Angelina Johnson (ex_arrowhead57) wrote in thecoldwar, @ 2008-06-14 07:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | angelina johnson |
And flights of Arrows...
Robes stiff with sweat, aching horribly in every bone, Angie let her broom descend softly to earth, both hands clutching her broom-handle as though doing so could call its maker to it. The roar of the crowd at the successful catching of the Snitch by the Arrows Seeker had already muted, partly from sheer fatigue at the twenty-three-hour marathon game, partly from uneasy respect, partly from unspoken fear -- for who knew where Bellatrix Lestrange would strike next?
Angie's team collected around her, starters and relief alike, without so much as a hint of the boisterous celebration that properly attended the winning of the League cup. The Tornadoes gathered in a loose circle outside the Arrows' tight one, respectfully, faces marked with tears that had to do with the lost champion, rather than the lost championship. The crowd fell mostly silent.
Blind with the tears she had repressed until duty was done, Angie dismounted her beautiful broom -- Ron's broom, that had not faltered or wavered or failed her in any way -- and thrust her arm in the air, broom in hand. "Ron!" she cried, loud enough for the very last wizard in the very last row to hear.
Broomstick after broomstick clicked against hers. "Ron," they all said, all the Arrows; and then the Tornadoes echoed it, and then the entire crowd.
When her trembling arm could no longer support it, Angie lowered the broom, hugging it to her. Her team gently guided her back to the locker room, whereupon she fled to the showers without a word. Presentation ceremony. Press conference. Photographers. Endless, endless questions. Angie sobbed dismally as she stripped off and washed. But when she was done and dressed in clean Arrows blue-and-silver, she forced the grief and horror down again, used her wand to erase the tear-traces and the hollowness behind her eyes, and went out to do what needed to be done for her team, and for her friend.