VIOLET (A Harry Potter Universe Fanfiction)

32.

The first match of the season had arrived and Marlowe was a nervous wreck. It didn't matter that he had been working himself ragged in training day after day. It didn't matter that he was eating, breathing, and sleeping quidditch and almost nothing else. It didn't even matter that if he did get to play today, it would likely just be for a few minutes. Marlowe did not feel prepared whatsoever.

He had never felt such immense pressure before a quidditch match. His conversation with Benson had left him energized at first. He'd been feeling confident in practice and felt like his feedback had been mostly positive, but now he felt like all he had to do was mess up once and Benson would change his mind.

Caiti kept telling him he was being ridiculous, and he knew she was right, but he couldn't quite get himself to believe it.

She was coming to the match with Sean and Evelyn. His parents would be there. Even Jack was coming. Marlowe hadn't seen him in almost a month and he was feeling bad about it.

In the locker rooms with the rest of the team, Marlowe couldn't help but notice McSorley looking at him every so often. He finally came over to where Marlowe sat on the pretense of getting something from his locker and said, voice low, "You feeling alright?"

Marlowe nodded. "I'm fine."

McSorley just glanced back at him.

"Nervous," he said, because he felt like he had to give some sort of explanation. He'd barely spoken a word to anyone all through their warm-up and that wasn't like him.

McSorley just clapped him on the shoulder. "You're ready," he said. He was always so calm. Marlowe wished he had a little more of that.

—-

About an hour into the match, the Cannons were down ninety points and things were looking pretty miserable. The Catapults had possession of the quaffle (again) and Marlowe watched as they took another shot at the goals, and the quaffle slid right through (again). He couldn't even find it in himself to groan with the rest of the team, or to swear like Benson did. He was still on edge.

"God," said Benson, wiping a hand over his forehead in utter distress. "You'd think they'd never flown a day in their lives."

As he said this, the chasers fumbled a pass and the other team intercepted, swerving back to the goals where they scored, yet again, leaving the score at 130 to 10.

"I'm calling a timeout," he said. "Finnegan, you're going in. And Fuller."

Marlowe glanced at Mick Fuller, the reserve keeper, who gave him a nod as they stood up.

Benson's timeout words weren't particularly uplifting. Mostly he seemed to want to berate Crawford for letting in 13 goals in an hour, but he did turn to Marlowe just as he was sending everyone back up in the air and say, "Give me something to smile about, alright? My blood pressure can't handle much more of this."

Marlowe managed a laugh, gripping his broom tightly. Then the whistle blew to resume play and they all kicked off the ground. Marlowe could have sworn he heard Caiti scream his name, somewhere in the stands, but it was probably just a projection. He felt shaky. Not in the full moon way, but in a nervous way. But Benson was counting on him to do something positive for this match, even if it was something small.

Marlowe took one glance around at the crowd and then he tuned it all out, tuned the game in. From across the field, he saw McSorley give him a little nod, and then Marlowe zeroed in on an approaching bludger, and whacked it.

—-

"Oh my god," said Caiti, sitting up straighter. "Oh my god, look. They put him in." She clutched Evelyn's arm leaning this way and that as she tracked his progress up into the air and around the play area.