Chapter Text
Prologue
She was hidden away in low clouds, shrouded in chilly moisture as she watched the ongoing match from a vantage point afforded to her by her passive position as a seeker. The cold atmosphere was saturated by the shouts of passionate fans cheering their favored teams on, to victory. A red scarf wrapped around the bottom half of her pale face as she shivered, the lack of heat from the early Scottish December settling into her lithe body. Her hands grasped the sides of her Quidditch uniform, snuggling into the warm fabric. On the outside, crimson and gold adorned her small frame—inside, green and silver were worn.
The air was electric, people jumping up and down, rowdy in their encouragement and praise for the players. Spine-tingling rapture emanated from the audience—a crucial pass had just been made, opening up the lane for another ten points, but the joyful ruckus was quickly stifled by the appearance of a messy-haired boy clad in dark green, racing towards the quaffle at an alarming speed. A hand darted out, snatching the leather object straight from the air. Now his focus was on the counterattack. With a quick bend of his elbow and then a snap forwards, the ball shot off like a rocket, into the awaiting hands of a teammate who dropped it into a hoop for an easy goal.
He sped back on defense, ready to go again as frustration settled into his opponents' minds. This was routine for him—every week was another replay of the same dominance, but with a different team each time.
Awe-inspiring; was the only adjective that could properly describe his play as he swerved out of the way of a barreling bludger, instinctively cocking his arm back for a shot that sailed through the air, cutting every thin string of hope that the other team had for success. Distant shouts—originating from silver and green—pierced the disappointment-filled atmosphere, and harshly beat down on those who wished for a different outcome from the match.
Of course, this was expected—the Slytherin team had been too effective, too efficient in their movement and playmaking for Gryffindor to get a proper foot in the door. She registered the obvious loathing directed at the boy, glares and jeers, however useless they were in the grand scheme of things as he kept up his focus. His hazel eyes were trained on the field ahead of him, predatory in his posture as he ran through his options. She saw him lean forward and then he was moving at breakneck speed. He'd gone into a dive, reaching out for the falling quaffle and retrieving it, heaving it upwards and into his teammate's possession with a casual ease that he seemed to be synonymous with. It was with a smirk that he made plays like this, putting his team ahead of the competition by miles in a fashion others couldn't even dream of.
Calling out with a hand in the air, his fellow chasers joined him in the middle for a quick word in between goals before dividing into dangerous flanks. Gryffindor was playing zone, completely unable to match up with the sheer cunning that had allowed Slytherin to aggress on their territory so efficiently. Disappointment took over the Gryffindors the Slytherins had once again shoved them out of the way.
The game was appearing to be comfortably secured within a few dashes and passes, followed by easy feints and shots that the opposing keeper tried to keep up with—but to no avail, as his hand missed almost every single one.
But she needed to get her head back in the game—she couldn't let him pull off yet another landslide victory. Though, the only hope she had of her team not being utterly embarrassed was to grab the snitch—-a small spherical golden ball with wings—; which was nowhere to be seen. Emerald eyes searched and searched, throwing its keen gaze to the stands down below or the middle of the pitch. Nothing.
She needed to move now; hair—that had been tied back into a tight plait to keep stray locks from obscuring her vision—whipped behind her back in the wind as her head swiveled in confusion at the seemingly non-existent presence of the coveted object that would end the game.
Cheers spewed from the opposite side of the pitch. Another ten points—and he was smirking at her. White teeth gleamed as he neared her position at the top. "Hey Evans, how ya doin?" She wanted nothing more than to smack the grin off his handsome face…or kiss it off. But, she needed to keep the neutrality that was crucial for keeping her other life private, and away from the infamous rumor mill of Hogwarts.
"Just fine." Her curt reply was muttered under her breath, but he could hear it just fine as the curve of his lips grew upwards, conveying his satisfaction in himself.
He clucked his tongue playfully, tilting his head. "Oh, don't be like that."
Be like what? You're risking everything, you prat! And fuck, I need to focus on the game and your goddamn body is too distracting! Her usually kind tone was clipped, annoyed as she gritted out, "Leave me alone Potter, not now—you told me you wanted privacy, keep up your end of the deal."
He snorted, insolence oozing from his boyish smile. He turned his attention towards the pitch, surveying his teammates as they fended off any attacks from Gryffindor. "Now now, Evans, they'll never know—they probably think I'm up here to psych you out or call you the M-word or something—oh look at that, your boyfriend's angry at me." He nodded down to the crowd, where honestly any of the Gryffindor boys could be her "boyfriend". Her popularity with the opposite gender had been a point of teasing since the day he had found out about it, making constant jokes whenever he caught a boy who sported red and gold glaring at him or admiring her.
She ignored his playful goads, opting to focus on her search for the snitch.
He continued, not caring that she was ignoring him. "I can understand why—he's over there pining for your attention while I don't even have to work for—"
She sped away, partly because he was causing her focus to wane, but mostly because she had seen what she was looking for. A flash of gold, and she was off like a bolt of lightning.
A fleeting glance backward had shown his proud gaze on her before she had skillfully swept herself into a last-ditch dive. He went back to his team and she pressed harder on her broom. If she managed to pull this off, they'd win by the slightest margin, she needed this. Images of glory and being hoisted up on shoulders, visions of hazel eyes sparkling brightly, fantasies of a clutch victory urged her on, into a tunnel vision fueled by adrenaline.
The snitch was floating a few feet off the ground and the opposing seeker had spotted it too, as evidenced by the widened eyes and fierce determination displayed itself in a competitive bearing upon the piece of wood.
She went lower and lower, the dive became more vertical until she was perpendicular to the green.
Her palpitating pulse kept time, counting the milliseconds until the imminent impact.
Ten. Deep breath in.
Nine. She reached out.
Eight. Green eyes narrowed.
Seven. Her jaw clenched in concentration.
Six. Her fingers outstretched.
Five. Push harder.
Four. Faster.
Three. Deep breath out.
Two. Her hand closed around a smooth metallic ball.
One. The ground filled her vision.
Zero. Pull up.
The crowd let out a collective gasp as she held the snitch in her hand, pride etched in every crevice of her ethereal visage. Her teeth chattered—cold, but happy with a smile lighting up her features.
Perilous handling of the broom had paid off as… they tied. They tied.
He had scored last second. An arrogant grin sent shockwaves around the stadium, upsetting everyone that had been hopeful for a Slytherin loss there.
She glared at his gleeful expression. Fuck you.
Her fingers grasped the hem of her outer shirt, pulling upwards, revealing the green jersey that she wore underneath. His. It was her good luck charm for most of her matches — though she should've expected that it wouldn't work against him. It was a damned fool's hope to try and beat someone as maniacally driven as him at his own game.
Sighing disappointedly, she stripped completely out of her uniform, infuriated with the way the game had gone; she would've been hailed as a legend if she was able to pull off the upset, but she couldn't.
She groaned, head in her hands as she irritably rubbed her face. "God, I hate you so fucking much."
"No, you don't."
Her head whipped around, searching the room for the source of the body-less voice. She didn't have to look for long; a shimmer of silver and a dull thud had alerted her to his previously invisible presence. "Are you perving on me again?!"
Humorous chuckles from him drowned out her indignation. "You act like you didn't do it first."
Steadfastly ignoring the embarrassing reference, she turned away and stayed silent, not bothering to protect her modesty from his gaze—he'd already seen it all. "You're mad at me, aren't you?"
She crossed her arms, then moved to open up her locker and rummage around for clothes whilst his inevitable teasing commenced. "Aww, babe—don't ignore me…" he whined, amusement lacing his pouty voice.
He crept up behind her, sliding calloused hands over her naked skin. He buried his chin in the crook of her neck, leaning over her shoulder to hold her tightly. "You were great, you know that?"
A sigh escaped her lips, differing from the previous one because this was one of contentment. "Thank you...it means a lot." And she wasn't lying either; getting congratulations from anyone else would've been received with a nod or an absentminded smile, but with him, her heartbeat raced and breathing became difficult. And his extremely close proximity was no help in the matter.
Then he just had to ruin it. "But of course, I still outclassed you. Honestly, your team sucks dick." Fucking tosser.
An elbow was thrust into his stomach, making him release her from his (admittedly wonderful) embrace and stagger back, but unfortunately not ridding the characteristic smirk from his face. She pointed towards the exit. "Leave, I won't tolerate this slander any longer."
"Oh Evans, you know it's true, and besides—I don't think you really want me to leave." He had a point, she wanted him to stay, with her and nowhere else.
Reluctantly, she said, "Fine, you can stay, but I'm still mad at you." She really wasn't.
He bit his lip, looking her up and down with lust evident in his darkened eyes. "How mad?"
She fiddled with the top of her knickers, inching it downwards ever so slightly, causing his eyes to follow the movement. "Very mad."
His face took on a sultry expression as he stepped closer, re-entering her personal space. "Is there anything I can do to make you not mad?"
She licked her lips, allowing a smirk to curve them up, chancing a not-so-subtle glance downwards as she glided a hand over her bra provocatively.
"I'm sure you can figure it out."