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chapter seven: quidditch
word count: 3.97k
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note: i kinda like how this turned out, but i kinda don't 🤡idk man, just pls don't hesitate in voting and commenting, it makes me feel good (and kinda acts as a motivation lol)!

NOVEMBER MADE ITS ENTRANCE WITH CHILLY BREEZE AND GRAY SKIES. 

Cool Saturday morning practices now turned agonizing two hours of cutting through icy air and running on frost covered ground. But Wood wouldn't have it, because they couldn't and wouldn't let Slytherin win the Quidditch Cup that year. 

So he grilled them every morning at seven, all his players sleepy and tired and cheeks red and breath visible from the cold. But he believed that comfort zones didn't grant great things, so they pushed and pushed and finally, the morning of the match was here. 

Gryffindor's match meant a lot. If they won against Slytherin, they would move up to second place in the House Championship. Since the news of Azalea's appointment as the Seeker went out, people had been running around her either telling her she'd be great, or that she'd be unconscious and on a mattress halfway through the match. 

She didn't know which was worse. 

So here she was, poking her breakfast around, making a mental note of what she would do and not do through the match, her period making her feel nauseous at the sight of eggs. 

"Go on, Azzie." Ron urged, stuffing himself with said eggs. "Have a bit of toast." 

Azalea shook her head 'no', gulping down some orange juice. Though she appreciated having Hermione as her friend, considering she would have never gone through her homework without her, with how brutal Wood was with making them practice, she didn't exactly enjoy learning that Seekers were usually the ones who had most accidents. 

It was an interesting yet slightly terrifying fact. Especially since she was the Seeker.

"You're going to need your strength, Azzie," Hermione urged, kicking Castor's shin and gesturing that he should try to get her to eat, too. "Have something."

"Why's Snape limping?" Castor spoke through a mouthful of toast, something he was sure his mother would smack him on the head for. "And why's he coming here?"

"Dunno. I hope the limp's hurting him though." Ron shrugged, pouring himself some more orange juice. 

"Good luck today, Potter." Snape didn't come for the group, he came for her. As always. "Then again, now that you've proven yourself against a troll, a little game of Quidditch should be easy for you. . .even if it is against Slytherin." 

He limped away again, a little sneer curling on his lips, his signature look back in place. 

Azalea's eyebrow's shot up, eyes twinkling as she leaned on her forearms, voice lowering a few octaves, "So that explains the blood." 

"What blood?"

"That night, when the teachers caught us fighting off the bloody troll, I saw a huge bite on his leg. I'm guessing he let the troll in as a diversion, so he could get past the three headed dog, but the dog might not have liked it. That's why he's limping." 

Hermione's eyes went wide, hair bouncing wildly as she shook her head, "No,  he wouldn't. I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was safeguarding." 

"Honestly, 'Mione! You think all teachers are saints." Ron threw his hands up. "I'm with Azzie on this one. Who knows what Snape could be up to?" 

"But what's he after?" Castor looked at Azalea, the conspirator, "What could the dog be guarding, and why the hell would Snape want it?" 

"Dunno." Azalea shrugged her shoulders, fingers itching for her copy of Quidditch through the Ages, just so she could take her mind off this and focus on the game within the next hour. "The day I was at Gringotts, Hagrid took something out of one of the vaults. He said it was Hogwarts' business, very secret."

An owl's screech took their attention. Estrella, Azalea's first (magical) friend, held a big box in her clutches, dropping it off just between the friends, barely half an inch away from their plates. The ebony owl perched herself on her owner's shoulders, joyfully nibbling away at the toast Azalea offered her. 

"Isn't it a little too early for mail?" 

"But I never get mail." Azalea pursed her lips, eyebrows pulling towards one another as she carefully unpacked whatever it was. The box was plain, thin cardboard that might tear apart if it came in contact with water. She pulled the lid open, and Ron's gasp made her grin as she ran her hand over the smooth wood of her new broom. 

"It's the Nimbus 2000!" 

Azalea didn't know who could've sent such an extravagant gift, but she had a hunch. And when she saw McGonagal's smile at her reaction, she knew it was her. 

She gave her a nod, face beaming as she mouthed a 'thank you'. 

She made another note to buy her teacher a present for Christmas. 

.  .  . 

AFTER SOME PESTERING, AND CASTOR THREATENING TO ANNOUNCE THAT AZALEA POTTER HADN'T HAD ANY BREAKFAST TO THE ENTIRE OF HOGWARTS, AZALEA HAD SOMETHING TO EAT. 

The toast and beans felt heavy now, weighing down in the pit of her stomach. She held her breath as she sat between her team mates in the locker room, all of them looking up at Wood as he prepared for his speech. 

He let out a breath and began, clapping his hands to grab attention, "Okay, men—"

"And women," Angelina Johnson butt in, nudging Azalea and Katie Bell's shoulders. 

"—and women." Wood nodded. Sometimes, Azalea wondered if Angelina scared him. "This is it." 

"The big one," said Fred. 

"The one we've been waiting for," George continued, sitting on the other side of Azalea. 

"We know Wood's speech by heart." Fred, who sat behind her, told her before she could ask. "We were on the team last year and it's never changed." 

"Shut up, you two." Wood frowned. He cleared his throat and continued, "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win, I know it." 

The glare he sent them seemed to say, 'or else'. Azalea had a feeling no one wanted to find out what happened at 'or else'. 

Five minutes later, they were all marching out, Azalea hoping her knees wouldn't give out under her. She stood beside Wood with baited breath, looking out at the crowd seated in the raised bleachers. Calypso, who had told her that though she loved her, she was a proud Slytherin and hoped Gryffindor lost (fairly of course, they don't condone cheating) and true to her word, she sat between Nott and Parkinson. Castor, Hermione, Ron, Seamus and Dean held a large poster that said Potter for President, with a large Gryffindor lion underneath, and the paint was charmed to change colors every few seconds. 

It made her face go beet red. 

She gulped and let out the breath she was holding. Only one more minute, and she might be on a stretcher soon. 

Wood made the effort to calm her nerves, "Scared, Azzie?"

"Little bit, yeah." 

"That's alright. I felt the same before my first game." 

"What happened?" 

"Eh, dunno." Wood shrugged. "I took a Bludger two minutes in, woke up in the hospital wing a week later." 

Didn't really calm her down, but hey A (or O) for effort. 

As the whistle blew out, signaling the Gryffindors to come on the pitch, the crowd went wild, just as it did when the Slytherins walked out from their locker rooms. Madam Hooch was refreeing, and as she read off the rules, she looked every player in the eyes, her sharp stare making Azalea feel small. 

"Now, I want a nice, clean game. . . from all of you." Hooch held her stare with the twins and the Slytherin beaters. "Mount your brooms, please." 

The players did as told. Lee Jordan, who was a friend of the Weasleys, was the commentator for the game, under McGonagall's supervision. 

Azalea finally looked around her, mounted on her Nimbus 2000. The Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint — a fifth year —appeared as if he had some troll blood in him. He had a nasty grin on his face as he waited for Madam Hooch to throw up the Quaffle and the game to begin at the blow of her whistle. 

Next to him was the Slytherin seeker — Draco! He'd made it to the team. She hadn't known if he would, considering the Slytherins kept everything under cover about whether he was their seeker or not, and with how much her schedule had filled up she never had the time to ask Draco about what happened. 

He gave her a nod, a small smile on her face. He might be an arse, but she was his friend. But he also wanted to win.

The loud shriek of Hooch's silver whistle set the game off. Fourteen brooms hurtled through the air, the Quaffle taken by—

"—Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor! What an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive too—"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor!" 

Azalea giggled at the interaction, the restlessness in her chest slowly fading away. She still looked around for the Snitch, which was last seen by her at the beginning of the match. 

"Potter!" 

"Malfoy!" Azalea grinned. "You didn't tell me you made it to the team." 

He swooped around her, his attention on looking for the Snitch, too. "Yeah, well, Miss Azalea Potter was too busy for her friends."

"I was not!" Yes, she was.

"'Sides," Draco continued, a little grin tugging at his mouth at her offence. "Flint thought it'd be a good idea if it was kept a secret." 

"I'm not sure Flint is capable of having good ideas." Azalea grimaced as the said Slytherin grabbed the bat from their beater and hit a Bludger, hard, right at Wood, who fell down.

"Hey! We might be friends, but right now, 'm hoping to win." 

"Just hoping?" 

"I know we'll win. Good luck, condoling your captain when you lose Potter." 

"Good luck crying to sleep when you do, Malfoy." Azalea rolled her eyes. The little smirk Draco had on told her it was all good-natured. Soon, they parted ways, both of them assuming the Snitch was in the opposite direction. 

"—a neat pass toAlicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only areserve — back to Johnson and — no, the Slytherins havetaken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains theQuaffle and off he goes — Flint flying like an eagle up there— he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move byGryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle— that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice divearound Flint, off up the field and — OUCH — that must havehurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger — Quaffletaken by the Slytherins — that's Adrian Pucey speeding offtoward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger— sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which —nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson backin possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off shegoes — she's really flying — dodges a speeding Bludger —the goal posts are ahead — come on, now, Angelina — KeeperBletchley dives — misses — GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Azalea cheered, hovering a little away from the stands as she still searched for the Snitch. She glanced at her friends, the banner giving her heart a little flutter this time, boosting her confidence. Maybe she wouldn't end up on a stretcher after all. 

She swooped up in the air, again, watching the student volunteers carry Wood off on a stretcher. She sighed and shook her head, then went back to squinting for the Snitch. 

Her heart leaped when she caught sight of a glimmer of gold, but it was just the sunlight off of one of the Weasley's watches. The next time she had an encounter with one of the Weasley's, it was when Fred came to fend a Bludger away from her. 

"Alrigh' there, Azzie?"

She only nodded because he was zooming away as soon as he asked. 

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "ChaserPucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the — wait a moment — was that theSnitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd, everyone looking around in anticipation to look at the Golden Snitch. Even Adrian Pucey looked over his shoulder to spot the Snitch, which had barely passed his ear. 

A blur of scarlet and ivy buzzed pass the Slytherin Chaser, both Seekers aiming for the Snitch. Azalea managed to go around Draco, flying ahead, the round, fluttering ball only an inch away from her stretched fingers, the ball darting up ahead, she pushed a little more, tried to gain speed—

WHAM! Flint blocked Azalea's broom on purpose, sending Azalea spinning off course, bumping into Draco and holding onto the broom for dear life. Draco didn't take the worst of it, but Azalea could feel her vision spinning for a good few seconds. 

The Snitch was out of sight, once again. 

"FOUL!"

The roar of the Gryffindors didn't exactly help the developing throb in her forehead. She let out a wince, barely acknowledging the penalty Slytherins had to serve. 

"So — after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating —" 

"Jordan!" 

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul —"

"Jordan, I'm warning you —" 

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker,which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty toGryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

Lee's commentary made her giggle, the dull pain ignored for the meantime. It was just as she dodged a Bludger, zooming just past her head, that it happened. 

Her broom gave a sudden lurch, as if trying to shrug her off. Green eyes widened, frantically looking around to see if anyone else's broom wasn't happy with their rider. None. 

She tightened her grip, knuckles turning white under the fingerless gloves. As the broom started getting more aggressive with its attempts to kill her, she started getting more and more scared. It wasn't as if she were close to the ground — she was almost as high as the tallest hoops. 

She tried to gain control, turn it towards the pitch, Madam Hooch, the teachers; but the broom was out of control. It refused to obey her just as she with Professor Snape.

She was being thrown up and down, side to side — she may as well have been on a rollercoaster. The zigzag movements made her feel the same as the beginning of the match, as if she were going to vomit the toast and orange juice she was forced to consume. 

"Slytherin in possession — Flint with the Quaffle — passesSpinnet — passes Bell — hit hard in the face by a Bludger,hope it broke his nose — only joking, Professor — Slytherinsscore — oh no ..."

No one seemed to notice that Azalea's broom had become a murder weapon. 

It carried her higher and higher, the jerks becoming frequent and bigger in magnitude. All Azalea could do was wait with baited breath and hope someone would notice the fact that she wasn't exactly flying normally — if normalcy was a thing anymore. 

It was Malfoy who first noticed that his opponent wasn't visible anymore. He flew down to the Gryffindor stands, and it seemed that the Potter's friends had noticed the same. Hagrid peered above through his binoculars, scratching his beard in confusion at Azalea's peculiar behaviour. 

"Seems as i' she's lost control o' her broom. . ." Hagrid shook his head, "But that can' have happened. . ." 

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked her?" Castor tilted his head, getting a chorus of 'no!' from three of his friends. 

"Only dark magic can control a broom," Hermione explained, Ron nodding in agreement. 

"No troll-brain like Flint could've done that." Draco squinted above, sighing when Azalea broom still behaved violently. 

If it were a person, McGonagall would have its head. 

"We'll figure out who's doing that." Castor nodded towards Azalea's case with the berserk broom, "You go make sure she doesn't fall off." 

Soon as Draco zoomed off, Hermione snatched the binoculars from Hagrid, frantically searching the crowd for something. 

"I knew it!" she gasped a minute later, shoving the binoculars over Castor's eyes, "Look, it's Snape — he's doing something, he's jinxing the broom."

Castor passed the binoculars to Ron, watching Snape keep his eyes on Azalea and mutter something under his breath, utter focus on his weary face. 

The broom now started to roll over and over, Azalea barely holding on for dear life. Finally, the crowd looked at her, gasps and shrieks resounding in the November air. 

Nevertheless, the game continued for whatever reason, with the teachers only muttering something amongst themselves instead of acting to save the poor girl. 

"Well, what do we do?" 

"Leave it to me." Hermione scurried off, her tiny stature disappearing in the crowd. Hagrid seemed completely bewildered, still in his place, while the boys shared and look and hurried off after the Granger. 

The broom managed to make some progress. Azalea now hung off of it by an arm, dangling like an old, tattered cloth stuck on some tree after a storm, and well, her physique didn't help the metaphor. 

Finally, the Gryffindors circled around their Seeker, trying to be ready to catch her, incase she fell. Fred and George tried to go near her, get her on one of their brooms, but everytime they got close enough, the broom would give a wild jerk and fly higher still. 

It started vibrating, and Azalea didn't have a clue as to how longer she could hold onto it. She looked down, a mistake considering her altitude and condition, then threw her head back up and let out a helpless moan. Heaven knew who could save her now. 

Even the Slytherins had paused, making tentative moves to be ready near the Gryffindors to catch Azalea. Well, most of them did, Flint threw the Quaffle through the hoops five times without anyone noticing. 

Meanwhile, Castor ran ahead of Hermione, his height making it easier for Hermione and Ron to spot him as he located a way towards Snape. Neither of the trio stopped to apologize as they bumped headfirst into Quirrel, and they only stopped once they were under the bleachers, right behind the Potions' teacher. 

Castor and Ron panted for dear life, the former groaning as he hit his head on the seats above. Hermione only had to wave his wand and whisper a few well chosen words ("Lacarnum Inflamarae!") before bright blue flames illuminated her face and started burning through Snape's dark robes. A yelp told her that she'd done her job. 

The three scurried back out into the sun, and grinned once they saw that the Potter was back on her broom, and the game was on, once again. They half walked half ran their way back to the Gryffindor stands, eyes on the sky as Azalea cut through the air with a swoop and a zoom. 

"Neville, you can look now!" Zade, Castor's brother who'd chosen to sit with Calypso but in the Gryffindor stands, told the scared boy. Neville uncovered his eyes, excitement about the match once again buzzing through his eyes as he saw Azalea Potter back in action.

All of a sudden, she all but hurtled to the ground, a hand on her mouth and face as green as the troll's. She was probably getting sick, the gag in the back of her throat making it evidently so. 

As she hovered over the ground, one hand bracing her stomach, the other her mouth, toes barely grazing the grass, she felt something push it's way out through her rosy lips, and when she held her hand above, the lions gave out a loud roar. 

It was the Snitch. 

"GRYFFINDOR WINS! AZALEA POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS, 160 TO 70!"

Twenty minutes later, Azalea had changed and washed her face, trying her best to get rid of that exciting yet traumatic experience with the Nimbus 2000, when Marcus Flint still carried his weak argument that she hadn't exactly caught the Snitch, per se, but swallowed it. 

No one cared. 

"I'm telling you!" Ron had his arm around the shortest of the bunch as the Quartet, accompanied by Calypso, Zade and Draco made their way to Hagrid's hut. "It was Snape."

The Slytherins shared uneasy glances as they pushed the door open to Hagrid's hut, Fang, the half-giant's loving dog immediately jumping on the new guests, licking their faces and limbs off with delight.

"Hermione saw him jinx your broom with her own eyes," Castor added, "She even set his bloody robes on fire to keep you in air!"

"Rubbish." Hagrid shook his head, pouring strong, warm tea into the cups of the students, completely diminishing the notion that a teacher would attack Azalea, "Why would Snape do somethin' like tha'?" 

Castor, Azalea, Hermione and Ron shared tentative looks, a pregnant pause (interrupted by Draco sipping his tea) falling over the group. Finally, Azalea sighed and relented, "I found out something about him. He tried to get past the three headed dog on Halloween, but it bit him. We think he wants whatever the dog's guarding."

Hagrid bushy eyebrows disappeared into his bushier hair, "How d'you know about Fluffy?" 

"FLUFFY?" 

Though just getting to know about the three-headed dog, all of them, including Silver Trio, could agree that Fluffy wasn't exactly the ideal name for a Cerberus. 

"Yeah — he's mine — bought him off a Greek chappie I metin the pub las' year — I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—" 

A look of horror dawned over Hagrid's face as he noticed the intrigued looks on the kids' faces, just now realising he probably said more than he should've. 

"I shouldn't have said that. . ." He shook his head, "I should not have said that. Finish up your tea and hurry back to the castle, you lot." 

"But Hagrid—"

"No, don' ask anymore!" Hagrid wagged his finger at Zade, "That's top secret that is." 

"But if they're right," Draco felt great difficulty in admitting that, "Then Snape's trying to steal whatever that dog's guarding." 

"That dog's name is Fluffy. And Snape wouldn't dare disobey Dumbledore, not in his worst nightmares." Calypso put her cup to her lips, the image of grace as she sipped peacefully.

"Then who on Earth could've pulled off a jinx so complex, that too for such a long time!" Hermione threw her hands up, hitting Castor and Azalea's nose, making Ron snicker, followed by a glare from each. "I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid. Snape wasn't blinking, and you've got to keep eye contact."

"I'm telling yeh, yer wrong!" Hagrid now ushered them off of the tiny stools and the couch, "I don' know wha' made Azzie's broom act like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now listen to meh, all of yeh, yer meddling into things that ough' not to be meddled with. It's dangerous. Now, yeh forget that dog, an' yeh forget wha' it's guarding, because that's between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel—" 

The bright faces made Hagrid groan. 

"Aha! So there is someone called Nicholas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked positively furious with himself.