[EEP! Should have been posted earlier. SORRY!]


The Chudley Canons.

It was almost too easy.

But when Gwen met the gaze of the opposing captain as she shook his hand before the game, she was more than pleased to see an uneasy wariness deep in the tall man’s blue eyes.

Excellent. The Canons had never presented much of a threat to her team, much of a challenge at all, but the taste of something close to fear was welcome. The numbness of Tristan leaving her, of having Regan reject her, even, had turned to hurt and quickly enough to anger.

One would think it would be something bright and hot, something the world would see by only looking at her, but Gwen was a Jones and had been a Slytherin; hurt mixed with the anger, and the anger was a waiting thing, a permeating, calculating thing.

Her lips curled into the smallest of smiles, something predatory and intent.

The change of his demeanor was more something felt than seen; the barest tightening of his grip on her hand, the tenseness that wound up his shoulders, the fairly palpable rise of energy that had nothing to do with attraction. There was awareness, but it was the unconscious human reaction to the perception of something truly dangerous.

And Gwen was truly dangerous.

Joscelin had been right in encouraging her towards Quidditch. The taste of fear was something that could have been truly addicting.

It still could.

“Play well,” she said, inclining her head, lips curling ever so slightly.

He eyed her warily. “And you.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ron floated above the pitch, looking nervously on as his captain met with the other team's. It didn't seem as if it were going too well. Of course, they were playing one of the top teams in the league. He couldn't really see what was going on with the meetings of the captains too well, but it did look like Dorkins was a little tense standing with Jones.

Ron took a few deep breaths trying to quell the agitated rumblings in his stomach.

I can do this... I can do this...

He flew back and forth in front of the rings, trying to clear his mind and prepare for the game to come, probably the most difficult of all they had had this season, or would have. He looked at his teammates and saw them circling as well, trying to be ready for when the Quaffle and Snitch were thrown in the air.

Ron glanced down to the team captains again and noticed the ref reaching into a box for the Quaffle and the Snitch. He took a deep breath and tensed as they were thrown into the air.

"Here we go..."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was closer than she had anticipated. Her team was well prepared, but the chemistry between the Chasers had altered since Katie had not been able to join them this season.

Mina and Fab worked seamlessly together, both flashy and quick, but this year’s new addition to the squad was not as fresh as the rest of the women after having two months off.

Gwen had noticed it in practice, had commented and instructed Lauren that she would need to do more sprints and agility training prior to the first game of the second half of the season, but it seemed the young woman had not taken her seriously.

That was easily remedied.

Next the Harpies were fouled, Gwen appeared seemingly out of thin air next to Lauren. “You’re off. Send Holly on.”

Lauren blinked at Gwen a moment in disbelief; she’d started every game this year and had yet to be subbed. “But – “

“Off.” Gwen’s gaze was calculating as she watched Fab take a penalty shot. Missed the first one. She’d telegraphed the right hoop loud enough even for a Weasley. “Now. Send Holly on.”

She turned to face Lauren. “If you’re not out of the air by the time Fab has taken her second shot, you’re sitting for the rest of the season.”

Lauren began to speak again, but thought better of the idea when she met Gwen’s gaze and not a moment later streaked off the pitch.

Gwen turned back to see Fab sink her second shot in the left hoop. They were ahead 80-60.

Holly wasn’t Katie, and she didn’t quite have the speed of Mina or Fab, but she was smart. Gwen would no longer have to divide her attention between her team and searching for the snitch.

She glanced upwards where Edwards was prowling, gaze snapping in every direction, eyes searching for that flash of gold.

Gwen’s lips curled. It was time to go hunting.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They were losing by twenty points and whenever they did score against the other team, it didn't seem like they could keep their ten point catch up.

Ron felt extremely at fault for this, as the Quaffles were going past him often. He managed to catch almost half of them, but sometimes things went too fast for him. It was frustrating as hell.

"Come on," he muttered under his breath as he watched Edwards looking around for the Snitch. At one point he thought Edwards had it, but then lost it when a Bludger almost took him off his broom. Ron let out a huff of air, watching the Chasers coming his way with the Quaffle. He readied himself, taking a position that would let him dart right or left at a moment's notice depending on where the Chaser aimed.

Oh Gods... let me get this one... let me get this one...

The Chaser aimed and threw the Quaffle before he was done with his plea. It was too wide an arc for him to catch, but it went just inside the ring, the Harpies had scored again.

"Dammit!"

Ron's head fell back as he cursed the sky, they didn't have the luxury to keep letting the Quaffle get by. Now they were thirty points behind and still no Snitch. This was embarrassing, so much so he could hardly take it. It was his fault they were losing, and only his. In front of numerous people, on Wirelesses around the world he had let the Quaffle in seven times already, put the Harpies thirty points in front of them. No matter what he did, it didn't seem as if he was good enough. It was a wonder he was still on the pitch, he had half expected Dorkins to have switched him out a half hour ago.

He searched for Edwards again but found him still, eyes scanning the sky, occasionally looking to Gwenog Jones to see if she had any luck. He hoped Edwards found the Snitch soon, save them all from an embarrassing loss.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

She had seen it first.

A flash of gold streaking in the wake of a bludger.

Almost before the thought was fully conscious, Gwen was a blur of speed through the sky.

Her broom responded to her thoughts almost as she thought them, and she rolled effortlessly out of the way of a well-aimed bludger, losing no speed at all.

It was the broom that Tristan had made for her.

No one else could have made it fit her so very perfectly.

The roar of the crowd and wind faded into the background. All that existed was her, her broom, her thoughts and the flash of gold heading straight into the sky now.

The snitch. Regan. The game. Tristan.

A large body slammed into her then and Gwen was knocked off course, tail spinning nearly out of control.

She’d lost her concentration.

A frown furrowed her brow as she found her course again.

Joscelin. Bishop. Her team.

Leaning so that she was nearly flat on her broom, Gwen infused her magic, her very being into the desire to have this win. She would have the snitch.

Without warning the ball of gold changed direction and dropped like a streak of light for the earth. There was just enough time to register the frustrated concentration on Edward’s face as he tried to change direction on his large, powerful, but not very agile broom.

A dark look of pleasure passed over Gwen’s face as she met his gaze – just before she executed a flip at top speed that had her bristles smacking him in the face, likely scratching it to bits, before she sped towards the ground.

The crowd went nearly silent as Gwen sped for the earth, closing the distance between herself and the snitch rapidly, though whether she would meet the turf was questionable.

Closer, closer. The green of the pitch took up most all her vision now. But Gwen was not worried.

As gloved fingers closed around the tiny golden globe, Gwen braked. Her gloved fist brushed through the grass as her back end flew over her head in a violently fast motion. But Gwen’s body was molded to the stick of her broom and the split second she was levelly lateral with the ground, just about to slam into the earth at a speed likely to shatter most her body, she sped forward and across the grounds, spiking back into the air.

Heart beating quickly, Gwen's fist clenched around the still-struggling snitch. They’d won.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Edwards didn't meet her eye as the two teams shook hands on the grassy pitch, and Gwen's lips curled ever so slightly as she moved past the much taller man. He'd yet to see one of the team healers and the evidence of his failure was still etched on his face - a few vivid red lines where her broom had raked his skin.

Murmuring the requisite pleasantries that sportsmanship dictated to the rest of the team, Gwen finally came to the keeper, Ron Weasley; Katie's brother-in-law.

"Well played, Mr. Weasley," she said, meeting the ginger man's eye. Joscelin liked the Weasley's and one of her only female friends now was one. She would do what was necessary to cultivate her own brand of acquaintance, though she was unsure of what to expect from this man. She'd only met his quick-witted older brother, and Percy, of whose conversation she had enjoyed around the bonfire at Fred and Katie's wedding.

"You too, Jones," Ron said, his cheeks tinting pink. He was angry at himself for losing the game so thoroughly. Shuffling his broom to his other hand, he held out his right hand to the better player, hoping to appear civil as he mentally cursed himself. He knew they both ran in the same circles, having seen her at a couple parties and weddings – meaning he would have to chat with her for a few moments, appear a good sportsman to everyone lest he get news back that he was rude.

“Thank you,” she replied, dark brown gaze watching as the other man tinted with a blush. Unlike Katie though, Gwen was quite sure the flush was due to anger and embarrassment rather than to being shy and bashful.

Men didn’t generally like being beat by a team composed of only women. It likely didn’t help this tempestuous young man that polite decorum dictated that they have some semblance of a mini visit on the pitch.

Besides that he was a Weasley - a family preferred by both her brother and her friend - Gwen had no particular desire to chat with him either. From what she could tell just by a first read of the agitated, red-faced ginger man before her, they had nothing in common but Quidditch.

She didn't have a lot in common with most people, though it probably had more to do that she generally just didn't like anyone, period.

"Play well this season," she offered by way of a mutual dismissal, squeezing his hand with a small nod before releasing it.

"You too," Ron answered, a terse smile on his face as his hand dropped to his side. He was more than ready to get off the pitch after being beaten so thoroughly. He wanted nothing more than to stand under the scalding water of the shower and think of his mistakes on the pitch and he can prevent them next match. After this match, it was going to be a long practice Monday, who knew when Dorkins would let them leave.

Dark brown eyes followed the ginger man for no more than a few moments before Gwen turned and strode towards the locker room.

Already she was distracted away from this days events, thoughts jumping to places better left alone. Not even the triumph of a battle fought and won could distract her from that which she wanted nothing but to be rid of.


SUMMARY: The Harpies play the Canons. Gwen catches the Snitch, Ron beats himself up, and neither finds happiness at the end of the day.