Sinners and Serpents {g.w.}

Chapter 4

The roar of the crowd was nearly deafening as you walked out with your team onto the green Quidditch pitch, a smile spreading on your face as you reveled in the feeling of being back on the field for an actual game. It was the first of the year; Gryffindor versus Slytherin, just like it always was. Pucey had been training your team so hard the past few weeks that the seven of you could practically play a near-perfect game with your eyes closed, and as much as the lot of you groaned and whined about it, you secretly loved the feeling of sore muscles the morning after a particularly vigorous practice. Nothing quite matched the feeling of appearing blisters on the tops of your palms, the tightness in your shoulders from throwing the Quaffle over and over again, the tender spots on your sides and legs where other played knocked into you or a stray Bludger happened to find it's mark on your skin.

Blair and Dorian, clad in the same evergreen robes as you, smiled at you excitedly as you lined up with them on the pitch, encircling Madam Hooch. Zachariah lined up next to you, sending a playful wink your way as he did. Your heart thudded gently, and you basked slightly under his attention as you surveyed the field. The Gryffindor players were opposite your team, their burgundy robes bright even under the cloud-covered sky. You had to admit that they had a rather formidable team this year; having played frequently with four of the seven of them, you knew just how good they could actually be. When they got along, that is.

You could see the joy shimmering in Harry and Ron's eyes, and you sent them a small smile, making sure that Pucey didn't see; he hated Gryffindors almost as much as Malfoy did. The latter was sending a putrid glare in Harry's direction, but Harry, as usual, seemed altogether unbothered by the pale boy. As Madam Hooch spoke, outlining the rules, you looked at Fred and George, their bright shocks of ginger hair clashing violently with their red robes.

Fred, to your surprise, raised his eyebrows at you and shot you a slight smirk, mouthing to you "Good luck", and you nodded in response, mildly amused at his change in behavior. Not your usual exasperating, frustrating exchange by any means, but you found you didn't mind the change. George, however, was his usually frigid, devious self; he didn't even spare you a second glance once you caught him looking at you, quickly darting his eyes away to some incredibly fascinating object in the sky. All fourteen players were jostling anxiously, ready to start the game. The first match back was always the best in your opinion; the rush of being back, being home, made the players perform far better than any other game for the rest of the year. Breathing out sharply, you mounted your broom along with the rest of your team, and once the shrill silver whistle sounded, you were bolting into the air quicker than lightning.

The air rushed past your face as you ascended into the gray autumn sky, the cool temperature biting at your skin, making your cheeks already begin to burn with the cold. Hearing your name from behind you, you spun on your broom, already ready to catch the soaring maroon ball that was heading your way from one of your fellow chasers. Tucking the Quaffle tightly to your side, you urged your broom forward, darting through the sea of burgundy towards Ron, who was sitting nervously in front of the goal posts. You remembered, with a rush of friendly pride, that it was his first game; of course he'd be nervous. But, as much as you loved him, you couldn't pull your punches, especially because Ron would be able to tell and he was likely to get rather cross at you if you did. Grinning at your best friend, you ducked past one of the older Gryffindor Chasers, rolling to the left as they tried to block you, and shot the Quaffle, twisting as you did so to add a slight curve to the path of the ball. It was soaring past Ron into the left goal post, earning an eruptive cheer from the Slytherin student section and your team, and a loud groan from the opposing house.

Dorian held out his gloved hand for a quick high five as the field reset, winking at you proudly as he did. You saw Fred and George looking at you, talking passionately, and a tiny bolt of fear shot through you. Whatever they were planning, it could not be good; nothing ever was when it came to the twin menaces. Shifting nervously on the dark wood of your broom, the next play began, and you had little time to think any more about their scheming as players darted past and balls flew through the air. You noticed Malfoy dip low to the green grass with a sharp motion, and you hoped he had spotted the Snitch, meaning you wouldn't have to worry about Fred and George any longer.