Sore Loser

I'm Okay

 "The beautiful Angelina Johnson has the ball and is speeding toward the goal with terrific speed!" You hear Lee shout excitedly into the microphone. Everything seems to be passing by you in a blur as you race on your Nimbus 2001. This is the first game you have played in a long time. You have been known as one of the chasers for Ravenclaw about a year now, first being accepted onto the team last year when you were 13.

"She shoots, and she scores another ten points for Gryffindor!" Jordan knocks over the microphone he's cheering so hard. You blow out a puff of air and one of your (H/C) locks flies out of your (E/C) eyes. You are certainly one of the most competitive players on your team. You remember how some people would tease you at first, calling you not athletic enough to win. The mild bullying still goes on, although not as often, because you are the top chaser on your team.

"The ball lands in Ravenclaw captain Roger Davies' hands as he immediately speeds toward the Gryffindor goal." Lee's voice slows down a bit in disappointment.

"He passes it to Chambers, who passes it back to Davies." You speed along side the other two chasers, raising your arm above your head and yelling at them to pass it your way. Even through all of this action, you know that your exasperation can probably be shown on your face clearly. No matter what, there are always some boys out there that are too confident in themselves to pass to a silly girl. They should know one thing by now, and that is that Miss (F/N) definitely means business.

A bludger caused by one of the infamous Weasley twins soars past Roger, and he drops the Quaffle conveniently right over your head. You have to make a quick turn to catch it in your palms. Yes, finally! Flying toward the keeper, your arms raised high above your head with the Quaffle, you pull back your arms and aim before you swing and- BAM! A dark bludger wallops you right in the gut and you fall off of your broom with an oof!

And now, this is when you look around to see what happened. You don't even seem to realize you're falling when your eyes lock on one of the Gryffindor beaters, who is yelling with his bat dropped limply at his side. Everything is frozen in time, it feels like, and you can see everyone's reactions. Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet are gasping as Roger Davies has his mouth in the middle of a gape. Or maybe he's screaming at Hooch to stop the game. The stadium is roaring, especially the Slytherins, who are most likely desperate for Gryffindor to lose. A flick of gold is concealed by the palm of the Chosen One, Harry Potter. Oh no. You think, we've lost!

"(Y/N)!" A groan escapes your lips and you open your eyes but immediately close them again when the sunshine burns your cornea.

"Are you alright, dear?" Pomfrey's voice fills your brain. Your mind is a little fuzzy, and you can barely remember what has just happened. Dew-covered grass tickles your wrists and exposed shins.

"Weasley." you mumble, your head tilting to the side.

"What was that?"

"My team..." You say, louder than what you first had said. There are some grumblings of chants and your pain diminishes slowly. When you finally can stand the brightness of the daylit sky, you squint your eyes and sit up, although the school nurse is wary of you doing so.

"Your team was sent to the locker rooms, along with Gryffindor's as well."

"Who won?" You ask, but your thoughts immediately answer your own question as you remember your last sight before you hit the ground. The flicker of gold was in Potter's hands... Madame Pomfrey applies something that stings slightly onto your bruise and helps you up. Shortly after, Professor Flitwick brought over your broom and also your hair-tie, which had fallen out in all the getting-hit-and-falling-affair. However, your Nimbus had a major chip near the bristles, and the hair-tie was stretched far enough to barely be intact.