Beauty of the Quidditch Pitch

Disclaimer: The story is mine. No one else’s. If you steal it, I’ll hurt you. Extremely. The characters aren’t mine, though – they belong to JKR and other related companies.

Author’s Note: No, this isn’t autobiographical, in case you’re wondering. It’s a weird drabble, that’s all it is. (That screamed of denial, didn’t it?)

Yes, I know, I’m mental for writing this. Have no idea why I even wrote in the first place; was just compelled to. Oh well.

This goes out to Romy, Jennifer and Sandra for their feedback and also for being such great people. You rock! ;)

- - -

A girl with no particular name. That was who she was. She wasn’t really attractive, but pretty enough for anyone to consider her as a potential girlfriend. She was a geek, an outcast of society. She was called “Bossy Bookworm” by her school, since they didn’t know her name. She didn’t care. They could call her whatever they wanted.

Often she could be found wandering in the halls or in the library, devouring books by the minute. The teachers knew her fondly as a hard worker, while the rest of the school knew her for who she really was – an outcast. And in their minds, she would forever remain an outcast.

She had to smile bemusedly at that now. They had all been so naïve back then, and they probably still were now. Not she, though. She had experienced everything life had to offer: death, happiness, triumph, defeat. When she was fifteen, all that changed.

She supposed that began with her learning about the true meaning of friendship. And all because of him.

That heartbreak has soon evolved into an endless, boundless love, which she still carried within her. And that love was for the boy who didn’t know what she felt for him – and would probably never know. At least, that’s what her naïve self had thought back then.

She stopped herself at that thought. Although it was nice to think of their history and how it had changed throughout the past seven years, she was ready to forget all that and just focus on what they had now. Still, her mind protested, you want to see how your relationship with him changed, don’t you?

She surrendered. She needed something to deviate herself, anyhow. So she lost herself in the past.

He had found out, just before it was time for their graduation, her true feelings for him. How she still did not know, but he had found out. Maybe someone in their class had finally gotten tired of their constant denial of what they really had and had snitched to him, hoping for some kind of resolution.

And hadn’t they gotten a resolution, all right. She smiled bitterly at the memory.

He had cornered her as the ceremony was about to begin. Clasping her hand, he had dragged her off to Firenze’s classroom (Firenze himself had gone to stargaze outside) and cornered her there.

“What’s this about you loving me?” he whispered fiercely, his eyes inquisitive and bright with a certain desperation.

She honestly hadn’t known what to say; he left her speechless. “What you heard is true,” she said matter of factly, trying to hide her trembling.

He backed her against a wall. “No, that isn’t it. There’s something else you’re hiding from me.” He paused. “Isn’t there?”

His eyes bore into hers. “No,” she said quietly, wanting to get out of there at that moment. “It’s nothing more than that. That’s all you get.” And with that she had escaped. The perfect opportunity had been granted to her, and she had taken it. Much to his chagrin.

Later he met up with her, quite by accident as they were exiting at the same time, after the ceremony. He said her name softly to get her attention. She looked at him, startled. He motioned with his finger to follow him. She followed him unwillingly, all the time wondering when her brain had stopped functioning. When it came to him, her brain ceased to function altogether.

He led her to a tree quite far off from everyone. There he confessed what he really felt about her. And what he felt for her was no longer just friendship. “After you ran, I felt frozen. And numb. It was like I couldn’t even think anymore. That was when, I guess, I fell for you.” He said awkwardly, raising his eyes to meet hers.

She wasn’t sure what to do, what to say. So she did the next best thing that she could think of. She grabbed him by the tie, conveniently pulling him forward, and kissed him.

From that moment on, she remembered, they were together. And they still were.

She was once again left alone with her thoughts, until he came home. She smiled. Now it was time to have some fun.

- - -

She couldn’t exactly remember when it had happened; when everything around her collapsed and she was left with the stinging realization that he would never be hers. She had cried in remorse that day; to her, the world was gray and dreary. It had no life.

She could remember the time when she had realized who he really was. A warm spring day at a Quidditch game, only a month left when school ended – that was when, she had thought. She had spent her time with her eyes on the pitch; looking up from her book that she was reading at that time sometimes and watching him play. She couldn’t help it; he easily distracted her. He was always moving – never standing still, unless his team didn’t need him. Then he would just hover there in the air and watch quietly, his eyes following what plays were done and where the Snitch was. And of course watching out for any Bludgers or players coming at him.

Until now, she hadn’t thought of that innocently painful memory. She was only thinking of it now since she couldn’t get rid of it, no matter how hard she tried. That reason and something else.

Her life ceased to be real now. All she wanted, desired and made her happy was sitting right in front of her. Yes, it was him. The beauty of the Quidditch pitch. She smiled bemusedly at that thought. Why she thought of him as that could be explained by her observations whenever he played Quidditch. He was sheer powerful motion on the pitch – flying, diving, curving, swerving – all the power in the world was in his lithe, strong body. In short, he was pure beauty – not anywhere else was he powerful. Only on the Quidditch pitch he was beauty – sleek and unmatched. No one else compared to him – not even his fellow players. To her, he was in a category all on his own. He was natural. And that was what made him beautiful, in her mind.

Scoff all you want, she thought. But that was how she thought of him. And now she knew that not only was he the beauty of the Quidditch pitch, he was beauty of temptation, too. She couldn’t resist him, no matter how hard she tried. He was just too tempting. And to her, that was only the beginning of his beauty. There was more to him than what was on the surface, than anyone could ever know.

Her thoughts were interrupted by his voice. “What are you waiting for?” he asked her now. Teasing. That was what he was doing to her. How mean. She smirked at that thought. He loved teasing her, to put her on edge until she couldn’t stand it any longer and needed release. Upon thinking that, her cheeks flushed red. He saw this and marveled at his effect on her.

She was no longer in awe of him, however. Now she only felt love, pure love for him. As sappy and romance novelish that sounded, it was true.

She took his obvious impatience as an invitation and slowly crawled up his body, delighting in the feel of his body against hers; slender yet strong. A soft gasp escaped him; the fact that she had that kind of effect on him made him unable to think or speak coherently.

He could only murmur her name breathlessly; all he knew and felt vanished and the only thing left was his delirious pleasure. Everything he felt was one sensation – one feeling that he couldn’t describe.

She was surprised at his behavior tonight; usually she didn’t have that kind of effect on him.

As if he knew what she was thinking, as if their thoughts were intertwined, he leaned over to whisper hotly in her ear. “Don’t ever think you don’t have that effect on me, because you do. More than you could ever know.” His breath tickled her ear. He swept away her hair, entwining his fingers in it, reveling in the soft curls against his fingers.

She leaned into him, a tightly wound feeling of want in her stomach. How dare he tease her! Despite all that she let herself go, to enjoy everything he gave and offered her. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” A soft smile made its way across her face.

“On purpose?” He chuckled softly. “Why would I do anything on purpose, especially to you?” His hand sneakily wandered down to her stomach and down her thighs, leaving her greedy for more. His hand lightly made its way down until it stopped at a certain spot that he knew would drive her crazy.

She gulped silently, waiting for the inevitable. Then his hand barely skimmed over her, causing her to sharply draw her breath in. Oh, wasn’t he skillful. Too skillful. “Well,” she managed to say, “I’ll never know with you.”

Laughter escaped him, which thankfully stopped him from going on any further with her. She breathed a sigh of relief at that. “True,” he commented, his hand returning to where it had been before, catching her by surprise. “You’re so sneaky,” she accused, all the while trying not to let him know how much he affected her. Although it was rather pointless; he knew instinctively what kind of effect he had on her. And he rather enjoyed it. He liked seeing her squirm (even though he would never admit it, and if he had to, he would automatically deny it). It gave him a sense of satisfaction that he knew exactly how, exactly where to touch her. And he used this knowledge to benefit him; by using it he could discover what her new sensitive spots were and what weren’t, and he could use that to his full advantage, causing her to draw out sharp erratic gasps.

She was convinced that he was evil, that he wanted to torture her first before she finally gave in. That was the only way he could win; and right now she didn’t mind at all. As long as he didn’t stop, she was fine with everything. Of course if he did stop on purpose then that was a whole different story altogether. And of course knowing her temper (which was quite scary), he would intentionally stop and leave her angry at him yet still wanting more.

That was the beauty of it, she thought, trying not to cave in to his teasing hands. Just like him being the beauty of the Quidditch pitch. Then she let herself go.