Twin Dragons

"Bugger all! Those damned Slytherins!"

Oliver's voice echoed across the Great Hall as he stormed toward the table where his team members were sitting. It was the day before Gryffindor was due to play Slytherin, and three days after Kitara's last conversation with Draco. Kitara, who had been chatting with the Weasley twins, looked up at her boyfriend in surprise.

"What's happened, Oliver?"

The tall boy tossed his Quidditch gloves on the table, plopping down on the bench beside her. The other Gryffindors gathered around him, anxious to hear what he had to say.

"Bloody Slytherin is pulling out, that's what's happened! Curse it all!"

Fred and George shared a confused look. "But, Oliver," said Fred, "that's good, isn't it? We automatically move on, and we'll play Ravenclaw for the Cup. It'll be no competition—sorry, Kit."
Kitara shrugged, her attention on Oliver.

"Don't you understand?" he demanded, his brown eyes flashing. "We're not the best unless we play the best. This is horrible. If we don't get a chance to beat Slytherin, I'll never know if those new tactics are paying off."

George snickered underneath his breath and received a sharp elbow in the ribs from Angelina.

"Why are they forfeiting, Oliver?" Angelina asked.

Oliver shrugged moodily. "Supposedly their Seeker's been sick. Bugger that Malfoy; he'd better be dying! Too sick to play Quidditch- really, it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life. They're bloody scared, that's all."

Kitara's blood ran cold. Draco, sick? Not likely. She suspected she knew why he wouldn't play, and she couldn't decide if she should feel angry or guilty.

"That bloody rat—" she muttered under her breath, and most of the team turned to stare at her. She did not typically get involved in their Quidditch conversations, and she certainly never sounded passionate about them.

"I, uh, I think it's horrible of him, is all," she stammered. Oliver was looking at her as if he'd never seen her before.

"Bugger. Look, never mind, alright? Just forget I said anything." She gathered her things quickly and stood up to leave. Oliver caught her arm, but she avoided his eyes.

"Are you okay, Kit?" he asked, concern managing to overshadow his anger.

Kit forced a smile. "Never better. I just—I have things to do." She wrenched her arm away from him and hurried out into the hall.