The Favor

                                    

                                          
Ivy:

                          
"Wood!" I called to the Gryffindor. Meghan and I were walking through the busy hallway before class on a stormy morning. The courtyard was drenched in downpour, but I actually liked the weather. To look at, that is, not to play quidditch in. I knew my team would hate me for holding practice during a storm. The captain turned his head in my direction and I picked up my speed to walk next to him. "I thought about what you said about the whole bludger incident, and I think I have a way you can make it up to me."  
                          
"Go for it," he said while we walked towards potions. 
                          
"I want to swap my team's practice today with yours tomorrow," I said, hoping he would accept. I was doubtful he would agree, as even the Whomping Willow was being pushed around in the billowing winds. Still, it didn't hurt to ask. 
                          
"That's it?" He asked in surprise.
                          
"Yep that's it." I saw him glance out into the courtyard as we walked along the covered hallway. He gave a reluctant sigh as he looked up at the grey, thunderous sky. 
                          
"Alright," Oliver sighed. 
                          
"Wait really?" 
                          
"Yeah sure, we need more practice in the rain anyway." 'Rain' was putting it lightly, but I decided not to mention that to him.
                          
"Oh okay. Great." I frowned slightly- it felt unusual to have a mature and civil conversation with him. 
                          
"So you'll forgive me?" He smirked.
                          
"We'll see," I raised my eyebrows, suppressing the tiniest smile.
                          
"Yeah alright," he said as we walked into the potions classroom. That was our only exchange. I sat down next to Meghan, relieved to have spared my team from an awful practice, and pulled out my notes.
                          
"Guess who saved our asses from the storm today?" I asked Flint.
                          
"Oh thank God I almost faked sick," he laughed. 
                          
"I would've had you play anyway." I grinned. 
                          
"Oh, I know you would." Flint smirked, "So how'd you do it?" 
                          
"Manipulation at its finest," I grinned, "Wood felt bad about the bludger and he's trying to make it up to me." He raised his eyebrows in surprise. 
                          
That evening as I did my homework in front of the fire, listening to the claps of thunder and lightning, I was grateful for my decision. I looked out into the distance at the quidditch pitch, seeing tiny figures zooming across the field. Even from afar I could tell that the rain was pummelling the seven players who were likely fighting to stay on their brooms. Poor Wood, I thought. Wait no, you don't forgive him, more like "Good, he deserves it." I laughed to myself and looked back down at my book.