𝙮𝙤𝙪 || 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧: 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

The air smelled of fresh cut grass as you went down the sloping fields to the Quidditch pitch, carrying extra toasts with marmalade. Ron and Hermione were staggering behind you.

"Why'd they practice so early in the morning?" You question. "It's Saturday."

"I bet it's Wood who woke them up," said Ron, huffing slightly. "I've been hearing all sorts of stories about him from Fred and George. He's obsessed with Quidditch."

That part was obvious. It would be a surprise if nobody in Hogwarts knew of Oliver's near-worship love for the sport. He practically lives and breathes for it. That has to be unhealthy to some extent, then again this was Oliver you were talking about. For all you knew, he doesn't even have limits when it comes to Quidditch.

"You're close friends with him, aren't you?" Said Ron as he looks at you. "Can't you convince him to, I dunno, start practicing during afternoons instead?"

"I don't have that kind of privilege, Ronald," you retort. "If I did, I would have used it since last year for Harry's sake."

"Do you think they're done by now?" Asked Hermione, falling into step with you. "They haven't had breakfast yet. They should be on break."

The pitch was empty of any hovering brooms or players when the three of you arrive. After settling in one of the stands, the Gryffindor Quidditch team walks out of the locker room in their scarlet uniforms, broomsticks on their shoulders.

"Aren't you finished yet?" Ron shouted at Harry in disbelief.

"Haven't even started," Harry yelled back.

"Won't you at least eat something first?" You said, lifting the food you snagged from the Great Hall. "I brought toasts!"

Harry lead his broom near the stand and hovers in front of you. He mumbles a quick thanks and shoves the toast in his mouth before flying back to his team.

"Look this way, Harry!" Cried a shrill voice, followed by numerous clicking noises.

Looking up at the highest seats, you spot a small boy with blond hair, taking pictures with an ordinary camera.

"It's Colin," said Hermione when she sees your bemused face. "He's been trying to take pictures of Harry every day."

"He's just as taken as Ginny when it comes to Harry," said Ron through a mouthful of toast. "I reckon they'll start a fan club or something."

The clicking sounds echoed throughout the whole stadium that it was beginning to grate at your ears after awhile, but watching the Gryffindor team skimming through the air provided enough distraction. Only you and Ron were paying attention to their practice since Hermione was reading one of Lockhart's books again.

You will never understand her and Susan's admiration for him. Most of the girls in your class find Lockhart to be very handsome and intelligent, but all he's been quizzing you about is the date of his birthday or his favorite color. You're starting to see why Harry and Ron dislike him.

"Oh no," said Ron all of a sudden that Hermione looked up from her book. "I smell trouble."

Several people in green robes were walking onto the field and carrying broomsticks. It was the Slytherin Quidditch team.

What are they doing here?

The Gryffindors sensed their presence almost immediately. Oliver shot toward the ground, landing roughly that he almost tripped on his own two feet, but that didn't deter his anger as he marched toward the Slytherins. The rest of his team followed.