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THE DEATH GAME

act two ━ chapter sixteen

. . . . . .

━ MORGAN SAMUELS ━
november 1993

          THE ADRENALINE PUMPING THROUGH HER VEINS WAS PARALYSING. She could hear her heartbeat thumping in her ears and her blood getting hot. The crowd's cheers seemed to go through her, deafening and so very scary. But there was no time to waste, because as we speak, the stands of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch were staring at the dugout, waiting for her to fly out of it.

          And since it would be rude to keep them waiting, Morgan pushed herself off the ground and made herself known to the big wide world. She held her breath even as she found her place in the Gryffindor formation. She wasn't sure if she should wave or not but since she was under the impression she would be able to find her friends in the crowd and she most definitely could not, she opted not to wave. Besides, keeping two hands firmly on the broom was probably for the best.

          She found Oliver's eyes as the Slytherin team made their entrance and used him like an anchor. Hearing Casper's name be announced only stressed her out more. Her breathing finally started to settle but the butterflies were not going anywhere. Morgan was hoping that once she got into the swing of things, when the whistle was blown and she could no longer avoid the truth that she was about to play her first real, competitive game of Quidditch with actual consequences, that she would calm down. She was wrong.

          It all happened so fast. Hooch's whistle bounced off the stands as her words announced Morgan's worst nightmare. There was a wave of cheers as the balls were launched into the air, and the swarm of players broke their formation so quickly, it was like the speed of light. Morgan was baffled how they all could snap into gear so instantaneously while she was still floundering somewhere in the air, trying to slow her breathing that had picked up in the last few seconds.

          There was no time for breathing at all.

          Morgan didn't realise how much she had simply been watching her other teammates until one of them sped so fast right by her ear that she almost toppled off her broom. But it was for the better. Now she was snapped into action, and maybe her body would function the way it was supposed to.

          She cautiously leant forward on her broom just to nudge her forward a little. She felt like a toddler taking her first steps, as if she had never flown on a broom in her entire life. In her defence, she hadn't until a month ago. She imagined Jason in the crowd somewhere laughing his arse off at his sister's failure and just like that, she was doing it. And it wasn't just the thought of her annoying older brother, future pro Jason Samuels, watching her that kicked her into action, but Morgan thought of Herbert. She tried to do this as little as possible, but when she realised he was probably focused intently on her, Morgan found her stride.

          Whipped into a frenzy, she started blocking the Slytherin players. She was zigzagging through specks of green, ignoring the emerald banners and terrifying sights of the Slytherin beaters and their bats. She was catching and throwing. She even had a shot on target if it weren't for Miles Bletchley's massive frame.

          But the game continued. Shots off target. Another pass. A swift miss of the Bludger. A Slytherin goal. A disheartened Oliver Wood. An equaliser. The deafening boom of Lee Jordan's voice into the speakerphone. McGonagall's repirmanding in quick succession.

          She didn't see much of Casper as they whizzed around the pitch with different intentions. Morgan knew one of the hardest parts of this would be playing against her best friend. But he was always supportive of her, was not a brutal cheater, and was simply trying to get on with his own game. Morgan knew everything would go back to normal when they touched back down, whoever ended up winning.

          And then the ball was back in her hands. Round and bulky and suddenly heavy. Her fellow Chasers quickly became obscured by green robes. Morgan frantically tucked the Quaffle under her arm and focused her attention on the route to the posts. Not far, but not easy. Herbert quickly returned to her mind, and she felt thrown. Previously, he was her motivation, a way for her to stay determined. But now, he was fogging up her thoughts, laughing at her.

          She kept going, zipping through the air like she was born to do it. Despite her shaking hands and near slip, Morgan made it to the goal posts. Herbert laughed in the back of her mind, his terrible breakup speech playing over and over again on a loop.

          She imagined she was launching it right at his head.

          The Gryffindor stands erupted with applause and it wasn't until Angelina clapped her on the back that Morgan realised . . . she had fucking scored.

          But enough about Morgan.

          Somewhere in the crowds, a Hufflepuff boy with long brown hair was utterly perplexed as he watched the first Quidditch match of the season. This was a first-time experience for him since he had been no stranger to Quidditch. When he should have been assessing how Gryffindor and Slytherin had changed since the last school year to better his own team's chances at the cup this year, he was, instead, transfixed by Morgan Samuels. He was no stranger to this either, but he had decided to stop doing that when he dumped her.

          This boy was Herbert Fleet.

          Herbert still could not wrap his head around his ex-girlfriend's presence on the Quidditch pitch, and he felt sort of . . . betrayed. Quidditch was his thing. He had to explain the rules to her every time she went to watch him play. And now he was watching her play? The puzzle wasn't making sense in his head, and he couldn't bring himself to enjoy the game. And he was very good at that.

          What caused her to do this? Did the breakup inspire the desire for her to try new things, branch out? Or, worse, did it merit such hatred in her that she thought this would be a good way of getting back at him?

          Either way, it was doing something to him. An odd mix of annoyance and regret and . . . pride? No matter the specifics, Morgan Samuels would be delighted to hear what was going on inside of her ex-boyfriend's mind right about now.

          Speaking of, she was on fire (by her standards). One goal was enough for her, but after that, it was like she had been struck by lightning. Morgan went on a three-goal streak. Her passes became slightly sloppy and she very nearly got booted off of her broom by a Bludger on a mission, but she was still scoring and, most importantly, still going.

          When the run time went well past three hours, however, Morgan wanted out. She knew Herbert was watching; he already knew she had made it onto the team, so what more could she ask for? She had made her point, and now she wanted to sleep.

          Her limbs ached, her heart felt like it was giving out, and her spirit was dead. Unfortunately for her, no matter how long this game went on, she was stuck on that pitch. After all, she was Gryffindor's last line of defence.

          While she didn't like the idea of looking like an unfit sack of potatoes in front of her brother, her team, and, most importantly, Herbert, she was losing steam. If only Harry Potter would catc─

          "AND HARRY POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE GOLDEN SNITCH. GRYFFINDOR WIN!"

          It felt like someone had unloaded the weight of a mountain off her shoulders. Not only had she been there to make sure the Gryffindor team had enough players to compete, but she had survived and even contributed to their victory. No more flying, or brushes with death.

          Morgan found herself searching for Casper. He was cursing into the air, his head bowed. That was enough for her to feel defeated. By this point, her body was shutting down. She needed food or water, or probably both. Morgan definitely wasn't cut out for this.

          Her brushes with death were not, after all, over just yet. She watched as Harry paraded the snitch around the pitch, engulfed in a flurry of ruby robes, before everything went black.

❋❋❋

          OLIVER WOOD STARED DOWN AT HER. He blinked and then again, concern pinching the skin on the bridge of his nose. Morgan took a breath, fluttering her eyes like a dog shaking off water. She felt as light as air, the November wind finally chilling her after sweating for three hours straight.

          "That was a close one," he chuckled. His hands cradled her head, his legs locked awkwardly with hers.

          "What happened?" Morgan asked as she came to. The cheers of the crowd had not stopped for her minute-long fainting disaster and were still boasting about their house's win. Her cheeks were flushed, but so were his.

          "You passed out," he said, not letting her lift her head higher as she wished to.

          She didn't, however, need to lift her head to feel the distinct ridge of her broom beneath her and the ratty straw of its end tangling with her hair. "How and why am I still on a broom?"

          "I was close by," he shrugged. "And, unlike you, it's not my first rodeo, Morgan."

          Morgan dreaded to think how many people have fainted while playing Quidditch and how Oliver must feel somewhat responsible for the people on his team when it happened.

          "Well," she sighed, finally regaining her balance. He guided her to sit back comfortably on her broom, his hands acting as her support, "I'm praying it's my last."

❋❋❋

          ONCE SHE RECOVERED FROM HER DIZZY SPELL, THE REWARD WAS ALMOST INSTANT. Erupting crowds, floods of red, people cheering. She couldn't pick out her own name, per se, but maybe that was the kind of credit you got when you had been on the team for a prolonged period of time. Which Morgan had not. And, since this had gone so well, she planned to never fly around this pitch ever again.

          As Hooch announced their win, the Gryffindor team gathered mid-air, smiles plastered on their faces, arms splayed over each other's shoulders. It took her a solid two minutes of watching their infectious joy before Morgan realised she was allowed to join them. That she was expected to join them.

          Still shaking and well aware that it was not too late to fall off her broom (or faint again), Morgan gently flew over to where the group was gathered in the middle of the pitch. The ends of their brooms knocked against each other. They wasted no time pulling Morgan into their huddle. Finally, finally, she felt like she could breathe. Sure, if she glanced down, she would see how high she was and her stomach could very well give out, but she knew that wasn't worth it. That would ruin the sense of pride, the feeling of companionship and teamwork now making its way to her heart and making her feel all warm and fuzzy.

          But just like looking at the floor would, Morgan's stomach still fluttered when Oliver directed his attention to her. He was laughing with the rest of them, effortlessly hovering on his broom, directly opposite her. Their brooms tapped against each other, and he grinned back at her like she had just bought him the moon. But, she supposed, in his terms, she had. And while she had started this crazy quest with her own incentives, now all she ever wanted to do was be half-decent at Quidditch and earn herself a smile just like that one from Oliver Wood.

          After the initial celebrations ceased, the players descended to the ground and started to shake the hands of the other team. Morgan thought about how satisfying it was to smile politely and nod her head at the guys who had been playing Quidditch their whole school career and just lost to a complete rookie. Granted, she didn't do that much, but the spirit was still there. Most of these guys were arseholes anyway.

           Except for her best friend. Morgan knew how hard it was for Casper to lose, but that didn't mean he didn't smile as soon as he saw her in the lineup. I'm so proud of you, he mouthed, fervently shaking her hand with enthusiasm he had not given her teammates. He then winked before he moved on to the next person. 

          Another exception to that rule was the final Slytherin player. Dark hair, pink cheeks, friendly smile. Adrian Pucey shook her hand graciously and whispered, "Not bad for a newbie" before he went to shake the hand of the next Gryffindor player. It felt nice to be seen by someone who was not required to uplift and support her. Considering Adrian's girlfriend and love of his love was a Gryffindor, he didn't mind all that much.

          As the team headed towards the showers, now done with all the forced displays of sportsmanship, Morgan wondered what it would be like to play against Hufflepuff, subsequently win, and then have to shake the hand of her depleted ex-boyfriend. She hoped to never play another Quidditch match again, but it was a nice thought.

          Before it was time to rinse off the sweat and aches of the match in the showers, Morgan's friends cornered her in the Gryffindor strategy tent before she could even make herself look a bit more presentable

          "You're so cool," Bea gushed before the group had made it anywhere near Morgan.

          Always Morgan's biggest supporter, she thought as Bea engulfed her, unbothered by her sticky skin and questionable scent.

          "Honestly, you were better than everyone else," Edie chimed in. Always the least knowledgeable on every sport out there, Muggle and not.

          Kira winced, weighing her options (be mean or lie). "Well, your broom work was a bit sloppy and a couple of your goals were saved but─"

          A jab to the ribs from Edie and Kira shut up, opening out her arms for Morgan to wander exhaustedly into. "You were great. I'm very proud."

          "I'm just impressed. I genuinely thought you were a goner at the end."

          Trapped in Kira's grip, Morgan couldn't give Greg the glare she wanted to, but everyone else did the job for her, and Greg reprimanded, "But you survived. And weren't half-bad. Well done, Sammy."

          When she stepped out of Kira's arms, Morgan looked to each of her friends. "You don't think Casper will hate me, do you?" She asked.

          Edie shook her head, pinching Morgan's cheeks. "He'll be fine," she assured her. "It's all part of the game. He signed up for this."

          Once Morgan was passed around her friends, each wanting to get a hug in, it was time for the team to do the same. She didn't know how many of them understood the real reason she was playing alongside them, but since they were lovely people who were also currently riding out a victory high, she was squeezed some more until her cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

          "How was that then?" Oliver asked her, eager to finally get a word in to the team's new local celebrity.

          Morgan was pretty sure she was still in fight or flight, and she responded as such. "Horrifying. Dreadful. Never make me do it again." She was sure Herbert got her point; she'd be happy for this to all be done now.

          Oliver was not convinced. She was panting, yes, and her cheeks were rosy. Her body was tense, and her hands shook a little. But when he looked into her eyes, there was a little spark that wasn't there before. He knew that spark very well because it was the same one he got after winning a Quidditch match.

          Oliver quirked a brow, trying to hide his smirk. "But?"

          Morgan bit her lip. If anyone was going to be able to identify someone's excitement about Quidditch, it was Oliver Wood.

          Her shoulders sagged, and she relented, "I guess it was kinda fun."

          Oliver's face split into a wide smile. "Ah, my goal in life," he said, placing a wholesome hand on his chest, "converting people to Quidditch-lovers."

          "You mean, Quidditch-crazed losers?" Fred corrected as he passed by.

          Oliver, surprisingly, did not seem offended by that, so he just puckered his lips. "Yeah, but Morgan hasn't reached that point yet. Give her time."

          George popped out from behind Fred and mouthed from over his brother's shoulder, "Please don't ever do that."

          He obviously didn't mean to be discreet, but Oliver picked up on George's not-so-secret message with ease. "Watch it, Weasley."

          George surrendered his hands. "What? There's only room for one Quidditch weirdo on this team."

          Oliver rolled his eyes as the twins walked away. He was probably used to the "loser" and "weirdo" heckling and also probably finding no wrong in having a hobby anyway.

          "Well, I guess my job here is done, Samuels," Oliver said.

          As much as she was grateful that it was pretty much guaranteed she wasn't going to have to play that Death Game again (only in practice, thank Merlin), a pang of disappointment hit her chest. While it was terrifying, Morgan had felt alive. And not just because their win today was (hopefully) going to give them the points to take down Hufflepuff later in the year, but also because she was putting herself out there. There was something freeing in trying new things.

          "I guess it is," Morgan said. This was a short but sweet chapter of her life, and both of them appeared solemn to say goodbye to it. It was bittersweet, to say the least.

          Just then, Morgan was overcome with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. She had always been thankful that Oliver had taken a chance on her (for a very juvenile reason at that), and she had always tried to make sure he knew that. But now, not only had he taught her everything she knew about Quidditch and let her on his team, he had now been there to witness her survive her very first (and hopefully last!) actual match. All of that build-up and hard work was futile if she hadn't put it to good use. And now that she had, Oliver ought to know how much this meant to her.

          Wasting no time before he was swept away by the fiercely proud Gryffindor crowd to express their appreciation, Morgan pulled the boy by his arm and tugged him into a very tight hug. Oliver sounded as though he had just had the wind taken from him by the surprised sound that escaped his lips. But once he realised what was happening, Oliver's once tense body softened, melting into her touch.

          She fit right under his chin, smothering him with the coconut of her shampoo. Her arms wrapped around his waist, and his came to fall across her shoulders. In all his years being on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Oliver Wood never considered that being a part of a team would be so physically wholesome. He doesn't remember the last time he hugged one of his teammates. It was nice for a change. He should do it more.

          "Thanks for trusting me with my batshit plan," Morgan said into his chest, her voice muffled by the layers of robes. "And for saving my life earlier."

          Oliver broke the hug only to look her in the eyes. Her neck craned up to look at him, and she relaxed backwards into his arms. "Oh, that was nothing. As for the other thing, this plan of yours is utterly bonkers in theory, but who cares?" He chuckled, his dimples appearing on either side of his mouth. "He's a bellend and will surely get what's coming to him."

          Morgan wondered what she had done to find someone like Oliver. He was unfortunate enough to be the one she stumbled upon when she first got dumped, and now he was practically her therapist, coaxing her through it, all while having his own ex problems. He was calling her ex-boyfriend a dick without even knowing anything about their relationship or how they broke up ─ just that he had broken Morgan's heart and somehow, that was enough to reach his assessment.

          She eyed him teasingly. "And what's that, Oliver?"

          The Captain shrugged. "With any luck, a kick to the balls."

          Morgan cackled and resumed their hug, soaking in the safety that he provided her, thinking that was all Oliver had to say on the topic of Herbert Fleet.

          But then Oliver lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, "And the gutpunch he'll get when he realises you're better off without him."