° His Sunshine °

- ten -

It hadn't taken long for DADA to become most people's favourite class. Only Draco and his henchmen had anything bad to say about it (surprise surprise).

"Look at the state of his robes," Draco would say in a loud whisper as Professor Lupin passed. "He dresses like our old house elf."

The next day Draco opened his wardrobe to find all his robes chewed by moths.
"Bloody Potter and Weasley," he grumbled, trying to find clothing without holes and frays.

But no one else cared about Lupin's robes. His interesting lessons and laid-back (and sometimes sassy) demeanor had won the respect and admiration of his students in no time. From Red Caps to Kappas, Professor Lupin fascinated his students and made them want to learn and enjoy it.

Quinn only wished she was as happy with some of her other classes.
Worst of all was Potions, though that was nothing new. Snape, however, seemed more vindictive these days, and no one was in any doubt why.
The story of Neville's Boggart assuming the shape of Snape in old lady clothing had spread through Hogwarts like wildfire. Snape didn't seem to find it funny. His eyes flashed menacingly at the mention of Lupins name, and poor Neville was getting targeted by him more than ever.
Quinn probably didn't help by drawing a Boggart Snape on his blackboard one morning before class. He gave out 7 detentions that lesson and removed 80 points from Gryiffindor for things like sneezing and breathing too loudly.

Divination was better, though minimally. Quinn, at least, was having a better time in the lesson than Harry was.
"If that human bug looks at me as if I'm already in the grave one more time I'm gonna pick my own tombstone and bury myself," Harry grumbled to his friends after one particularly intense lesson, where Trelawney took one look at the class and nearly broke down sobbing.

Quinn hummed in agreement. "I already know what to write on it: 'Defeated The Dark Lord - Couldn't Survive A Crazy Lady'."

"Am I insane for enjoying Divination more than Care of Magical Creatures at the moment?" asked Ron. Nobody could disagree. As much as they all loved Hagrid, caring for flobberworms was more dull than Filch's hair.

However, as October arrived, Harry and Quinn had something else to occupy them. Something far better than lessons.

Quidditch.

And Oliver Wood was determined to win this year.

That is why he called a meeting for the first Thursday of the month, to discuss tactics for the new season.

Oliver was 17, now in his last year at Hogwarts, and he struggled to hide the desperation in his voice.

"This is our last chance - my last chance - to win the Quidditch cup," he told the team. "I'll be leaving at the end of this year. I'll never get another shot at it."

"C'mon Ollie, we all know you'll be in a professional Quidditch team when you graduate," said Quinn, leaning against Harry for warmth in the chilly locker room. "We'll all come watch you at your first World Cup."

"Thanks, Quinnie," said Oliver, smiling softly at her.
"Gryffindor hasn't one in seven years now. We may have the shittiest luck in the world - injuries - the tournament getting called off last year." Wood swallowed, as though the memory bought a lump to his throat. The Weasley's all grimaced as well, last year had been awful for them with Quinn getting petrified and Ginny being kidnapped by Tom Riddle - the 17 year old memory of Voldemort.
"But, we also know we've got the best - ruddy - team - in - the - school," he said, punching, punching his fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye. "We've got three superb chasers."

Oliver pointed to Quinn, Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell. The girls clutched eachother dramatically and pretended to fan themselves. "You flatter us," said Angelina.

"We've got two unbeatable beaters,"

"I've actually beaten them before multiple times," said Quinn, causing George to pick her up - "eep!" - and hold her upside down.

"Stop it, Oliver you're embarrassing us us," said the twins, Fred taking Quinn off George and sitting her on his shoulders.

"I'm not a bloody doll," she mumbled, but rested her arms over his head, and using them to plop her head on.

"And," continued Oliver, ignoring the red heads. "We've got a seeker who has never failed to win us a match!" He was glaring at Harry with a furious pride, like a father whose son ended world-hunger. "And me," he added as an after thought.

"We think you're very good too, Oliver," said George.
"Spanking good Keeper," said Fred.
"Outstanding Ollie," grinned Quinn.

"The point is," Oliver went on, resuming his pacing, "the Quidditch cup should have had our name on it these past two years. Ever since Harry joined the team-"

"And Quinn joined the team!" said Katie.

"And Quinn joined the team, yes, I've thought the thing was in the bag. But we haven't got it, and this year is my last chance..."

Oliver looked so dejected even Fred and George looked sympathetic.

"Oliver, this year's our year," said Fred.

"We'll do it, Oliver!" said Angelina.

"Definitely," said Harry.

Full of determination, the team started training sessions three times a week. It left them knackered, especially with the weather getting colder and wetter. But no amount of mud, wind and rain could stop Harry or Quinn from focusing on their dream of winning the huge, silver quidditch cup for their team.

🦋🦋🦋

"Harry I don't think I can move anymore," Quinn grumbled after a particularly grueling training session. The muddy ground beneath her, though wet, was soft and comfy. Her tired limbs were more than happy to surrender to the mud. "This is my home now."

"No," said Harry, barely glancing at her from where he stood as he fiddled with his new Quidditch gloves. "Quinn, I love you, and you are insanely talented, but these gloves you made suck."

"Shut up," she whined. "They're the thestral themed ones like you asked for. Why do they suck?"

"They're too slippery, I cant grab hold of the snitch properly," Harry explained.

"Hmm, okay. I'll see... what I can... do..." Quinn mumbled, fighting the urge to fall asleep.

Harry finally looked away from his gloves and turned to Quinn. He bent his knees so he was closer to her level and took her hands. "C'mon, up you come. Your brothers will kill you if you get sick from lying in wet mud of all things." With strength Quinn didn't know he possessed, he pulled her to her feet.

Yawning widely, Quinn raised her arms and gave Harry a pleading look.

"Don't give me that look, Sunshine, you're muddier than Hagrid's flobberworms," said Harry, his eyes widening in concern as she inched closer and closer.

"Please," Quinn said, dragging the word out and pouting her lips for good measure.

"Quinn, no," said Harry looking away.

"Quinn, yes."

"I'll hit you with my broom."

"You're broom's in the shed, dumbass."

Harry made the brutal mistake of looking at his friend. Her big blue eyes instantly made contact with his emerald, and it wasn't long before he was nodding his head.

"Thank you!" she squealed, her previous lethargy gone as she leaped onto his back.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry grumbled, making sure she was secure as he headed towards the Castle. "You owe me treacle cupcakes."