Aerial Entanglement and the Golden Snitch (IV)

Wood's fists clenched with a creak, but he did not charge forward. He was the captain; he could not be sent off at a time like this. Fred's face had already turned livid, while George pressed one hand against his shoulder so hard that his knuckles went white.

Angelina had already gone to the edge of the field, where Madam Pomfrey was casting a fixing charm on her. Her face was buried in a towel, her shoulders trembling in spasms. It was impossible to tell whether it was from pain or something else.

Angelina's substitute was a third-year girl named Vicky Frobisher. She stood at the edge of the rest area with both hands wrapped around her broom, her knuckles white and her expression caught somewhere between nervousness and fear.

She had never played in an official match before. Now she had been thrown into the most crucial match of the House Cup, facing a Slytherin Team with an overwhelming lead, soaring morale, and players who looked as though they had been pumped full of adrenaline. Her lips trembled slightly, but she did not cry. Not because she was brave, but because she had not yet recovered from the shock.

Gryffindor's long timeout was like a mouthful of blood forcibly shoved down their throats—impossible to swallow, impossible to spit out.

Wood paced back and forth through the rest area, his boots squelching in the mud. His face was pallid with a bluish tinge, and the cracked skin on his lips peeled up as he bit it off bit by bit.

He wanted to say something. His mouth opened several times, but each time it closed again after only a vague syllable escaped.

It was not that he did not want to speak. He simply did not know what to say.