They marched onto the field, shivering slightly in the cool breeze, faces tight and eyes bright with determination – except for O’Connor, who still looked rather queasy. The whistle blew and Harry shot into the air, avoiding the Gryffindor seeker, who was tailing Harry closely, without too much trouble. He kept an eye on his team below him – Jesus fucking Merlin, O’Connor just crashed into the goal hoop – and kept the other eye peeled for the snitch. He circled the pitch once, twice, ran interference through the Gryffindor chasers who were getting into formation for a tear down the pitch, and then turned on a dime into a dive when he caught a flash of gold out of his peripherals.