❝ And oh we started
Two hearts in one home
It's hard when we argue
We're both stubborn
I know, but oh
Sweet creature, sweet creature
Wherever I go, you bring me home
Sweet creature, sweet creature
When I run out of road, you bring me hom...
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Emaline meanders around the Hospital Wing slowly, her body batttered and bruised from yesterday's brutal quidditch game. She takes her time changing the sheets on each unoccupied bed without the use of magic, having both a sore body and a sore loser's mindset.
Gryffindor took a beating when it came to their first game of the season. Since Slytherin hadn't updated their team roster since the year prior, all of James's strategies relied on the known weaknesses of who he thought they'd be playing against. So when the green and silver team walked out onto the pitch, he was completely blindsided by the sight of seven entirely new players.
To say they lost would be an understatement. In the words of her ever so eloquent best friend, they were 'fucking murdered' with the final score coming out at 170 to 20.
All of Gryffindor is taking the loss particularly hard, even the students who could care less about the sport. A melancholy mood swept through the tower, but no one is taking the loss harder than James.
The quidditch captain hasn't been seen by anyone outside of his closest friends - that is, if you count seeing the curled up shape of a body underneath the blanket on his bed who has only emerged when absolutely necessary for the past twenty-four hours.
The heavy doors slam behind someone entering the wing and Emaline picks up her pace ever so slightly in case more clean beds are going to be needed. She doesn't bother paying any attention to who just arrived, having learned in her first week of studying under Madam Pomfrey that it is exhausting trying to keep up with every little medical disturbance.
"Special delivery," the new arrival announces, successfully distracting her.
"Madam Pomfrey is in her office. You can-" Emaline cuts herself off as she looks up, a smile replacing her grumpy expression.
Todd snuck up on her, now standing on the opposite side of the hospital bed she's meant to be rearranging, with a bouquet of red chrysanthemums in one hand and a book written by Newt Scamander in the other.
She leans over and plucks the small card out of the bouquet, careful not to let her skin brush against the soft petals. The cover reads 'to my favorite chaser' in his barely legible handwriting and she flicks it open, an unexpected disappointment hitting her when she finds the inside empty.
Emaline mentally chides herself before her smile can fall, knowing she should be happy with the simple gift instead of critiquing it.
"I know losing sucks, so I got you these to cheer you up," he explains while waiting for her to react, clearly proud of himself.
"Thank you," Emaline says, making no move to take the flowers from him.
He tries to hand them over and she merely takes a step back, keeping the bed in between them.
"She's allergic, dumbass!" An unseen voice shouts.
Todd whips around, but with so many curtains blocking the majority of the patients from view, he's unable to decipher where the call out came from. Emaline knows exactly who spoke the rude words, though something stops her from telling him this.
