somebody's going down [tomie]

CHANGING ROOMS | FEBRUARY 2004

The February gloom had followed them into the locker room; though it was getting warmer with steam from the shower, they were all still too dew-laden and grumpy to start loosening up. Donna wiped her face on her sleeve and peeled off her outer robes. They were still a little damp -- it had rained early on, but the game had lasted long enough that she had almost dried off by the time they’d lost. They’d been three goals up -- she had to think of that as a point in their favour. At least their Chasers were competent.

She couldn’t be mad. She’d said, months ago, that this was the risk they ran putting second years on a team -- they would be brilliant, with the experience and the practice they got from being on the team early, but they’d have to lose a few games first, and nobody had more sway on the outcome of a game than the Seeker. It just hadn’t really occurred to Donna that she was getting to an age where she was losing the last games she had. There were only four more left in her school career, if she was lucky.

So she wasn’t mad -- just frustrated. It hadn’t been raining when Vos had missed the Snitch. It had all been over very quickly, too -- Vos should have stayed on the other Seeker. Donna was pretty sure she’d told her that, plenty of times. It wasn’t like it was hard. The Snitch and the Seeker (and two Bludgers, she supposed) -- that had to be easier to keep track of than, say, the two Keepers and five other Chasers. If Vos had been just a little bit more on her game, they would have been well placed to win the Quidditch Cup.

When she looked around for the laundry bin, their little Seeker was standing next to it, in the same dispirits as the rest of the team. Donna dunked her robes and sat down on the bench, not looking at the other girl. Her voice was a little abrupt: “How’s that head, Vos? You need to go to the Hospital Wing?”

@Tomie Vos

Tomie was mad.

Last time, at least, it had been closer. Aideen had been right there, and so she’d gone for the catch. 250 to 280 was a much better loss than 100 to 430, like it would have been if Aideen had been a little faster, or Tomie more hesitant. Of course, she’d replayed the moment ten thousand times since then, and come to the conclusion that she should have just flown straight into the other seeker and let Slytherin take the penalty shot; they could have afforded a little penalty for the chance at the comeback. And, a loss was still a loss. She’d let her competitiveness cloud her judgement. Her fault.

She saw Aideen in the halls from time to time and even though it didn’t really have much to do with the older girl, Tomie felt her self-directed anger flare up again and she had to take a break with a snack to calm down. Would she feel like that every time she saw a Hufflepuff player now? Add her whole team to the list too, probably. At least last time she hadn’t really taken much blame for it because they’d been so far behind… Unlike today, when they’d been ahead. She felt like she was going to burst, and had both games on repeat running in her head. She needed a snack, like, yesterday. Whatever way she cut it, it was her fault.

Tomie pulled off her gear on autopilot, dumping it unceremoniously as she did. She took her hair out of its ponytail, shaking it a little to loosen from the shape it wanted to hold. She knew that seekers had a ridiculous amount of weight on their shoulders, but it hadn’t really occurred to her that her teammates had to basically play like gods for her to fuck up and still have Gryffindor win. This was why she’d wanted to be a beater! Or — well, no, she’d wanted to be a beater because hitting stuff was fun and girl beaters were cool, but the point stood!!! Of course, she was far too weak to play that position, but either way, she’d definitely envisioned a lot more glory with her first year on the team.

Donna took a seat near her and she tensed a little, considering, suddenly, that her first year playing might also be her last. “No,” she replied shortly, sounding more sullen than she’d meant to. “I’m fine.” Sure, her shoulder hurt a bit and her neck felt a touch stiff, but even if she’d been seeing double and couldn’t walk straight she wouldn’t have given any other answer.

The other girl’s voice was also abrupt: No, I’m fine. Donna pressed her lips together and regarded her, trying to gauge whether she was being truthful. “Alright,” she said after a moment -- Tomie didn’t seem dazed or unfocused or anything. In fact, she seemed closer to the other extreme, staring away from her. Donna was tempted to bend over to put her face directly in the Seeker’s line of sight, but resisted the urge: it would ruin the moment.

Not that this was a moment. Because she wasn’t mad.

She pulled her hair out of its braids, running her fingers through her hair where it had dried mid-air into neat crimps. Looked back at Tomie, just for a second, then redirected her attention to the mirror -- she was still a little red in the face with exertion -- and then back at Tomie. “So what happened out there?” she said. “I told you, you have to stay on the Seeker -- did you forget? Were you distracted?”

This had a point, or it would eventually -- the better they understood what the issue was, the easier it would be to figure out how to fix it -- but she felt like she was bullying Tomie right now, so she softened her tone as much as she could and added, “I’m not mad.”

Tomie was worked up, and she wasn’t very good at keeping her feelings to herself. When Donna started talking, she started protesting, frustration slipping through.

I told you —

"I know, I just—"

— did you forget?

"No, it wasn’t that, I—"

Was she distracted? Yes. Incredibly so. Her first proper match had started off so strong; Tomie had somehow managed to keep the crowd out of her head, her focus lasered in on what she had to do for the game. This time was like the exact opposite. She’d really felt the pressure from all sides, and she’d lost the Hufflepuff seeker early. It wasn’t like she’d forgotten, there had just seemed to be so much going on, and she hadn’t been able to keep track. Tomie exhaled a short puff of air through her nose before she went to sit down beside Donna. She started unlacing her shoes with a little too much rigour.

"Well," Tomie said, agitated and clearly wanting to say a lot more, "maybe you should be." She wanted to rub her neck; now that she’d acknowledged it feeling a bit off, even if only internally, it had started to ache. Like it’d been waiting for permission. She refrained, though. Probably because of pride, or something. "I just, I got clipped early—" Thanks, Jari Trickett, “—And it messed me up! Stupid,” she added, scowling as she fumbled with a knot in her laces. She knew how badly she’d played. A part of her wished Donna would just yell and get it over and done with.

Tomie didn’t answer, really -- Donna said, a touch more irritably, “Well, we can’t fix it if you don’t know what it is,” and yanked her bag over with one foot, leaned down to root through it for a claw clip, unsure she could trust herself not to scowl at Tomie. That wouldn’t be fair -- it was one game.

Two games, actually, a voice said in her head, but Donna told it to shut up and twisted her hair up into a knot, clipping it in place. Tomie sat next to her, still looking distressed -- Donna let her arms fall to either side of her, knuckles propped on the bench, and examined the other girl, though she didn’t have long to do so before she started unlacing her shoes.

Maybe you should be. Donna frowned -- Tomie was beating herself up about this a lot more than Donna had meant her to be. She said, at a loss for how to console her, “Yeah, well, I’m the co-captain, so don’t tell me what to do. I said I’m not mad, I’m not mad.”

It had been the Bludger, then: Donna supposed that wasn’t too surprising. It was a bad shock, the first time it happened in a game -- Donna had never felt the same urgent adrenaline of games during practises, the exhilarated rush of this is for real. “Thought you said you didn’t need the hospital,” she pointed out. “Look -- you can’t let it embarrass you if the Beater brains you. And if it’s an issue, let one of us know to call a time-out for you. We can’t afford to have our Seeker of all people off her game, alright?”

“Okay,” Tomie said, her frustration tempered a little this time by a new mix of sulkiness and sheepishness. “Sorry,” she added, still a little clipped. Donna was right, of course, and Tomie was only hurting her chances by talking back to her instead of talking to her. She couldn’t help but chew on it internally, though. Donna West — Gryffindor co-captain — wasn’t mad at her? After she’d basically just lost them the game? Uh-huh. Sure thing. The brunette paused for a second, glancing up as their keeper walked past the two of them. She went back to unlacing her shoes, frowning.

“Okay,” she said again, nodding this time and trying to swallow her pride. Internally, she translated what her captain was telling her: Quidditch is a team sport, idiot. “I wasn’t embarrassed,” she added, trying to be more honest and less defensive and shitty. It only partially worked. Her stomach ached a little. How long since she’d eaten? Was it breakfast? “Just, distracted. I kept being sure I’d mess it up again. And then I did.” Tomie straightened up, shoes successfully undone now. She exhaled a heavy breath, then turned to Donna properly, asking the question that was really weighing on her. “Are you going to swap me for the reserve?” she asked, her gaze rather intense as she met Donna’s.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Donna, though not with any more tenderness. Tomie might have been acting sulky, but Donna got that – she was just frustrated, and Donna couldn’t blame her. She had a lot riding on her and she was pretty young to feel that kind of pressure. The tradeoff of not having as much to keep track of during a game, maybe.

At least the kid was dedicated – she could give her that. There wasn’t any point in playing Quidditch with people who didn’t care, who didn’t love it; there wasn’t any point in doing the job halfway.

“Distracted,” Donna repeated – so it wasn’t so much about the audience, but about the pressure. That sort of checked out. “Well – I dunno, Vos. You can’t let yourself get stuck thinking about it, is all.” She wanted to add something sort of comforting to that – I know it’s hard – but didn’t know how well Tomie would take pity. After a moment of deliberation, she said, “It’s a good thing to learn from your mistakes, okay? But what’s done is done, you just have to move on. Especially during the game.” She rubbed her hands on her knees restlessly; Tomie swung upright abruptly, met her eyes with a sort of disarming look.

She exhaled. “No,” she said finally, “Not unless you want us to. C’mon, all of us –” she meant the Chasers “– are still on the team. We have plenty of time to prepare for the next match.” That was perhaps the only good thing about playing only three times per year.