The Serpent and the Lion [L.S]

Chapter 6

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Beads of sweat sting Harry's eyes as he dodges another Bludger, ducking himself mere milliseconds before the ball sails over his right shoulder. He can't reach up to wipe the moisture away, so he blinks furiously against the salty burn, shaking curls away from his face.

"What the fuck," Harry curses to himself, the words vanishing in the rush of wind.

A Ravenclaw Chaser flanks slightly below him to his left, and two more swiftly rise in front of him.

Harry clutches the Quaffle under his arm a little tighter, shifting his weight towards the front of his broom, urging it further, faster.

Through his peripheral Harry searches for either one of his Chasers, but they're nowhere to be found—he's still twenty meters away from the nearest goalpost, but it won't mean a thing if he can't shake these Ravenclaws on his arse. 

When the fuck did the Ravenclaws get so good?

Harry dives down, angling his broom towards the wooden spaces between the spectator's stands and the pitch, weaving in and around the planks. It's a move he doesn't usually pull, but he's desperate, and it's the only way to gain some distance without his teammates.

Harry hopes that Sloane or Kinnick will meet him on the other side and be available to pass to, but as he emerges near the Ravenclaw's end of the pitch, he still finds himself alone—he's got no choice but to try and make the play by himself.

It's a long shot, but Harry jerks his broom up and to the right, rearing his arm back to aim and just as he suspected, the Ravenclaw girl underneath him reaches up and smacks the Quaffle from his grip, and Harry watches in horror as it plummets to the ground. 

"Gryffindor captain Harry Styles loses possessions of the Quaffle!"

Anger flares in Harry's chest at the pointless announcement, and especially when the crowd roars at the words.

Fucking underdogs always got the most support.

Pulling his broom around to face the opposite direction, Harry finally catches sight of his supposed best Chaser, Sloane, who has been painfully absent for the past three minutes; which was apparently long enough to turn the tides of the game against their favour.

"Where the fuck have you been?!" Harry shouts as she lines up next to him, the pair of them trailing hot on the Ravenclaw who took the Quaffle.

"Took a Bludger to the leg!" She yells back. Harry notices now she's got her fingers gripped tightly around her thigh, still flying steady with one hand. Harry's taken many Bludgers to various part of his body, and is in awe that it hadn't caused her to fall off her broom. Or maybe it had, and she was downplaying it—either way, he was impressed.

Harry spots the familiar brown sphere whizzing toward him, and twists out of the way of the Bludger; he comes right-side up and nods at Sloane, who's thankfully still flying at his side.

They fly forward, again, way too close to the Gryffindor's goalposts for Harry's liking—but he's close enough to the player in front of him that just a few seconds longer, and he could reach forward and take the Quaffle back—  

That is, until the player curls the Quaffle over his head, the ball zipping centimeters past Harry's outstretched hand, and directly into the arms of a Ravenclaw player directly behind him.  

"Ravenclaw Captain Eric Coates performs a stunning overhead pass to Alisa Evanora! Bloody brilliant, that was! A move of that caliber requires flawless technique, but they've clearly mastered it!"