstrang Quidditch Captain.

Chapter 13 - FOUL

LYOVA RASMUSSEN POV - Durmstrang Quidditch Captain

Lyova jumped. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Then she bent down, touching her feet with her fingers. She held the position for a few seconds before slowly coming up and letting her head circle.

In the background, she could hear the students chanting the names of their players from the tribunes, but she tried to fade them out. Letting her arms circle, she tested how her ribs felt and nodded to herself, satisfied that everything felt normal.

Her team stood a few meters apart, warming up as she did. Silva and Lazarev threw quaffles at each other while Farkas and Orlov swung their bats to warm up their shoulders. Lyova looked at the big clock. Five minutes until the game start.

She whistled and motioned for the others to enter the locker room. One by one, the players entered and stood in a circle. The tension that had built up during the last days now grew thicker by the minute. While Lazarev and Kazlauskas became quieter, Orlov went restless, pacing around. Typical behaviour before a match.

"This won't be an easy game," Lyova said, stepping up on a bench to stand over her teammates. They looked at her while her eyes wandered over her players. She frowned, thinking about the game. The same question as always: Was it enough?

"We know that Slytherin won't miss an opportunity to play unfairly. That's not how we are going to do it, though. I want to see good quidditch. And of course, some kicked arses."

A peal of silent laughter rose in the room as her teammates grinned knowingly, nudging each other.

"I want you to keep an eye on Malfoy, Krum. Although he isn't very speedy, he has quite a good eye for the snitch. Farkas and Orlov - remember the strategies that we trained the last time, and Kazlauskas - please give me no reason to repeat myself about only focusing on one goal."

They nodded.

"We have trained hard, and by the end of the day, I want to see Flint and his team crying!" she said and hopped off the bench.

"Let's go!" She glanced at her teammates, who made themselves ready to enter the pitch and turned around to push open the door to the field.

The boys thrust their fists into the air and cheered as they all walked into the deafening roar of a packed stadium. Lyova could barely hear Lee Jordan announcing the teams on the loudspeaker.

"Welcome to what is probably going to be one of the bloodiest matches of the season! Sorry, Professor, the most brutal--SORRY!--the fairest game of the season! Here come the captains for the handshake!"

Lyova stepped forward, her broom in her left hand. Her guts churned as she took in the atmosphere. She met Flint in the middle of the pitch. They wore similar gear, only different by their colours.

She reluctantly stretched out her hand, trying not to hiss as he tried to squash it with his big fingers.

"No crying if you lose, and even if you do, you'll still be invited to the after-party," he grinned. Lyova looked at him unimpressed.

"You'll be the one crying, Flint," she seethed. She tore her hand away and turned to her team. They looked at her, squaring.

"For the team", she shouted at them, fury radiating from her.

"За команду." Their harsh voices shouted in unison, repeating her phrase in Russian.

"For the Honour" - "за честь. "

"For Durmstrang" – "за Durmstrang"

Both teams mounted their brooms and got into position. Madam Hooch blew her whistle and launched the quaffle into the air.