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⸻ MARCH, 1976 // hogwarts, scotland
Even with the cool windbrushing against her skin, Lila Hawthorne could not feel even the slightest ounce of relief. Her heart pounded against the inside of her chest, with cheers and shouting lingering in the back of her mind. Lila carried the torturous pressure of the game upon her shoulders, out of both fear and spite.
One could assume that a sport such as Quidditch would not require such extensive physical exertion, yet, the beads of sweat trickling down from her forehead had to suggest otherwise. The quaffle had been grasped under her arm, her other hand used to manoeuvre her broom. James Potter and Frank Longbottom was hot on her trail, both eager to reach her as she soared toward the goals.
Whilst the Hufflepuffs' team had been solid in their defence, the Gryffindors' heavily relied on their attacks. It had been a contrast that balanced out the other, and because of it, the game carried on like a seemingly never ending movie.
Lila could spot a fellow chaser from below her — Willow Grace moved in, closing the gap between them as Lila launched the quaffle toward her teammate. Before the ball could land in Willow's arm, Potter dashed in, intercepting the pass and manoeuvring his direction to head for the opposite goals.
Credit to the megaphone, Dorcas Meadowes voice broke through all the noise, "Looks like the quaffle's back in Gryffindors' possession! Hawthorne looks like she's about to burst!"
"My bad," Willow winced, subtly avoiding eye contact with their captain.
"It's fine," Lila pressed. But it wasn't fine — anyone close enough could practically taste the bitterness oozing out from her tone. Her blood was brewing into a boil, and she was more than ready to yank out the hair of the next person who dared to look her way.
Majority of the game had consisted of the same thing; a constant switch of the quaffle's possession between the two teams. The spectators were bored, the players were exhausted. Even the commentators — who were usually overly energetic people — sounded like they were a second away from giving it all up.
"If McKinnon or Fawley do not catch the snitch in the next five minutes, I am hurling myself off this tower." Mcgonagall was quick to scold Archer Volant — who had a tendency to abuse her access to the megaphone.
Willow swiftly flew past Lila, muttering, "I think I'm with Volant on this one."
She could not disagree with Willow nor Volant when her vision had shifted into a struggling blur over an hour ago. The ache throughout her body resembled hell; her head stood heavy and it almost felt as if her mind was pulling itself out of her body — desperate to escape and be quite literally anywhere else but in the game.
A good fraction of the game had she hoped that somehow Potter would drop from his broom — she was manifesting it really. Irritatingly so, his determination only grew with every passing minute and it was infuriating.
