The shot missed—Katie didn’t have time to be pissed off. Flint had managed to regain possession with judicious use of brute force. Her ears were numb in the wind as she spiraled upward, catching the quaffle shot her way. Pucey and Flint were more than a match for Perth and Miller. Suddenly, Katie was grateful she wasn’t playing [i]against[/i] them. They were a well-oiled machine, still in-sync after the years outside of Hogwarts.

What was strange was how [i]easy[/i] it was to fit into their dynamic. Tucking the quaffle beneath her arm, she dove out of the arc of Weller’s bat. The world was a rush of colour and instinct, her dark eyes snapping over the pitch.  Davies flew up in front of her, but Katie was smaller and faster, snapping back and forth, back and forth until she found her opening to kick past him. Now—she threw the quaffle with every ounce of strength she had—

“Ten points to Team One,” echoed throughout the pitch. Meza offered her a lopsided grin and a lazy salute. Katie found herself grinning back, nearly laughing as Pucey clapped her shoulder when she passed him. 

“Meow indeed,” she thought she heard him yell. Their banter was cut short—Meza hurled the quaffle deep into the air, hurtling towards their side of the pitch. She sprinted forward once again, blood screaming through her veins.