Succumb | Fred Weasley

I

ONE
THE SLYTHERIN
QUIDDITCH TEAM

Florence slammed the dormitory's door behind herself. 'Colloportus,' she whispered with a shaky voice, her feet dragging her towards her bed and before she could even process it she was curling up in the middle of her emerald green sheets. A few minutes passed as she breathed quickly and shallowly, her throat stinging from her effort to suppress the sobs threatening to escape. It began to sting so much that her eyes watered, and she forcibly blinked the oncoming tears away.

He was just trying to get a reaction out of her, she knew that. It didn't hurt any less.

With a shaky sigh, she pulled herself back up into a sitting position. If Graham Montague was to criticise her skills as a Chaser again, Florence swore she would jinx his broom and send him flying over the stands with no remorse. Being in the same house and playing for the same team wasn't going to stop her. It was aggravating to be the only girl on the Quidditch team, the boys acting like she needed a constant line of input simply because she was a girl. Letting out a frustrated groan, she grabbed her pillow and threw it hard against the wall. It quietly fell to the ground beneath the window opposite.

She climbed off the bed and picked up the pillow with a frown, then carelessly tossed it back onto her bed.

Her Quidditch attire was eventually strewn across her desk as she hurried to change into her Slytherin robes. Her thoughts solely consisted of nasty digs she could make towards her captain in retaliation to his next inevitable jab at her confidence. Despite the dedication and effort it took, along with the hushed laughter when imagining his reactions, Florence knew she wasn't capable of saying anything. She was too kind, no matter how badly she wanted to watch his pride and confidence crumble like a wall struck with reducto.

In front of the mirror, she freed her light blonde hair from the green ribbon she had used to tie it up with. It fell to about two inches below her shoulders in its naturally wavy state. She took a deep breath, nodding at her appearance and reaching for her black leather satchel.

A simple wave of her hand unlocked her door and pushed it open softly. She exited the seventh years' dormitories and headed down the stairs. The common room she passed through was desolate as most students had already made their way down to breakfast, and the rest were most likely still asleep. Of course, Montague had set a practice session that began before and overlapped with breakfast. Thankfully though, there was no sight of her team members nearby, and she couldn't help the smile on her face.

She had successfully avoided the insufferable boys that made up the majority of their team.

However, luck wasn't entirely on her side. As she finally approached the great hall, there stood Fred Weasley by the entrance, as if waiting on her. Undoubtably, he was much more tolerable than Graham Montague, but he didn't exactly bring her joy.

'Morning, Miracle,' he mocked, as always.

Florence sent Fred a warning glare before she tried to step past him. He quickly stepped to the side and blocked her from entering the great hall.

'Shove off, Weasley,' she rolled her eyes. 'I'm certainly not in the mood to entertain your idiocy this morning.'

'Hang on,' he smirked. She felt like swinging her heavy satchel towards the side of his head. 'Just wondering, doesn't it warm your heart whenever somebody refers to you by your surname?'

Florence hastily pulled out her wand and pointed it towards the redhead's face. He raised his hands up in defence and stepped aside, having been on the receiving end of her hexes one too many times. Fred then placed his hands in his pockets and turned on his heel, heading for the Gryffindor table.