#maebitha

She chucked the Quaffle towards Tabitha the Betrayer with all the force of a sneezing puppy. Buoyed by its anti-gravity charms, the ball arced in air, a well-judged curvature to Tabitha’s position. Fine, it was a decent throw, begrudging as he was to admit. Perfectly suited to a beginner like Tabitha the Traitor. She crab-waddled on the grass, hands stuck upwards.

“I’ll get it! I’ll get it!”

“Remember,” Maeve said, “grab and hold to your chest—!”

“AWAAAAAH!” Miraculously Tabitha the Deceiver managed to do just that: catch the Quaffle and stabilise the momentum by thrusting it against her bosom. “Ah! I caught it! And I didn’t fall over!”

Maeve preened as if this momentous occasion was solely her doing. “Told you!” she cheered, heading over. “That’s three in a row now.”

“Yay! That’s good enough to be a Chaser, right?”

“Ah.” Instead, she patted Tabitha the Double-Crosser on the shoulder. “Let’s work on a rally first.” She stood back, slapped her hands together. “Throw it back to me!”

Tabitha the Backstabber fumbled the throw so badly it went left, hitting the grass with a sad thud and rolling to an unceremonious stop at the pitch entrance – right at Sebastian’s feet.

Fuck! Now the balls were betraying him too!

Both Maeve and Tabitha turned at once, spotting him – Maeve’s amusement instantly soured. It was too late to hide now. Seizing the moment, he tossed his robe for a dramatic wind effect (it did make him feel cooler) and marched over with swinging fists, internally pledging to fortify himself against whatever hair-brained excuse Maeve would dare to conjure for Tabitha the Defector’s crimes.

“Isn’t this just darling?” he announced, forgoing any preamble. “You two just hanging out together?”

“At least bring the ball back, for fuck’s sake!” cried Maeve.

Tabitha’s brows dipped in confusion. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

“You don’t know?” Clearly, he had done a poor job of teaching her everything there was to know about certain members of the year group. “This” – he gestured between them – “is a grave insult to everything I stand for!”

“I don’t understand. What is?”

“That you would hang out with Ginger Minger before me!”

Maeve rolled her eyes. “A jab at my hair colour! So original, Sebastian! What’s next, your mum jokes?”

Tabitha frowned. “What’s wrong with hanging out with Maeve? We were just tossing a Quaffle!”

“With the enemy!” decried Sebastian. “She’s a Gryffindor, Tabs! I’m your best friend and Quidditch partner!”

“But I’m a Hufflepuff! I don’t hate Gryffindor!”

“It’s not just that!” He shot Maeve a look of purest loathing. “She— she’s obnoxious!”

“You mean fierce.”

“And stubborn—”

“Principled.”

“And always trying to win arguments even when she’s wrong—”

“That’s because I’m never wrong.”

“See?”

Tabitha looked between them, nonplussed.

“Well, I think Maeve is nice!”

“Of course you would! You think Professor Sharp is nice!”

“He’s a real softie when you get to know him!” She wandered over to the archway to retrieve the ball, giving Sebastian ample opportunity to shoot stink-eye at Maeve, who returned it unfettered. “Why don’t you join us?”

“No,” both Sebastian and Maeve said at the same time. Well, at least they could agree on that!

“Okay,” Tabitha said warily, “well, Maeve and I were just practising passing—”

“So if you could pass us by—”

“Maeve!”

“What? He started it!”

“We were just practising passing,” Tabitha said again, with a placatory, albeit bewildered tone. “But I can play with you later, if you want.”

Maeve snorted at play.

“I just want you to know,” he said tersely, lip curling, “that if I taught you Chaser techniques, you’d do much better than a pitiful three passes.”

Her face puffed up so much, it looked like she’d squirrelled two Golden Snitches in her cheek pouches. She raised the Quaffle, tossed it once in air—

Then thrust it towards him at the speed of a rocketing train, connecting it with his face so hard his nose capsized into his cheeks. He stumbled back, tripped and fell on his arse before the ball had time to bounce away.

Maeve’s accursed laugh screeched outwards, loud enough that Sebastian swore the very earth moved. He braced himself on his elbows, wincing as Tabitha dusted her hands.

“Serves you right!” she huffed. “For being mean to us both!”

“Tabitha’s technique is fine, it’s just that she needs to build the muscle memory to do it consistently. Just as you’re consistently annoying.” Maeve smirked at Tabitha. “Great shot, by the way.”

“Thanks!”

Maeve raised her palm to high-five. Tabitha missed and slapped her arm instead.

Sebastian grazed the pad of a finger against his poor, injured face – and flinched. Lunging face-first into the Great Hall doors would feel less painful than this. What the hell was that? Did he even have a nose anymore?

“Great shot, she says. Are you teaching her to kill, Clancy?”

“If only.” She waved Tabitha forwards. “Let’s get a snack, Tabs. I’m starving.”

“I can make some biscuits for you, if you want!” Tabitha cheered, skipping merrily to the entrance and unrepentantly leaving him to suffer on his wet bum. “And I’ve been real peckish for some goblin foot cheese crisps!”

She grinned. “It’s the best combination.”

The whole interaction was so charming and domestic. Ugh, Sebastian despised it.

Maeve scooped the Quaffle from the ground next to him. With a shit-eating grin that could eat shit as far as he was concerned, she petted him smugly on the head, wiped the repulsive contact down her thigh, and then twirled the Quaffle on her finger.

“Maybe next time, Turd Curls.”

He spluttered. He seethed. He downright steamed. “Oh, so now it’s acceptable to give me a bad nickname based on my hair colour—?”

She dunked the Quaffle on his head.

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