Restricted

Chapter 25. Control

//content warning: blood, violence, and an embarrassing lack of knowledge in quidditch//

~

The buzz of the Great Hall tuned out entirely, the mania of excitement and anticipation for the day ahead filtering into static.

A light rain continued its pattering against the windows surrounding the hall. The sound aided plenty in distracting him.

Lovely weather for November, Fred thought. The overcast of the clouds would prove useful in today's match, the frigid wind would be enough to cool his skin under the layers of his kit.

Though, the climate of the Scottish highlands was the least of his worries.

Fred continued to stare down at the plate in front of him. He nudged at the pile of eggs with his fork, shoving it closer towards the untouched slice of toast and link of sausage he'd barely eaten. 

Around him, those in the Great Hall bustled and chattered as though nothing had changed.

To the rest of Hogwarts, nothing had.

It was the same breakfast as any on a Saturday. Today, however, each of the four tables blurred into a frenzy, the most obscene collections of colours surrounding the respective Houses. Then there were the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons in their casual frocks, as usual seated amongst the Slytherins and Ravenclaws. 

Directly across from him at the Gryffindor table, Katie cackled the loudest among their friends.

Fred lifted his stare from his plate to join in on the laughter from a joke he had not heard.

He tried to pay mind to them, all lively and eager for the day ahead. His teammates dressed proudly in their kits of crimson and marigold. Kenneth, his girlfriend Marcy, and Lee were all saddled beside them in their own displays of Lion's pride.

His friends, all none the wiser to the thoughts wracking his brain.

When needed, Fred played his part well enough. In brief moments of reprieve from those thoughts, he'd done his best to level their energy and did enjoy it thoroughly. 

Lee—in his half crimson painted face, however, could only get a word or two out before Fred's attention trailed elsewhere. Again.

A fleeting speck of green crossed from behind Katie, snapping his attention. When he realised it wasn't her, Fred levelled his stare back to his plate.

Not being able to help it, he found that any stray thought stayed solely pinned on the evening prior.

On Madeline.

All those hours skipping stones by the lake, when he'd let her best him in their first trial, only to witness the glory of her victorious, astonishing smile.

And when they had departed for and returned from dinner, he'd grown tired of her most humble gloating. He had thoroughly given those stones his all in the next rounds, only to be bested by her twice more.

But it was nice—enjoyable, even, to be taunted by her.

He would have been content if that were all to have happened. 

But then they'd found that damned tree, and sat between the branches and whistling leaves. Where he had forced himself to think of anything other than how stunning she'd looked, bathed in the moon's light.

And after they'd left, in the corridor—

When he first awoke that very morning, he had thought it had been a dream—a marvellous dream that he hoped would pay him more visits. A dream not unlike the ones he'd had centering around her before.