Quatervois ❦ Alastor Moody

Chapter 1 : Quatervois

Quatervois
(n.) a critical decision or turning point in one's life

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    It was nearing the end of the school year, and the weather became progressively warm. The mountains around the school seemed to radiate heat and the lake was a hot spring, perfect for swimming in. Every morning, the sun's rays would pierce through the atmosphere, giving the earth an incandescent glow of light. It was the season to play Quidditch.

    On Sunday was the last match before the Quidditch Cup ceremony. The final game that Alastor would ever play at Hogwarts and he felt a slight pang at the thought before brushing it aside. He needed to be in his best form to win. No distractions. No complications.

    He'd practised well ; improving his Heiragoto Feint and his Tricksters Trap almost every day leading up to the match. He was prepared to win and nothing else. A final victory to mark his seventh year at Hogwarts. After scoring one last time, Alastor packed his up his Quidditch set, and climbed up to the Gryffindor common room.

    It was silent and deserted when he pushed past the painting and Alastor smiled to himself. His house always did take Quidditch seriously. Too seriously considering how they all went to sleep early so that they could scream at the top of their lungs at the oncoming match. He sprinted up the stairs to his dorm and settled to bed, the prospect of the Quidditch finals looming over his mind.

    The next morning, Alastor was awoken by the loud chanting of his dorm mates who claimed to be practising for when the cup was awarded to Gryffindor. Alastor only chuckled before taking a quick shower and heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

    The moment he entered, a wave of delicious smells crashed over him and he took his seat quickly, eager to get started. His friends surrounded him in an instant, clapping him on the back, wishing him well for the game.

    "Good luck Moody."

    "Do us proud, will you?"

    "Don't let us down, Al."

    The endless chatter only seemed to get louder as breakfast commenced and by the time the team headed out to get ready, Alastor could barely hear himself thinking.  He herded his team towards the changing rooms by the pitch and cleared his throat, demanding silence.

    "Alright guys. This is what we've been waiting for," Alastor said. "We've been training hard all year to get here, and I'll be damned if we lose today. Our team is the strongest in Hogwarts and now, all we have to do get out there and prove it." He said passionately, raising his voice. "Remember, strategy over strength. I picked all of you for this team because there's more to Quidditch than brute force. Don't make me regret it." He said, pushing for a challenge. It was how his team worked best. Telling them they were good would make them sloppy and so Alastor's form of motivation were subtly hidden insults that his team would rise against. "Good luck team." He said and with a smirk, he left the changing room, his team following him onto the pitch.

    There was an instant riot of sound as Alastor turned to the Gryffindor spectators, giving them a thumbs up.

    Monsieur Parvaz walked briskly onto the field and stood between the two teams. "Follow the rules and play fair. Fouls will not be tolerated. " Parvaz indicated for a Alastor to move forwards and the same for the Ravenclaw captain. They shook hands firmly and Alastor pressed his mouth into a thin line.