dear boy with the green eyes ⁂ golden trio era (UNDER EDITING/REWRITING)

vingt et un

     The next morning dawned, but Arabella had been up all night. Despite lying in bed for hours begging for sleep her eyelids never grew heavy. She was wide awake changed into a pair of cotton joggers and a Slytherin hoodie greeting the bright light of the day. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

Adelaide had forced her to finally eat at the Slytherin table, eyes boring at them as they sat alone.

     "You've got to eat some breakfast." the older girl nudged holding a fork with a bit of egg on the end.

     "I don't want anything."

     "Just a bit," she sighed, "I really don't want you fainting out in the air."

     "Ade, I can't eat when I can feel their eyes burning holes into my skull."

     "Well, if it makes you feel any better, Potters only stared four times the whole time you've been here. I wish I could say the same for Weasley though." Adelaide rolled her pretty eyes, before returning to her plate. "I can't believe my brother hangs out with them."

     "Wow. Thanks that made me feel so much better," she said coldly

     "Just be thankful, none of them have approached you yet."

     "I guess." she picked up a piece of toast before setting it on her plate. "I just, up there I won't be able to escape them."

     "Do you really think Potter's gonna throw his first match for you?"

     "No. I'm worried about Fred," finally taking a small peek over her shoulder. The pair of brown eyes she dreaded met hers instantly, never looking away. Arabella felt terrible. In an hour's time, she'd be walking onto the pitch quite literally face-to-face with the very people she desperately pushed away. "He's rash."

⁂

     By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Meanwhile, in the changing rooms, Arabella and the rest of the team were changing into their emerald Quidditch robes. She had braided her hair in two pleats down her back her goggles loose around her neck. She had just finished putting on her gloves when Flint cleared his throat for silence.

     "OK, men," he said. "And Silvercrest," his eyes flashed to the young girl as if she herself were a cursed object. "Do your absolute best, I will not expect less. We've not wasted time training just to lose to a group of wimpy obnoxious house cats. For Slytherin!"

     "For Slytherin!" the boys around her chorused their deep voices rattling her bones.

She followed the tall boys out of the changing room, their shadows blocking her moments before giving way to a blinding light and deafening cheers.

     "Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," Madam Hooch said, once they were all gathered around her. Arabella noticed that the flying professor seemed to be speaking particularly to her captain, Marcus Flint. But her attention didn't stay there for long. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry peeking out from behind Wood making an attempt to grab her attention.

     "Mount your brooms, please." With a loud blast on her silver whistle, fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

     "And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –"