Falling // Wolfstar

Thirty Five

To some, flying is a sure fire way to plummet to your death. The dips and dives at high speeds cause stomachs to churn and hearts to drop. But to others, it's exhilarating. Frances tightens her hold on her broom, pushing herself to speed up. The wind whips against her face with a refreshing chill. Her dark hair is pulled back into two identical plaits with her signature pink ribbons holding them together. The tip of her nose is bright pink after having spent over an hour outside in the freezing temperature. Even her gloved fingers are numb to the touch.

One last time. Frances releases the golden snitch from her hold and shuts her eyes. She takes a deep breath in, relishing in the freedom of the sky. Pure bliss.

When she opens her eyes, there is nothing but the horizon in sight. Her legs swing back and forth as she sits idly on her broom. The best of seekers know that the snitch will appear when it wants to. Chasing around aimlessly will only make you tired.

Frances makes her way towards the goal posts when a mere sliver of gold shimmers in the corner of her eye. Immediately she takes off in its direction. Her body is pressed against the handle of her broom as she zips down the pitch at lightening speed. The snitch is finally in her path, barely visible to the naked eye.

Frances extends her arm out, wiggling her fingers to inch closer. Just as her hand is about to enclose around the snitch, a body is slammed against hers. Frances grunts, narrowing her eyes at the girl now racing beside her.

The other girl only laughs, pressing forward to get slightly ahead. Frances scowls. Challenge accepted.

They fly at a steady incline, disappearing into the blinding white clouds. Both girls' are hyper focused on the snitch that dips back towards the pitch. It moves on its own accord, zig zagging in all sorts of directions to throw them off.

Frances takes a sharp dive straight down, surpassing her opponent with head strong determination. In her peripheral vision she can see the other girl's sleeve being thrashed around by the wind. With moments to spare, Frances pulls out of her dive and lunges forward, grasping the snitch between her fingers with victory. She slows to a hover in the middle of the pitch, holding up her minuscule trophy proudly.

"You're a brilliant flyer," the girl compliments, flying over.

Frances finally gets a better look at her mysterious opponent, recognizing her as the Gryffindor seeker. Her hair is raven black with every strand curled in a perfect spiral, sitting on top of her head in a floofy bun. She has a near perfect complexion of fawn skin with undertones of olive that radiate her natural beauty.

"Well I'm only my best when I've got good completion," Frances replies with a smile. "Frances Berkshire."

"Willa Russet." Her eyes a dark brown, chocolate almost. "You played a good game last time. Just not good enough to beat us."

Frances laughs and waves her hand with dismissal. "That was a pity win for you."

Willa purses her lips skeptically. "Mhm, sure."

"I was just leaving anyway if you wanted the pitch." Frances coughs into her sleeve, rubbing her nose gently with her glove. "Probably shouldn't have stayed out here so long after practice." Frances leans forward and starts to head off. A nagging thought continuously pokes at her brain until she finally gives in, turning halfway around. She blurts out the question before she can chicken out, "You wouldn't want to hangout sometime, would you?"

Willa crosses her arms with a deadpan expression. "Trying to get the Gryffindor secrets, huh?" Frances internally panics and stumbles over her words to defend herself when Willa breaks out into laughter. "I'm joking! I'd love to hangout sometime."