𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 | 𝐡. 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝟕𝟒 - 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

"𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙥𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙜𝙪𝙮𝙨!" Called out Angelina over the roaring wind, as the heavy rain pelted the already soaked team, who were grumpily marching back towards the changing rooms covered head to toe in mud feeling worse than they had been that morning.

Not that Angelina would let them know that.

"Make sure you're keeping in shape before the match against Hufflepuff! That means none of you getting into trouble." Said Angelina, giving Ophelia in particularly pointed stare as she peeled off her cloak, letting it fall to the floor with a wet slap. "You were great today, no doubt we'll show them who's boss! Now get dressed and up to the great hall before we miss dinner!"

Ophelia tapped her clothes with her wand, using a switching spell to avoid having to deal with anyone over looking her, she'd been particular about fading into the background as possible. Wearing darker baggier clothes, pulling her hair up and taking longer routes to her classes to avoid the bustling crowd, not speaking to anyone, eating alone in her dorm if she could even manage to eat at all. This morning she had a cigarette and half a glass of apple juice and was running seemingly on
her anger and the potion Snape was giving her every three days.

Moving over to the sink, she pulled up her left sleeve and began to gently unwind the ruined bandage that stretched from her hand to her elbow.

"Don't know how we're going to win with me as a goalie," said Ron's voice behind her as he moved to stand to her left, "I'd be bloody useless if you weren't there to back me up..."

"You'll get better with practice I'm sure," said Ophelia softly as she ran her arm underneath the tap, the water running pink.

His eyes dropped to her arm and he took in a sharp gasp, which she instinctively pulled the sleeve back over.

"Hermione said you had detentions... but I thought it was with McGonagall... what's Umbridge done to you now?" He asked, as she turned her back to him, rushing to grab her things and shove them into her bag.

"Nothing she hasn't done before." Said Ophelia dismissively, biting back her pain by chewing on the inside of her cheek, as she chucked the bag over her shoulder as she tried to push past him he stopped her, he looked down at her as she refused to meet his gaze.

"Phee... I know you and Harry haven't spoken in a week... that you're barely on speaking terms with either me or Hermione... but we're all worried about you... especially with your condition, you're not fit to lose so much blood." Said Ron, as she snapped her gaze up to meet his worried one. "Just... start talking to us again, we'll see how it goes and hopefully everything turns out alright."

"You don't need to worry about me." She said sharply, "I'm fine."

"You can try that nonsense with Harry and Hermione all you want, but Ginny's already told me about your late night trips to the Hospital Wing, how you're passing out randomly." Insisted Ron, holding her still by her shoulders, "You can't lie to me about it Phee."

"That's funny." Said Ophelia, "I just did."

"But Romilda isn't going to disappear Phee, she's getting worse around Harry now that you're not there. She thinks he's fair game-"

"Which he is."

"So sending him letters every day, sneaking stuff into his room, trying to give him love-potion laced cakes? Yeah, that's fair game isn't it. She doesn't bother him when you're around, but now you're gone... he's going through it."

There was a flash of something behind her eyes, like the reflective backing in a cats eye in the darkness, something strong and certain, a vendetta.

"How many letters has she sent?"