Harry Potter Oneshots

Chasing the Chaser (Roger Davies)

My favorite part of Hogwarts was undoubtedly Quidditch.

In first year when we'd been given flying lessons, I'd been shocked at how incredible it felt to be far off from the ground with all the open air space. The wind rushing through my hair, against my face as if removing all traces of stress from my expression, flying on a broomstick came as naturally as breathing.

In my second year, I tried out for the Slytherin quidditch team and to my delight I'd been accepted as a chaser, beating out Cassius Warrington for the position. Unfortunately, this also meant that I had been dealing with certain members of the house for the second year now that I would have avoided otherwise.

"You're going to get hypothermia this way," Daphne says in displeasure as I exit the shower dressed in my quidditch robes. My hair had been too tangled to put in the half-back style I usually wore it in, and instead of spending all that time detangling it I simply ran it under some water and gathered it into a messy ponytail.

"I'm fine, Daph," I say distractedly as I look for my gloves. Once found, I slip them on and grin at her. "I'll see you in the stands?"

She rolls her eyes as if offended I'd even asked. "Obviously. I'll bring Millie and Pansy as well."

I grin and bound out of the dorms only to run into the Slytherin team's very own Draco Malfoy. We nod at one another and make our way to the pitch in silence. He was one of the members of our house I'd rather not associate with, though I wouldn't exactly call the two of us enemies. He could be rather difficult at times, the spoiled brat he is, but he was also fiercely loyal and had underlying goodness in him that was often overlooked. Often even by me.

When I get to the pitch, I split from Draco to head to the female changing room. The Ravenclaw stands are on the way, and I immediately spot Roger Davies in deep conversation with the rumored Beaters of his team this year.

"You could try being a bit more subtle," Marcus Flint says behind me. I turn to shoot the boy a glare and he grins. "It's not my fault you're absolutely smitten with that nerd. Just don't let it distract you on the pitch." I scowl at him and he just chuckles. "Keep that ferocity and we will destroy the Puffs today."

Lee Jordan begins the preliminary commentary (which as always was especially derogatory to us Slytherins) and I grab my broomstick firmly. It wasn't anything like Potter's Firebolt, but it wasn't a bad broomstick in the slightest. I mount it, ready to kickoff and fly onto the pitch.

"Don't screw up," Malfoy says. It became a tradition of ours since last year when he'd said those exact words before our first game, seeing as we were the youngest ones on the team and thus equally as nervous as one another, though of course we never admitted it.

"I won't if you don't."

"And Slytherin!"

We kickoff and fly into the stadium, being greeted by wild cheers by Slytherin house, mediocre ones by Ravenclaw, and booed by Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.

My eyes sweep over the stands and I see Daphne, Pansy, and Millie waving wildly. I grin and wave back happily.

"Focus, Greene," Marcus flies past me with a hiss. I make a face but listen to him, listening raptly as Madam Hooch gives her spiel about sportsmanship and fair play once more. Soon enough she releases the Quaffle and I race toward it, narrowly stealing it from Cadwallader. He groans in annoyance and I barely suppress a grin as I race toward the goal hoops.

I fly circles around Hufflepuff and score a goal almost immediately. I beam to the cheers of my house and yell at Marcus over the wind, "Is that focused enough?"