The wind bit at the exposed skin of her cheeks as she banked her broom to the left. Draconia kept her eyes fixed on the Quaffle, tracking its bright, spinning shape through the grey morning light. The Slytherin team moved with a practiced, predatory synchronicity that felt like an extension of her own limbs. She leaned forward, pressing her thighs against the broom handle to gain speed, and felt the familiar hum of magic vibrating through her bones.
"Draconia, on your left!" Flint shouted from behind her.
She didn't need the reminder. She saw the Bludger approaching, a heavy, iron-clad menace aimed at her ribs, but she didn' {t flinch. She twisted her torso, letting the wind whip her hair across her face, and dodged the projectile with a sharp, banking turn. The Bludger missed her by inches, the rush of air from its passage cooling her skin. She gripped the handle tighter and pushed herself harder, her muscles straining under the weight of her robes.
The game was a blur of green and scarlet. The Gryffindor Beaters were aggressive today, sending Bludgers in jagged, unpredictable arcs that forced the Slytherin Chasers to constantly adjust their flight paths. Draconia felt the adrenaline surging in her veins, a sharp, electric heat that made her feel invincible. She saw the opening near the hoop and dove. The wind roared in her ears, a deaf aural wall of white noise, but she kept her focus on the target.
"Get it through!" a voice yelled from the stands.
She swung the Quaffle with a violent, controlled grace, sending it spiralling through the hoop. The crowd erupted. She felt a momentary surge of triumph, a sharp, bright spark of satisfaction that warmed her chest. It was a clean goal, a testament to her precision and the hours spent practicing her aim in the dark of the evening.
"Nice one, Draconia!" Pansy called out, her voice high and bright above the roar of the crowd.
Draconia didn't respond with words; she simply nodded and pivoted her broom, turning her attention back to the fray. The game was fast, a chaotic dance of speed and strength. She caught the eye of a Gryffindor Chaser, a boy with a determined look in his eyes, and she laughed as she outmanoeuvred him, leaving him grasping at the air where she had been a second before.
Then, the atmosphere changed. The tension in the air seemed to tighten, a subtle shift that every player felt. The Snitch had appeared.
Draconia watched the gold-tinted speck darting through the air, a tiny, frantic lightning bolt. She saw Harry Potter dive, his broom a streak of red against the grey sky. He was a blur of movement, his face a mask of intense concentration. He moved with a desperate, driving energy that was impossible to ignore.
"He's got it!" someone screamed.
Harry dived low, his body nearly parallel to the ground, and the crowd went wild. He was close, so incredibly close. Draconia felt a sudden, sharp pang of something she couldn't quite name, a flicker of irritation that he was so close to the finish. She watched him weave through the chaos, his movements sharp and decisive.
He caught the Snitch with a sudden, violent tug, his broom jerking upwards as he secured the prize. The game was over. The Slytherin team had won, but the victory felt strangely hollow. The Gryffindors were already regrouping, their faces etched with a mixture of frustration and disbelief.
"That was a stolen match," a voice muttered near her.
Draconia looked up to see a Gryffindor player, his face flushed from the exertion, staring at the scoreboard. The points were skewed, a lopsided victory that felt unfair to anyone watching closely. The Snitch had come too early, a sudden, decisive end to a game that had been leaning in Slytherin's favour for most of the hour.
"It wasn't stolen," Flint said, landing his broom with a heavy thud on the grass. "It was a clean catch."
"It was a lucky catch," the Gryffindor retorted, his voice tight with indignation.
Draconia watched Harry descend from the air, his movements fluid and effortless as he touched down on the pitch. He looked exhilarated, a bright, genuine smile lighting up his face as he pulled off his goggles. He looked entirely unb lamed by the controversy, as if the timing of the Snitch had nothing to do with the outcome.
"He's too happy about it," Draconia said to herself, the words lost in the din of the dispersing crowd.
She dismounted her broom, her legs feeling heavy and slightly unsteady from the intense-flight. She walked towards the changing rooms, her mind still racing with the final moments of the game. The victory was hers, her team's, but the sense of injustice lingered in the back of her throat.
"Well played, Draconia," Greta said, bumping her shoulder as they walked towards the pavilion.
"It was a good game," Draconia replied, though her voice lacked its usual conviction.
"He really got lucky there," Greta added, her tone neutral but pointed.
Draconia looked back at the pitch, where Harry was still talking to a group of his teammates. He looked up, catching her eye for a brief second, and he waved a hand in a casual, friendly gesture. He didn't look like a man who had just won a stolen victory; he looked like a man who had simply had a grand time.
"He's quite something, isn't he?" Pansy asked, joining them.
"He's annoying," Draconia said, the word sharp and definitive.
She felt a strange, prickling sensation in her chest, a mix of respect and a deep, simmering frustration. She had played a perfect game, executed every tactic with precision, and yet he had swooped in and taken the glory with a single, lucky movement.
"He takes it well," Pansy remarked, watching Harry laugh as he shook a hand.
"He always takes it well," Draconia added, her eyes narrowing as she watched him.
She hated how easily he could shrug off the tension, how effortlessly he could navigate the lopsided nature of the win. She had worked so hard for this, for every single point, and he had simply snatched the conclusion from under them.
"It's the most frustrating part," Draconia said, her voice barely a whisper.
She watched him for a moment longer, her heart thudding against her ribs. She had beaten him in the score, but he hadn't let the loss affect his mood at all. She beats him and he takes it well and that is the most annoying thing that has ever happened.