Katie took to helixing around the mess of chasers and beaters, chasing after the quaffle. Flint was in the thick of it, Pucey not far behind. Tabtiang caught Haggerty in the ribs, and she was certain she heard a crunch of bones. There was no time to worry—Flint and Pucey were taking a lot of heat. Miller and Perth were trying to interfere with her teammates, and they were doing a damn good job of it. Flint’s eyes moved, found her, and she nodded, sprinting forward and down to where he threw the quaffle.

Davies nearly caught it, but Katie had literally divebombed the red ball, snatching it away and tucking it beneath an arm. She spiraled away, leading the chase again towards the goals. A bludger narrowly missed her head, catching Davies in the face as he tried to reach her. She grinned at Llewellyn, who looked positively psychopathic. Thank Merlin he was on [i]her[/i] team.

Meza was quick, but she knew his feint well and countered it, sinking the quaffle through a goal. A bell dinged and she laughed, elbowing Pucey in the side as she passed. “You’re falling behind, pumpkin,” she cooed before darting forwards again.

The game was brutal trading of blows. There would be no quick victory, not at this level, and Katie relished it. She’d longed to play real Quidditch for months, and though her leg was throbbing an hour in, she kept pushing just as hard. She’d pay for it later tonight—right now, she had to win.

Four hundred and twenty to four hundred—to Team One. Katie swore as another ten went to Team Two when Kamala missed the block by the tips of her fingers—but then there was a rush, a bellowing voice—Harrigan had caught the snitch. Her stomach plummeted. No. [i]No[/i]—they had played so much [i]better[/i] than the other team, but the fucking golden snitch…
She winced as she landed on the pitch, waving off Kamala’s glum, concerned look, slinging her broom over her shoulder. Katie joined the others around Fenrir, who was discussing something with the team manager. 

“First string,” Fenrir called when they had fallen silent, “Yuthee Tabtiang and Rhys Llewellyn for Beaters, Joel Meza for Keeper.” He paused for a moment, appraising the chasers. Katie couldn’t breathe, muscles burning, sweat dripping down the back of her neck. She tightened her grip on her broom. “Adrian Pucey, Marcus Flint, and Katie Bell for Chasers. The rest of you can accept reserve contracts or buy out your remaining contract. Dismissed.”

Katie shot Kamala a sympathetic look, but the dark woman had closed herself off, hands clenched into fists. Katie bit her lip briefly, before dropping a hand to her friend’s shoulder. “Hey, you played well. There's always next season.”

“I know,” Kamala murmured, before excusing herself. Katie meant to go after her, but Pucey was bright eyed and laughing, sweeping her up into a spinning hug before tucking her beneath his arm, knuckles mussing up her hair.

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful season, Kitty Cat,” he taunted. Katie swore and laughed, elbowing him viciously in the ribs, scrunching her nose.

“Ugh, you smell like dead kneazle,” she complained, pushing him off of her. Ewww, he’d sweat all over her. Katie snorted, looking at the pair of men she’d be training with. Pucey was, well, not too bad, but Flint…she grit her teeth. “You…played well, Flint.” she offered, in a strained attempt at civility.