February 8th, 1890 — Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch
A cold Saturday morning was clearly the best time for quidditch practice—in the eyes of their captain, at least. The wind was raging and every breath was met with difficulty. He was already preparing a mental list of ingredients needed to make a basic cough syrup; there was no way he wouldn't be needing it later in the afternoon. Cameron supposed quidditch, despite the harsh climate, was a better way to spend his morning than an early class, but there was another problem: Sloane Bixby.
Because of her involvement in literally everything (bar Divination class) he did, there was no escaping the tension that had built up since the beginning of the school year. She was always around him—in class, at dinner, in the common room, and here. On the quidditch pitch. It usually wasn't a distraction due to the differences in their position, but today that was not the case.
Cameron had paused mid-air on his broom, trying to catch his breath, when his eyes wandered to Sloane chasing the snitch. She wasn't going very fast, but neither was the snitch; it seemed to be taunting her. Cameron was suddenly shaken from his thoughts but taunting, too, and without a second to spare the quaffle came flying in his direction.
Down he went, knocked right off his broom from a clumsy attempt to catch a quaffle out of reach. He landed with a hard thud, but one that was assuredly softened by a cushioning charm from somewhere. Cameron groaned in pain, his arm instinctively reaching towards his leg... which he couldn't feel.
