ADHARA, the second
brightest star in the
Canis Major constellation,
right after sirius. It
was as if her father had
named her after a murderer
A few neighbourhoods away from Number 4, Privet Drive, there was a tall...
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ADHARA SCOFFED, RECLINING BACK ON THE COUCH.
Flint didn't look at her. Keeping his eyes on the parchment roll laid out in front of him, not bothering to give Adhara his full attention. "What? There's something you want to add, Black?"
Adhara had her arms crossed and her right leg resting on top of her left. She looked back at the other members of the team and saw that they were all staring back at her, either glaring or smirking. Either way, she could see just how much they were underestimating her.
The Slytherin Quidditch team regrouped at their Common Room, where they knew none of their secrets and plans would be sold to the other house teams. Adhara would actually praise the captain for thinking so thoroughly if it wasn't for the fact that his plan was so fucking stupid.
She tilted her head to the side. "You really want to cancel our first game with Gryffindor? What? Are you scared of Lions, captain?"
Prideful boys were annoying. They overlooked, underestimated, and their arrogance made Adhara want to hex them into oblivion. But pride was only as powerful as it was weak, easily shattered if the pressure was applied right. Something Adhara had to learn with trial and error.
Flint looked up, fashioning her with a glare. "Obviously, not-"
"Then maybe you believe your boys aren't good enough?"
And just like that, the glass cracked. She watched as five heads snapped towards the captain, demanding answers.
"Is it true?" spoke Bletchley, the keeper Adhara threw of his broom last year.
Flint may be incompetent, his spine may be as fragile as her teammates' pride, but he wasn't daft. Adhara knew he could see what she was doing. But that didn't matter. As long as she could keep her grip on the other boys, it was five against one, and Flint couldn't do anything about that. After all, what was a Captain without his team?
"You may have not noticed, Black, but our seeker is still injured."
Malfoy was in the chair across from her, arms still wrapped in bandages and tied to a sling. It's been weeks since the incident with Buckbeak, and although Adhara did believe he really did get hurt, she also knew firsthand how fast Madam Pomfrey could heal wounds.
Her cousin looked laid back, sat in a similar position to Adhara, he slowly caressed his injured arm. "Don't look so down, Black. If it wasn't for that oaf of a professor, maybe we'd still be able to play."
"It's been weeks. It can't possibly still hurt."
"Of course it does. If that oaf had better control over his chickens, then maybe-"
Adhara calmly watched him rant, tapping her finger against her knee as she waited for him to finish. Malfoy may be getting on be nerves, but she wasn't going to let the twat provoke her.
