Before the Dawn | George Weasley

44

The Weasley twins were instant legends. 

Their escape from the grounds had spread through the school like Fiendfyre, several of the younger students coining the phrase "pulling a Weasley," and considering following their example in leaving Hogwarts. Not only that, but the twins' absence left a certain role to be filled, and many students were vying for the position of official school troublemaker, egged on by Peeves the Poltergeist at every turn.

Despite Umbridge's ban on Weasley products, they had only become more and more common after the twins' departure, and the student body had seemingly united in an effort to make Umbridge's life miserable. The halls constantly reeked of dungbombs, and students left and right were falling mysteriously ill with the help of Skiving Snackboxes.

I tried to fill my time to avoid feeling too lonely, or thinking about George too much. There were only two months left of school, and I was determined to enjoy myself as much as I could, as George had suggested. I reinvested myself in Quidditch, leading my team to a victory over Hufflepuff that set us in the championship match against Ravenclaw.

All four houses gathered at the pitch for the final match of the year, the Gryffindor student section unusually quiet, their team having been so miserably bad for the majority of the year.

I glanced around at my team as we prepped in the locker room before the match. Once they were suited up they gathered around me, watching me me with apprehension in their expressions.

"Right, then," I started, feeling just as nervous as they looked. "We've had quite a season this year, boys, and I'm proud of how we've grown as a team. I could go on and on about how this is mine and Miles's last match, but honestly, that doesn't matter. We need to play this game as if it were any other, and I'm confident we can win it if we do."

My teammates nodded soberly, absorbing my every word.  I swept my gaze over them, a trill of pride running through me.  We'd come so far.

"Give 'em hell, boys," I said as we lined up to be released onto the pitch, Marcus Flint's favorite thing to say before flying ringing in my ears. Only Draco and Miles understood my reference, and they both cracked smiles.

The Ravenclaw team was already in the air when we were released. I shook hands with the Ravenclaw Captain, Roger Davies, as we lined up for the toss. And then my last Quidditch match began.

I shouldered Davies aside to nab the toss, swinging a pass over to Adrian, who flipped the Quaffle to Cassius for a quick score.

As per usual, only the Slytherin section cheered when we scored, but their yells were deafening, and I grinned as I gave Cassius a clap on the shoulder. "Nicely done!"

"Doyle and Warrington take off after Davies, who passes the Quaffle quite wisely to Bradley before they catch him, and—OH!—Bradley is absolutely wrecked by Goyle, who knocks the Quaffle free for Pucey to take!" Lee was forcing himself to be enthusiastic, obviously disappointed Gryffindor hadn't made it to the finals. "Pucey passes to Doyle, who fires off a shot and nearly unseats the Ravenclaw Keeper! Another score for Slytherin!"

Davies regained the Quaffle after my score and streaked down the pitch, dodging a Bludger shot from Crabbe and heaving a shot. Miles was quick to block it, deflecting the Quaffle to Adrian.

The Slytherin section was impossibly loud, now, as Adrian passed the Quaffle across the field to Cassius. I waved my hand for a pass, eyes widening as Cassius's pass sailed a bit high.  

Then, trying out a trick Marcus taught me in my third year, I stood up on my broom, reaching up to catch the Quaffle with one hand and pulling it down into the crook of my arm.  I remained standing as I neared the hoops, ducking under a Bludger, then bent my knees and pulled a sharp turn to dodge around the Ravenclaw Keeper and send the Quaffle sailing cleanly through a hoop.