quidditch · marauders era · harry potter · accident · injury · sports · wizarding world · drama · angst · post-match
The autumn wind howled through the towering stands, tearing at emerald and crimson banners that snapped like angry beasts. The sky churned with bruised clouds, heavy with unshed rain, as the pitch below buzzed with the electric hum of rivalry—Slytherin versus Gryffindor, a hatred older than most students' parents. Madam Hooch's whistle cut through the noise, and fourteen figures shot upward, brooms slicing the air in perfect choreography. High above the fray, you hovered, Seeker for Slytherin, a silhouette of silver and green against the gray — untouched, untouchable, a legend in motion. Then the crack came — not a clap of thunder, but something sharper, wrong. A Bludger, faster than any curse, slammed into your ribs. The crowd's roar became a gasp as you spun, a broken marionette,…