𝐒𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍; 𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫.

𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐱. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐬𝐤

tw: mature content later in the chapter lolllllllllll

"𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐀𝐍𝐃...𝐆𝐎𝐀𝐋!" Regulus's brother roared, pumping his fist into the air. "Er, sorry, Professor. Gryffindor leads Slytherin, sixty-forty!"

Evan sighed and hurtled back to gain the offensive. He reared his bat back, before sending it flying at Avison. 

She just dodged it, glaring up at him. 

"Missed," she taunted, turning and yanking the front of her broom into a tight swerve to intercept the Quaffle. She ducked under Vanity, passing the Quaffle to Fabian.

Evan only grinned and pulled his broom up to chase after a stray Bludger.

It was certainly going to be a tough game. As good as Emma Vanity was, Potter was just as good, and as competitive as Slytherin was, Gryffindor was right on par. The only advantage they had was size and, in Evan's personal opinion, toughness.

"Tal, you gotta get in on her from the left," James called hoarsely, dropping to shadow Vanity's right.

Evan watched as Avison came in from above, zeroing in on Vanity's left and pushing lightly up against her, but the Slytherin captain was too fast for both of them. She dropped into a hairpin dive, pulling a sharp front spiral to end up scoring.

"And that's sixty-fifty to Gryffindor, after Vanity's goal," Sirius said into the mic

Avison groaned, and when a Bludger skimmed over the tops of her knuckles, she hissed in pain.

"Did I miss that time?" Evan said snidely from her left. Avison swerved to face him, fuming at her raw hands. "I can keep trying as long as you want me to, Avison."

"You're an asshole," she hissed. "You're such a fucking asshole."

"Glad to know you think so highly of me," he said, raising his eyebrows and smiling. Though he'd never admit it, he'd always found her pretty; but when she was angry, she was on a completely different level, in his opinion.

Her pretty eyes were narrowed, zeroed in at him; cheeks flushed from the cold; lips parted as she panted slightly, the misty puffs of air leaving her mouth visible from the cold air. Evan could remember, alarmingly clearly

"Snap out of it, Rosier," Vanity hissed, zipping past him, "get a fucking grip."

Evan started and pulled into a steep dive to intercept the Bludger the Prewett Beater had sent at Urquhart. He spun, sending it neatly back up at Potter, who swore and swerved violently.

Fucking Mudblood and her fucking face. Evan grimaced and shook his head violently.

Did she think about him the way he still thought about her? Why did she stop fucking him? It didn't make sense.

She still wanted him, obviously. It was clear in the way her eyes followed his penmanship in Potions, his even, neat handwriting; in the way she cleared her throat before speaking to him; in the way she thought he couldn't tell when she glanced at him across the Great Hall.

Regulus flew by, clocking Evan soundly on the ear. "Not the fucking time to space out, man," he hissed. "Seriously, focus."

"Right," Evan muttered.

It was good weather for a game; chilly, but not unbearable; clear, sunny skies; and, most importantly, stands packed to the maximum. Many of the Ravenclaws tended to support Slytherin when they weren't playing, and obviously Hufflepuff sided with Gryffindor; everyone had a side when green played red.