It was as much of a spectacle as the boy hiding in the shrubbery could have hoped for. The ground was freezing cold, but he lay down on his stomach and inched forward as far as he dared, so he could see what was going on by the lake shed. His head felt off and he swallowed hard against the nausea, pain held back by adrenaline. This was fantastic. Samuel could not even begin to describe how pleased he was that yesterday's maneuver was already paying off. Lyra was furious, and knew exactly where to place the remarks she got from the team and from Reymund, the seeds of that scorn duly planted just yesterday, when a certain Slytherin alerted her to the fact that Reymund told everyone how certain he was of her affection. The Gryffindor did so surely to cement his claim on her with his peers, who after all might want to try their luck in a year or two. Samuel was delighted by the thought that tonight, all of that might fall apart.
The Gryffindor team was in different stages of fight, flight and freeze. Two younger boys stood there uselessly, looking at the fuming prefect with fearful faces, already regretting their decision of coming along tonight at all. One chaser was slowly retreating and Reymund was apparently thinking about fighting. McMullen was on the retreat too — no, he was just pretending. Samuel saw him slowly step back out of Miss Lyra's line of sight, his right hand already moving towards his pocket, where he undoubtedly kept his wand.
Samuel had his own already in hand and he was not known to hesitate. He whispered something, eyes on McMullen's head with the short ashen hair. First it looked like nothing happened. Then McMullen pointed his wand towards Lyra, but in the last second veered off course. His spell hit Reymund, who stumbled backwards and fell backside first into the shallow water and had to very undignifiedly scramble to not let his wand slip into the lake.
Samuel bit his fist to suppress his laughter. Concussion or not, his confusion hexes were masterful, and McMullen was screaming at Lyra now, not even aware he had fired the spell himself, while Reymund cursed and with wet trousers stumbled out of the lake, face red with fury and embarrassment.
The Gryffindor team was in different stages of fight, flight and freeze. Two younger boys stood there uselessly, looking at the fuming prefect with fearful faces, already regretting their decision of coming along tonight at all. One chaser was slowly retreating and Reymund was apparently thinking about fighting. McMullen was on the retreat too — no, he was just pretending. Samuel saw him slowly step back out of Miss Lyra's line of sight, his right hand already moving towards his pocket, where he undoubtedly kept his wand.
Samuel had his own already in hand and he was not known to hesitate. He whispered something, eyes on McMullen's head with the short ashen hair. First it looked like nothing happened. Then McMullen pointed his wand towards Lyra, but in the last second veered off course. His spell hit Reymund, who stumbled backwards and fell backside first into the shallow water and had to very undignifiedly scramble to not let his wand slip into the lake.
Samuel bit his fist to suppress his laughter. Concussion or not, his confusion hexes were masterful, and McMullen was screaming at Lyra now, not even aware he had fired the spell himself, while Reymund cursed and with wet trousers stumbled out of the lake, face red with fury and embarrassment.
