It works well on its own, and you probably will see it again as sort of a prologue to Dominique's full length story when that premieres. I guess in that sense, this is a true preview--whereas everything else were just cut away chapters. I'll fully admit that I haven't been working very diligently on Dominique's story lately because I'm getting married in less two weeks (yay!). These one shots have just been my way of popping in to say hi since I can't give you a big story at the moment. :) Consider this my wedding present to all of you. :)
The Quidditch War
The Quidditch War had been declared on March 13th, 2016, though no formal announcement was made. It wasn’t as though trumpets were sounded and news of impending battle spread like wildfire throughout the land; one person whispering to the next about why and how it had been declared. No, its start wasn’t a strategically planned endeavor that had been precisely carried out with extreme care and precision, but rather, it had actually just happened one spring day—just like that—thanks to a brazen foul and one swift knee to the groin.
Needless to say, various tales would soon claim that the knee became a foot, the groin a face, a karate kick sort of a gesture would replace the far less dramatic kneeing gesture, and a full-on brawl—one with punches thrown and wands drawn—would replace the actual shouting match that did occur. Still, the roots of the story never changed; they remained the same upon each retelling--which was something that happened often throughout the course of the year-and-a-half that the Quidditch War lasted. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the war itself that holds the best stories, but rather, the aftermath and what occurred once a truce was…sort of…called. It was at this time that an even stranger sort of battle began to wage.
March at had brought chilly winds and low temperatures to Hogwarts; on one day in particular, the thirteenth, the winds and chills found themselves accompanied by persistent, seemingly endless drizzle. Actual rain was clearly threatening to down pour at any moment--given the heavy, black clouds which loomed overhead--so Dominique Weasely found herself breathing a sigh of relief once she had made it out of the castle and under the cover of the Quidditch arena before the sky had opened. That wasn’t to say in half-hour’s time—when she was out on her broom, desperately seeking out the Snitch in Gryffindor’s match against Ravenclaw—she wouldn’t be getting pounded on by frigid, oversized rain drops; however, at least then it’d be for a purpose.
She quickly made her way through the passage under the arena that led to Gryffindor’s changing room as the dull hum of spectators’ voices—the ones who had arrived early—carried all around her. She could hear someone yelling, “Go Ravenclaw!” at a distance, to which she immediately rolled her eyes, shook her head, and thought, “Go away, Ravenclaw,” just as thoughts of the impending opponent flooded her mind. Uggg…Ravenclaw, such smug and smarmy little bastards, every last one of them. What she wouldn’t give to wipe those stupid smiles off of their faces…
She stopped and forced that thought to the back of her mind. Save it for the match, she told herself, right as she reached the door to her own team’s changing room. She pushed it open.
Inside, six faces immediately turned to meet her. They were sitting scattered across two benches with various pieces of Quidditch equipment strewn haphazardly about the area. The team’s Captain and Keeper, a sixth-year named Durrin Adams, stood before the lot of them currently addressing the group. His eyes had traveled to Dominique last.
“Nice of you to join us, Weasley,” he mumbled, looking slighted.
Dominique shrugged, though she couldn’t claim the tone came as much of a surprise to her. She had been running late, but that wasn’t her fault.
“I told you’d I’d be late,” she said, making her way over to the bench where Beaters Alex Wood and Jack Ians were slumped in their seats, both with Beater's bats laid casually across their laps. Across the way, the teams three Chasers, Martha Ayers, Chris Henman, and Artie Drisk, all sat staring back at her from their bench. Dominique ignored their impatient eyes to focus back on Durrin. “I had to finish up my last detention with Profession Tate this morning or else I couldn’t play today.”
“Do you live in detention?” asked Drisk, a goofy-looking seventh-year boy who resembled a parrot wearing glasses. He was more often condescending that pleasant.
Most of the other players grinned or snickered a little; all except for Jack, who, as Dominique’s friend and classmate outside of Quidditch, was the only one of the group who ever seemed to be on her side. The two had both started the previous year as third-years on the team together, and with no open slots this year, they still remained the babies of the team. It was something Drisk never seemed to let them forget.
“Piss off, Drisk,” Dominique muttered, glaring back at him. “This was only my second detention this year.”
“A vast improvement thus far from the fifteen you had last year,” Durrin muttered.
“Five,” Dominique corrected.
“I’ve never even had one!” said Drisk.
Dominique wrinkled her nose. “Because you’re a boring, arse kissing—”
“Oi!” Durrin yelled, cutting through the room. “Seriously? Is this going to happen right now? Right before we’re supposed to go out there,” he pointed toward the changing room door, “and play like a united team against Ravenclaw?”
No one answered him.
“Because they’re going to crush us if we act like this,” he continued, his tone falling just short of authoritative--as much as he wanted it to be.
“She—” Drisk began, pointing at Dominique, though he was quickly cut off by Durrin.
“Is on this team!” Durrin finished for him. “Just like you are and just like I am. And this team isn’t going to fight right now. I don’t give a shit what you two want to fight about on any other day, but on match day we better be best-fucking-friends.”
Chris Henman suddenly laughed.
Durrin eyed him suspiciously. “Something funny?”
“You do realize how that sounds, right, Durr?” asked Chris, smirking at his Captain.
“How what sounds?”
“Best fucking friends…” Chris said slowly. He looked around the room. “Tell me I’m not the only one who got that?”
From down the bench, Dominique heard Alex start to chuckle and noticed that Jack, too, was grinning a little. If she wasn’t so annoyed at the moment, she might have smirked as well; only because of the sheer stupidity of the joke…
“That was really stupid, Chris,” said Martha, rolling her eyes.
“It was immature,” Drisk muttered.
“As if you’re so mature,” said Chris as he now stood up off the bench to face Drisk in—what could only be described as—some macho display to see who was the the bigger tough guy. That was all Chris Henman ever did when he felt threatened—stand up to show off all six feet, five inches of his height; puff up his large, square chest; and stare down anyone who challenged or insulted him, as if he dared them to continue. He was always itching for a fight.
Durrin suddenly dropped the clipboard he’d been holding—loudly and purposely. With a defeated sighed, he muttered, “I’m done trying to get through all of your thick skulls if you don’t care to listen. You know what? Go out there, face Ravenclaw blindly, and see how badly we lose.”
“Blindly?” asked Alex. “We’ve all played Ravenclaw before. It’s practically the same team as last year.”
“Practically being the key word,” said Durrin, looking somewhat pleased that someone was talking game. “They’ve got a new Chaser now.”
“The one who replaced the bloke who was getting high off potions?” asked Chris, who had finally decided to knock off the tough act and sit back down. “What was his name? Shepherd or something?”
“You know, I always knew he was high on something,” said Martha. “He would randomly start singing in Transfiguration class...”
“Let’s stay on topic,” Durrin said, clearly not wanting this to deter from the task-at-hand now that he had a slight grip on everyone’s attention. “Their new kid is called Davies. Tell me what you know about him?”
Alex shrugged. “I’ve got a few classes with him. He average height, got dark hair—”
“I meant more in terms of Quidditch…”
Everyone looked at each other, waiting to see who would answer first with any information about the new player. Given the blank stares and lack of anyone speaking up, it seemed that answering this question wasn’t something anyone planned on doing.
“Exactly,” Durrin said, looking at each and every one of them. “Exactly. We know nothing about him. I’ve seen him practice and I can tell you he’s a good flyer, but we know nothing else because we’ve never seen him play. You all are sitting here thinking, ‘Oh, same old Ravenclaw team…’ when for all you know it’s a completely different one.”
“I’m going to go ahead and guess that was Reynolds’s strategy,” Chris said, referring to the Ravenclaw Captain.
Durrin shrugged. “Hard to say."
“Isn’t he one of your best mates,” Dominique asked. “Don’t you even know where his head is—?”
“He’s not going to tell me his strategy when we’re rivals on the pitch,” said Durrin.
“Yeah, but you can’t read your best friend in order to pick some pieces of information out of him? What sort of Captain are you?”
“One that wants to win on game play alone,” Durrin said flatly, just as a sudden head poked itself inside of Gryffindor’s changing room. It was Madame Hooch, the game’s referee.
“Five minutes until the Quaffle is released, Gryffindors,” she said, glancing around the room at all of the faces. “May I suggest you make your way out to the pitch? Ravenclaw is already there.”
Durrin sighed heavily; his lack of confidence in what was about to occur now apparent all over his face. Dominique couldn’t really blame him. They weren’t a bad team, having beaten Slytherin and lost to Hufflepuff—who then lost to Slytherin, thus not quite killing Gryffindor’s chances for the cup yet. Her team was a decent group of players, some clearly better than others, but over all the best of the bunch from their house. Yet, the group of them just had no cohesion; no chemistry. It was as if there was something toxic in the air that just always made them nag and nit-pick each other. She, of course, blamed it on Drisk, but for all she knew she could have been the actual source. After all, emotions ran high in Quidditch and not everyone wants to play nice all the time. She certainly didn’t.
Durrin clicked his tongue absently before clearing his throat. “Final words. If we beat Ravenclaw, and Ravenclaw goes on to beat Hufflepuff, we’re in the final match this year. You all know what’s on the line. Just…watch this Davies kid and see what he’s capable of, but not so much as to ignore what going on out there.” He swallowed hard. “Remember, Thorpe is wicked quick and likes trick plays.” He then glanced at Dominique with a sense of almost pleading in his eyes. “But how about you just do us all a favor and catch the Snitch five minutes in?”
Dominique smiled a little. Despite all the arguments she had with Durrin, he generally amused her. She didn’t think much of his Captainship, and it was true that he could be a real prat when he got in one of his moods, but then again, they all could.
“I would rather eat Hippogriff dung then let Griffin Giggleswick catch that Snitch first,” she said affirmatively.
The rest of the team let out a quick laugh a little, as Durrin managed a small smile of his own. He nodded at her. “He’s a little shit. Take him down.” He looked around the rest of the group. “Everyone, take them down.”
And in that moment, for the briefest of seconds, there was a general sense of charged, excited agreement amongst them, though Dominique wouldn’t exactly call them fired up. One by one though, they still marched out of the changing room and out to the pitch, where Dominique immediately felt the real excitement brewing. In the stands, the Gryffindor fans and supporters were all cheering wildly at the team’s appearance, even though it was now pouring down rain by the bucket load.
At the center of the pitch, the Ravenclaw players were already waiting for the Gryffindors to take their places opposite of them. As per the usual, the players lined up in their usual formation and walked in a row to greet an opposing player—usually of the same position—and shake hands. As Seeker, Dominique was always the last in the row, and as she stopped to face Griffin Giggleswick—a homely, bucktoothed boy with hair the color of wheat grain and an insufferable, cocky attitude that really was more fit for someone who was better looking—she forced her expression cold.
The two never shook hands as everyone else did, and instead he threw her what she could best classify as a sneer. A big drop of rain fell off the tip of his nose as he did, and Dominique returned it by crinkling her own nose and muttering, “Tosser…” just loud enough for him to hear it.
“On your brooms,” called Madame Hooch over the sounds of the crowd and the rain splashing against the ground. Everyone did as they were told, and in the next moment, Hooch blew her whistle and gestured up, which signaled to every player on a broom to take off to their respective places on the field. Only the six Chasers stayed hovering at the center of the pitch. Dominique had gone straight up and to the left—because Giggleswick had gone right—and from her vantage point above all of the others, she set her sites on the action that was about to occur below. This was a slightly more difficult task than usual, considering the rain was practically creating a solid screen and obscuring much of what was to look at, but she soon figured out the Quaffle had been released once the sounds of zooming brooms were heard from all around her.
She immediately scanned the pitch for the Snitch, but saw nothing. When she wasn’t watching the pitch, she was glancing to see if Giggleswick was chasing anything, but he too remained fairly collected as he circled his end of the pitch. He seemed fairly confident that the Snitch was going to appear on his end of things rather than hers.
“I will not let that wank bag catch it,” Dominique muttered to herself as she began to lap the pitch, listening below to the cheers and boos and wondering what exactly was happening. She couldn’t really tell who was winning and who was losing since it was taking every second of her concentration to sort through this wall of rain and spot the Snitch; she could only hope those cheers were geared at Gryffindor. If Ravenclaw won…
The game continued on like this for the better part of a half an hour; the rain kept pounding, Dominique kept circling, the crowd kept making noise, and the Snitch refused to appear. After a solid hour, the rain was so hard that Dominique couldn’t even see where Giggleswitch was anymore, and that was never a good sign. She was sopping wet, exhausted from trying to keep herself on her broom in this storm, and probably on the brink of freezing to death, but she had to fight on. She didn’t believe in quitting.
Quickly, she flew herself to where she’d last seen Giggleswick, and noticed that he wasn’t much further away from where she’d seen him before. However, once he noticed her appear nearby, he quickly turned and flew in the opposite direction. Apparently, he was in no mood to be tailed, but Dominique decided to do exactly that. After all, if she couldn’t find the Snitch, she could at least follow the only other person looking for it and make sure he wouldn’t find it either. It was, of course, textbook Seeker’s technique, and by now Giggleswick was on to her. He seemed to be in no mood to make following him easy.
She increased her speed and zoomed after Giggleswick, just as the rain began to let up and more of the pitch began to make itself visible through the haze. The game looked evenly matched from what she could see, and she could now pick out the Quaffle going back and forth between both teams—up and down and up and down the pitch. If only she knew the score…
In that instant, Giggleswick veered sharply—and suddenly—to the right. Dominique had to struggle to give pursuit. Just as quickly as he’d start going right, he’d flip and go left…then back again. Then up, then down. He was going in every which way imaginable, but Dominique knew she could out fly him if she had to. He wouldn’t be able to shake her unless something physically stopped her.
In the next moment, Giggleswick flew into the center of the field of play, the area of the pitch where the Chasers were most likely to run the Quaffle back and forth between the rings. It was generally frowned upon in the game for the Seekers to hang out in this area unless they were actively seeking the Snitch, but no one would argue that Giggleswick was too dense to understand basic game play. He probably thought he was doing something clever by flying in there. Dominique could only hope that he got in the way of one of his own Chasers, causing them to drop the Quaffle.
Against her better judgment, however, she still swooped in on him on her own broom and got close enough to shoot him a particularly dirty look; one that begged to ask whether or not he actually believed that hanging out here would keep her from following him.
He just smirked back at her.
She stared back. Why was he smirking? What did that wanker have to smirk about…?
Then it hit her; quite literally.
She didn’t even have time to think about what had happened, because in the next moment, her broom had practically spun out from under her and sent her into a frenzied tailspin motion. She could hear a sudden onslaught of boos, but she had no idea which way was up or down at this point. She assumed she was going down and quickly panicked, struggling to regain control of her broom before the inevitable hardness of the ground below would be felt throughout her entire body.
But it wasn’t working…she was still spinning right into the earth. She was going to hit—
Then, out of nowhere, as if suddenly frozen in time, Dominique stopped spinning and hovered in mid-air for several seconds Her broom immediately gave way from her and plummeted towards the ground…or perhaps ‘plummeted’ was the wrong word considering, once she noticed where she’d been stopped, she could only have been about three or four yards from it herself.
She took a deep, confused, and fairly terrified breath as the force that was holding her up lowered her gently to the ground, where she immediately collapsed into a heap. The pitch around her was spinning violently and her head ached with dizziness. She couldn’t even keep her eyes open, and her stomach churned as if it were trying to force itself from her body. She could think of very few things in life that would be more embarrassing than vomiting in front of hundreds of her classmates, but at this point, she didn’t even care. The nausea was too overwhelming.
She laid her head on the soft, wet earth, just as she heard the thumping of footsteps landing beside her. She didn’t dare open her eyes for fear of being sick all over whomever it was standing there.
“Nicki,” said, what she recognized to be, Jack’s voice. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she muttered weakly, knowing that the dizziness would pass as long as she didn’t move or open her eyes. It was also then that she realized that the match was still going on above them and that two of her team’s players we now on the pitch not playing. “Jack, you need to get back up…”
But a moment later, a loud, raucous cheer rocked the arena around them. When Dominique opened her eyes to see what had just happened, the nausea overcame her and she had a sick moment right there in the neatly kept grass of the Quidditch pitch. She somewhat hoped that whatever that cheer was for had distracted most people from paying attention, but at the same time, she wasn’t entirely bothered by the display. This certainly wasn’t the first, or the last, time that this pitch had seen its share of people being sick on it.
All around her, the sound of people landing and footsteps approaching grew closer and closer. Nearby, she could sense someone crouched down level to her.
“Weasley, are you okay?”
Being sick had helped most of the dizziness pass, so Dominique dared to open her eyes once more to find Durrin next to her. Just beyond him, her other teammates were looking down on her with concern.
“I think someone should take her to Hospital Wing,” said Drisk.
“No,” Dominique said, her head throbbing. “No, I’m fine. I’m not hurt. I’m just,” she blinked several times, “dizzy.” She sat up, forcing a tough expression onto her face. “I didn’t even hit the ground. Something stopped me.”
“Something?” asked Martha curiously, just as several new faces appeared amongst the group that was staring down at her. Dominique first noticed her twin brother, Louis, soaking wet from head to toe. Behind him, her best friend, Sarah, who looked equally as wet was observing the scene. From behind them appeared Dominique's older sister, Victoire, who was wearing a large, yellow rain mac and looking quite dry comparatively.
“Nic, are you okay?” asked Victoire, now kneeling opposite of Durrin to look into the eyes of her sister. The closer she got, the more Dominique thought she looked like a giant banana with all of that yellow on.
“I’m fine,” Dominique said hazily, waving them off. “Honestly. I might have been in bad shape had it not been for…whatever stopped me from hitting the ground, but—”
“It was Longbottom,” Sarah said as beads of water dripped off of her hair and hit the ground. “I saw him cast a spell that stopped you in mid-air. You know how he’s been trying to limit severe Quidditch injuries.”
Dominique nodded slowly, still feeling slight disoriented, wet, and cold, but now regaining more and more of her composure with each passing second. “Still…what happened?” She glanced over to where the Ravenclaws were seemingly celebrating something. It took her an extra second than normal, but it did dawn on her as to why they would have a reason to celebrate.
“Wait, they won?”
Chris Henman nodded first, his face angry. “They won by playing dirty…”
“We don’t know it was flagrant,” said Durrin, sounding as if he was trying to play Devil’s Advocate.
“It looked pretty damn flagrant from where I was sitting,” said Louis, who Dominique had just noticed was looking extremely agitated. Even in her state, she could tell he was grinding his teeth, and he only ever did that when he was inconsolably angry.
“If it was flagrant, I’ll go over and punch the bastard myself,” said Durrin, who pushed a clump of wet hair out of his eyes and then stood up to glance over at the Ravenclaws. “A stunt like that is dangerous and she could have been seriously hurt. But any moron knows that, so why chance it?” He looked back at Dominique. “You were flying in the field of play, and we all know how many accidents occur—”
“Fuck that,” Chris yelled, directing his voice towards the Ravenclaws. “He tipped her broom on purpose!”
“Did you see it?” Durrin asked, standing between Chris and the direction of where the Ravenclaws were. He looked as if he was ready to stop him if he chanced charging over there.
“He didn’t need to fly that close to her,” Louis said, seemingly jumping on Chris’s side of the argument. “He had plenty of space to fly around her and he didn’t. It had to be on purpose!”
Dominique stared from face to face, her head still reeling from what was going on, though none of this was helping to clear things up for her. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Wait here,” Durrin said, sounding as if he was warning Chris specifically to stay put. “I’m going to go and talk to Stu and see what their side of the story is.”
“Oh, please, they’re going to deny it!” said Alex, who also seemed to be jumping on Chris and Louis’s train of thought. “It’s not like they’ll fess up to it!”
“Fess up to what?!” Dominique yelled. “What the hell happened to me?!”
“New boy over there tipped your broom when he flew by and sent you spinning,” Chris said, still glaring at the Ravenclaws.
Dominique’s mouth parted slightly as she, too, now stared at the Ravenclaws; specifically searching the crowd for the new boy—Henry Davies. The group of them had stopped celebrating once Durrin had confronted them, and most were now looking in the direction of the crowd surrounding her. Stuart Reynolds, Henry Davies, and David Thorpe, the last being her sister’s boyfriend, were all speaking to Durrin.
“I have a hard time believing anyone would have done that on purpose,” Victoire said slowly, glancing over to where the boys stood. “I mean, that’s low. Really low.”
“That’s Quidditch,” Dominique coldly, her eyes narrowing on Davies. The more she thought about it, the more she became convinced he’d had to have done it on purpose. The way Giggleswick had smiled at her…as if he’d known it was coming…as if it’d been some sort of plan. Lure her into the field of play and then…
“Let’s see what he says,” said Chris, who was staring at Durrin as he now trotted back over to them. Not far behind, the three Ravenclaw boys he’d been speaking to followed.
“He says it was an accident,” Durrin began, “and that—”
He was immediately met with cries of, “Bullshit!” and “Like hell it was…!”
“You feel like a tough guy knocking out a girl who weighs maybe six stones?” Chris asked, stepping forward to meet the approaching Ravenclaw players, though directing his anger straight at Davies. From across the pitch, it seemed the remaining Ravenclaw players and supporters who had been greeting them after their win had taken notice and were now rushing over to see what was happening.
Dominique shot Chris a dirty look. “Oh, don’t make this about being a girl,” she said, finally finding the energy to pull herself off the ground. She hated when boys made it seem like they had to go easier on her because she was a girl.
“Chris,” said Stuart Reynolds, stepping up between the clearly larger than him Gryffindor and his new Chaser. “It was an accident. A shitty accident, sure, but an accident none the less. If it had been flagrant, why didn’t Hooch call it?”
Several people scoffed, though none louder than Louis, who had stepped forward to look Davies directly in the face. “You could have seriously hurt her.”
Davies, who looked surprised by this entire confrontation, muttered. “Mate, it really was an accident.”
“I’m not your mate,” Louis spat, “you just nearly broke my sister!”
“Oh, what a load of bollocks!” yelled Giggleswick, who had just joined the argument. “You’re so full of shit, Weasley!”
“Bugger off, Giggleswick!” Dominique yelled, finding herself now feeling more than capable of fighting her own battle. “You were in on the whole thing!”
“Other Weasley, you’re fucking delusional!” Giggleswick shouted, all while several other voices from his side of of the argument continued to contend that it was an accident.
On Dominique's side, several people were now glaring at Giggleswick as if he were pond scum. Chris, who was always looking for a fight, was now shaking his head and looking as if he was about to curse someone; instead of addressing Giggleswick, however, he addressed Stuart Reynolds.
“Stu, if you don’t talk some sense into your boy right there,” he gestured—rudely—to Giggleswick, “and tell him to walk away now, I’m not even going to bother cursing him, I’m just going to beat him with my bare hands.”
“Bring it!” yelled Giggleswick. “As if I’m afraid of you!”
At this, several people stepped up to help block and avoid any confrontation that was about to occur, just as Stuart yelled, “Griffin, go!” He sounded as if this entire thing was reaching a level of madness he wasn’t willing to deal with and that he clearly wasn’t keen on getting into the middle of a brawl. “Everyone! Back to the changing room now!”
“That goes for Gryffindor too!” Durrin shouted, before he immediately mumbled, “What is going on here…?”
At first no one moved, as if either side was waiting to see what the other would do first. After several long seconds, both sides eventually did start to file back to their respective changing room. Dominique noticed Griffin Giggleswick eyeing her, and she managed to throw him, quite possibly, the nastiest look she’d ever mustered in her entire life. There were no words to describe how much she hated him.
“Vicki, it was an accident,” she suddenly overhead David Thorpe telling her sister. “He’s a good guy, he wouldn’t…You don’t really think…?”
Dominique turned and saw the two of them standing just off to the side—him looking like a wet mess and her sister looking like a banana—talking in loud whispers. “She’s my sister, Dave. Accident or not, I’m still upset that it happened.”
“Obviously, but…” Dave sighed. “He didn’t do it on purpose. I feel like you think he did.”
“And how can you be so sure he didn’t?” Victoire asked, sounding more aggravated. “From what I saw, you were across the pitch at the time…” She trailed off. “I don’t want to argue with you about this.”
Dominique turned away, still feeling a little too disoriented to eavesdrop any further. Most of the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were halfway across the pitch by now, though Durrin and Jack were still standing there talking with Louis and Sarah.
Several feet away, Stuart Reynolds was saying something to Davies, who in turned glanced over at Dominique. For the first time ever, the two made eye contact, and neither broke it for longer than what was considered normal. Dominique had no idea what was going through Davies’s head, but standing there staring back at him, she found one very powerful emotion overcome her.
She now loathed this boy.
She didn’t believe for a second that it was an accident. There was nothing in his expression that convinced her of it, and the eyes never lied. Never. When finally he did look away, she had to fight an overwhelming urge to curse him.
A moment later, Davies looked back at her. He had to notice she was staring fiery, poison laced daggers at him that told him he'd best run away as fast as he could, but with an awkward sort of sigh, he instead stepped towards her.
“Look, I’m sorry you almost got hurt, but it really was an accident.”
Dominique’s eyebrow rose slowly. “You’re full of shit.”
Everyone who was still standing there turned to look, but no one said a thing.
Davies’s looked away and let out a noise of doubt, as if he didn’t know what else there was to say. He shrugged and looked at the ground. “I’m clearly not going to change your mind, so…believe what you want.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” Dominique said.
“Whatever…” Davies muttered, looking more than aggravated now. He turned on the spot to follow Reynolds and Thorpe back to their changing room, though he’d only taken about four steps or so before he stopped and turned back around. As he continued to walk backwards, he added, “You know, word of advice, if you can’t handle getting banged up out there, then perhaps you shouldn’t play.” He shrugged and turned his back on her. “It’s not exactly a delicate sport.”
Dominique blinked. Did he really just say....?
And just like that, something inside of her flipped, as it often did when she was this angry. A wave of powerful emotion engulfed her; it overtook her senses, and with a clenched jaw that had started to hurt from all the pressure she was applying to it, she took off after Davies before anyone even has the chance to hold her back.
He didn’t even know it was coming until it was already too late. In a matter of seconds she had approached him, gotten in front of him, and before his eyebrows could even slant inward on his brow to display his evident confusion in what was happening, she picked up her knee and rammed it square into his crotch.
As if knocking over a house of cards, Davies reached for where he’d be hit, right as his legs buckled from underneath him. He fell to his knees, just as a painful mixture of a groan and a yelp escaped his mouth, and he lowered himself the rest of the way to the ground. After about ten seconds, he yelled—very loudly—“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
Dominique stared at him, finding very little satisfaction in the moment, but at the same time, not convinced that she’d really done anything wrong. She shrugged. “If you can’t handle getting banged up, then perhaps you shouldn’t run your mouth.”
“Oh, you've got to be joking…” she suddenly heard Durrin say from somewhere behind her, just as someone’s hand tugged on her arm—hard—pulling her away from the scene.
At the same time, both David Thorpe and Stuart Reynolds had rushed over to help their teammate; both looking at Dominique as if she was some sort of frightening creature. Dominique didn’t care what they thought though, and as she turned to see that it was Victoire who was pulling her away, she couldn’t help but notice the looks of shock all over Louis, Jack, and Sarah’s faces. From across the pitch, those who had straggled in getting into the changing rooms were now rushing to retrieve anyone who had already gone inside, causing people to reappear to see what was happening. It was only a matter of time before the story broke out.
“You could get suspended from the team for that,” Victoire said, her grip on Dominique’s arm vice-like as she led her away from the scene and into the completely opposite direction.
“He deserved it.”
“I’m not saying he didn’t, but…was it worth possibly being thrown off the team?”
Dominique shrugged. She didn’t want to think about that right now because she was too busy reliving what had just happened. She was positive she’d just gone and made herself an enemy, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t the first and it probably wouldn’t be the last if people continued to act like royal prats. If anything, she rather enjoyed having a reason to dislike certain people because it gave her more of a reason to want to crush them the next time—if, there was a next time—she played Ravenclaw. One thing was for certain, however—that Davies kid better watch it.
However, even Dominique couldn’t have anticipated what was to come as a result of the actions of that day. It seemed that her getting fouled was probably the best thing that could have happened to the Gryffindor team, even though that wouldn’t be clear to anyone until much later. The Gryffindors couldn’t have known that something as abrupt as this was just the thing they needed to brew a sense of camaraderie into their team. Chris Henman, Martha Ayers, Alex Wood had taken Dominique’s foul and the actions following as a personal attack against their team; not to mention that Giggleswick’s lack of compassion and comments after the fact were seen as insults that had been hurled at them directly. It seemed that all three—along with Dominique—now shared the exact same sentiment by that day’s end: Ravenclaw must pay, by whatever means necessary. On the pitch or off it, they must pay.
Other member of the team, like Durrin and Jack, who were both more passive and less vindictive individuals—Jack because that was simply his personality and Durrin because the majority of his closest friends were on the Ravenclaw team—didn’t necessarily feel that Ravenclaw needed to pay, per se—at least, not in a “off the pitch” sort of way—but they also didn’t feel the need to stop things either. Durrin especially, once he noticed his team finally coming together over something, didn’t fight the matter once he saw how well the group was starting to work together. He simply turned a blind eye to any and all actions of retaliation he heard being planned or orchestrated—as long as no one was planning something against his friends.
It was only Artie Drisk who seemed to think he was above it all; that holding grudges seemed juvenile and lame, and everyone needed to get over it. He didn’t seem to understand that—while what started as petty insults hurled back and forth and pranks being pulled at meal times and in the library—this would really become so much more than just that; especially once some of the Ravenclaw players fought back. It was something he never would understand because he graduated that year and never saw the worst of it, but for the rest of them, the next year and a half would find the Quidditch Wars waging—on the pitch, in the corridors, in the classroom, on the grounds, in Hogsmeade, in the Great Hall, anywhere possible.
As of that day, the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams were at war.