Chapter 185: The Gryffindor Pride (3)

"Are you ready?" – Catherine asked as she glanced at James. He sat hunched over on the bench in the Quidditch Changing Room, his face pale and clammy.

"I feel absolutely disgusting from that bloody transformation." – the boy muttered, lifting his head to meet her gaze. His hazel eyes were tinged with uncertainty, and his skin had a faint greenish hue – "What if we don't win today, Flame?"

"Then we hex every Slytherin who mocks us, hold our heads high, and try again next year." – the girl replied with a casual shrug.

"What kind of rubbish talk is that?!" – Sirius bellowed, striding over with his trademark confidence. He threw his arm around Catherine's shoulders, grinning from ear to ear – "There's no chance we leave that field without the Quidditch Cup, and you know it!"

"That's the spirit, Black!" - boomed Marvolo Wood, his deep voice echoing through the changing room. He clapped his hands together, his enthusiasm infectious – "It's about time lads and lasses. You know what you're here to do—make Gryffindor proud!"

With a collective cheer, the seven players in red and gold robes rose from their seats, brooms in hand. The roar of the crowd hit them the moment they stepped onto the Quidditch Pitch, a wall of sound that seemed to vibrate through the air. Catherine squinted against the blinding sun as she tilted her head up toward the towering stands. The banners and chants of their housemates filled her chest with a mix of pride and nerves.

Her heart thudded wildly, betraying the calm façade she had worn in front of James. It all felt surreal—the vibrant field, the electric atmosphere, and the sharp tang of adrenaline coursing through her veins. With one final glance at her teammates, Catherine mounted her broom, the polished wood cool beneath her hands.

Cheers erupted once more as the Quaffle arced through the air. The stakes couldn't have been higher—the winner of this final match would take the Quidditch Cup, and both teams were determined to claim that glory.

Gryffindor's Chasers—Catherine Plantier, Sirius Black, and Scarlett Porter—were working in seamless coordination, weaving through Slytherin's aggressive defence. Catherine was particularly dazzling, darting and feinting with precision, her polished Aether Wing feint leaving Rodolphus Lestrange and Aelia Greengrass scrambling.

Slytherin's Beaters, Malachi Selwyn and Draven Nott, wielded their hefty clubs with merciless determination. They targeted Catherine and Scarlett relentlessly, sending Bludgers hurtling toward them at breakneck speed. It wasn't hard to guess why—they likely assumed the girls, being lighter and smaller than Sirius, would be easier to knock off course.

Augustus Zabini, the Slytherin's Keeper, was also proving to be a formidable opponent. Despite Gryffindor's repeated attempts, his skilful saves had kept Slytherin ahead by ten points. On the opposite side, Greg McMahon was no less impressive. Gryffindor's Keeper hurled himself into every block with unmatched reflexes, his dives and lunges drawing gasps of awe as he deflected Slytherin's attacks one after another.

After about forty gruelling minutes of play, punctuated by three pauses as Slytherin's aggression escalated, Gryffindor's hopes seemed to hang by a thread. Dominic Woods had taken a brutal Bludger to the head, forcing him to temporarily leave the game, and Scarlett had nearly fallen from her broom after a particularly vicious manoeuvre. The score was locked at a tense 140-140, the chances of both Houses hanging precariously in the balance as the match pressed on.

At that moment, the Snitch glinted near the Slytherin stands. James immediately saw it and changed his course, leaning low on the handle of his broom, pushing for maximum speed. But Emma Vanity, Slytherin's Seeker and captain, was no less focused. Her sleek, newer broom gave her a distinct speed advantage, and she quickly closed the gap. The two Seekers raced neck-and-neck, spiralling through the air in a dangerous, high-stakes chase. The Slytherin's Beaters wasted no time. Like predators scenting blood, they zeroed in on James, their clubs swinging. Bludgers hurtled toward the Gryffindor at terrifying speed, forcing him to swerve and weave in a desperate attempt to stay in the race.

From her position high above the chaos, Catherine saw it all and estimated the danger. Her heart pounded hard as she made a snap decision. With the Quaffle clutched tightly in her hand, she streaked toward the Slytherin goalposts, determination blazing in her eyes. A Bludger screamed toward her, but she twisted sharply left, narrowly avoiding the impact. Augustus Zabini darted to block her shot, leaving the goal hoops exposed. But Catherine had other plans.

With a practiced flick of her wrist, she executed a flawless Blaze Arc Pass, the Quaffle spinning in a perfect arc toward Sirius Black. The crowd gasped as Sirius, with practiced ease, caught the ball and immediately returned it in a beautifully synchronised loop. The Quaffle flew back to Catherine, and the two moved as if one, their timing impeccable.

Then, with every ounce of strength and adrenaline coursing through her, she hurled the Quaffle. The red ball soared through the air and blasted through the centre hoop. The Gryffindor stands erupted into wild cheers as the crowd roared approval, and Catherine's daring move—later dubbed the Flame Dive—secured Gryffindor's lead.

The stands awash with red and gold erupted into deafening cheers as the score shifted to 150-140 in Gryffindor's favour. The roar of celebration rippled across the stadium, but Catherine barely registered the noise. Her distraction had worked even better than she'd dared to hope. Rodolphus Lestrange, his face contorted with fury, barked frantic orders at the Beaters, his voice cutting through the chaos as he demanded they refocus their assault on her.

It was the moment James needed. With Emma Vanity momentarily distracted by the uproar near her team's goal and Lestrange brazenly usurping her role as captain, the Gryffindor seized the opportunity. He dived—swift, precise, and utterly relentless.

The crowd gasped, their collective breath caught in their throats as James executed the Falcon Snatch, a move he'd been honing all season. The Snitch hovered perilously close to the ground, its wings a blur of frantic motion like a tiny, fluttering heartbeat. James's gaze never wavered, his focus razor-sharp.

In a breathtaking final stretch, his fingers closed around the golden ball, mere centimetres from the turf. For a moment, there was stunned silence, as though the stadium itself held its breath—then it erupted. Cheers and chants of Gryffindor supporters reverberating across the pitch. James shot upward, holding the Snitch aloft, his grin splitting his face in triumph. The scoreboard blazed: 300-140. Gryffindor Wins!

Catherine landed hard on the ground, her ears still ringing and her body buzzing with exhaustion and exhilaration. Most of her teammates had surrounded James, who was being hoisted onto their shoulders by jubilant housemates pouring onto the field. Catherine tossed her broom aside, ready to join the festivities, when a pair of strong arms swept her off her feet. 

Sirius twirled her in the air effortlessly, his bright, carefree laughter ringing out as she clung to his shoulders for balance. "You were brilliant, Flame!" – the boy exclaimed, his voice filled with unrestrained joy. Catherine's cheeks flared crimson as their bodies pressed together, her chest brushing against his as he held her close. His wild heartbeat pounded against her, heat radiating between them.

Their faces hovered dangerously close, his breath warm against her skin, still chilled from the fierce match. Catherine's pulse quickened as her gaze flickered to Sirius' lips, tantalizingly close. A faint tremble ran through her as the thought crossed her mind—one impulsive move, and she could close the gap between them. But instead, she averted her gaze, avoiding his intense grey eyes and focusing on steadying her breathing.

"A man will only chase for so long… Eventually, he'll choose someone who's actually loving, sweet, and satisfies his desires, not an ice queen who can't figure out what she wants…" – Marianne's cutting words echoed in Catherine's mind, making her heart sink. She lowered her eyes and mustered a small, sad smile at Sirius, who looked momentarily puzzled by the sudden shift in her mood.

"Put me down, please." – she said softly, slipping out of Sirius's grasp and making her way toward the centre of the field, where James was finally lowered to stand on his own two feet. 

"Good job, sis!" – Greg whispered in her ear as he pulled her into a tight hug. Her teammates soon followed, engulfing her in a wave of pride and shared triumph.

"I can't believe we actually won." – Catherine admitted breathlessly to Remus, who had finally made his way over to her, his face glowing.

"This was your best game, yet!" – Moony said, his enthusiasm as warm as his smile – "Come on, let's get closer to the stands. Dumbledore's about to award the Quidditch Cup!"

Navigating through the thick crowd was no easy feat, but they eventually made their way to the front. With a quick, mischievous grin, Remus lifted Catherine onto his shoulders, earning an astonished laugh from her as their housemates erupted into applause. Perched above the sea of red and gold, the young witch caught sight of Scarlett, who was hoisted similarly onto Dominic Woods' shoulders, laughing with childlike joy as she clapped along with the sea of spectators.

The Headmaster presented Marvolo Wood with the trophy they were all dreaming about for years. The Gryffindor captain's hands trembled slightly as he lifted the gleaming cup high above his head, tears glistening in his eyes. Cheers erupted anew as he embraced James, passing the trophy into his hands. James grinned as if he had captured the moon itself, his teammates chanting his name so loudly it seemed to shake the stadium.

Catherine couldn't stop herself from smiling. Pride swelled within her, warm and fulfilling, as the sting of the humiliation in the past few weeks faded away into insignificance. In this moment, surrounded by joy, she wished she could freeze time and hold onto it forever.

But then her gaze drifted to Sirius. He stood at the edge of the crowd, his arms wrapped tightly around Marianne as he kissed her with unmistakable passion. The sight hit her like a Bludger to the chest. Her happiness dissolved, replaced by a sharp ache that spread through her like wildfire. The cheers around her became distant, a dull roar drowned out by the rush of blood in her ears. Quickly, she looked away, her throat tight and her vision blurred.

'The summer vacation is just around the corner.' – the girl thought forcing herself to smile once again – 'Loin des yeux, loin du cœur.'[1]

[1] Out of sight, out of mind.