Sitting in the Nosebleeds
14 November 2025
Holyhead, Wales
16:00
Linked to: A Report to Deliver
The pitter-patter of drizzle over Holyhead's stadium would have been a forgettable occurrence were Koko in the sky, but far below on the bench, even a well-cast pluvia velo would not help her, not with the way the wind spat the droplets into her face. She squinted, but then raindrops caught in her eyelashes, and she thanked whatever deity might have been willing to listen that her mascara was waterproof.
Lights flashed on the scoreboard, momentarily distracting Koko from the bludger battle above her. She lifted her eyebrows, wondering if she'd spot an increase in points for Cork, but she sighed as Holyhead pulled even further into the lead. She leaned back, ignoring the disgruntling feeling of the creaky, wooden bench digging into her joints, and she let the back of her head bonk against the metal of the stands behind her. A pop echoed from her elbows as she stretched her arms out in front of her, folding her fingers together and flexing so that she could finally feel something other than complete and utter boredom.
As multicoloured shapes flew about on high-end broomsticks, Koko stared up at them through the blurry substance of her wand-produced umbrella. They ended up fading into stray pops of colour within the rain. Koko's lips curved upwards, but her smile faded as quickly as it had appeared when Holyhead scored again. Seriously, what the fuck were Cork doing? Any more points and even a quick grab of the Snitch wouldn't save them.
Deciding the game was a lost cause, Koko rested her wand against her torso and closed her eyes, deciding that if nothing was going to go right during this game, she might at least get some beauty sleep – especially if it looked as if their Keeper had no intention of getting hit with a bludger. Holyhead hadn't even thought to target him yet! Koko couldn't even follow the tactics of the game at this point; everything just seemed to grow more ridiculous by the minute.
She expected darkness. Perhaps a calming, spa-like rest, given that it was misting. But instead, almost immediately, colour and vision filled her gaze, and she would have spat out a series of swears if she hadn't found her consciousness taken from her in an instant.
Despite never having been properly close with Galton, she'd known who the former prefect was. They'd been on the same team during Professor Weems's broom race over the summer. They'd traded jokes. Something twisted inside her, and she gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the urge to head all the way to Godric's Hollow and make sure Galton was okay. If something had happened to him and she could have done something...
'And they've done it! Holyhead have caught the Snitch! I repeat, Holyhead have caught the Snitch!'
Well, that was bloody great timing. Koko stood, tapped her hands together in almost-sarcastic applause, and then picked up her broom. She swiftly changed out of her Quidditch robes and into clothing that could pass for Muggle-adjacent in London – just a jumper, trousers and a fluffy scarf – and she sought out the nearest fireplace she could use on the Floo network. She didn't have it in her to apologise to anyone she might have accidentally shouldered out of her way; her only intention was to ensure Galton was safe.
Run. Run. Run.
Holyhead, Wales
16:00
Linked to: A Report to Deliver
The pitter-patter of drizzle over Holyhead's stadium would have been a forgettable occurrence were Koko in the sky, but far below on the bench, even a well-cast pluvia velo would not help her, not with the way the wind spat the droplets into her face. She squinted, but then raindrops caught in her eyelashes, and she thanked whatever deity might have been willing to listen that her mascara was waterproof.
Lights flashed on the scoreboard, momentarily distracting Koko from the bludger battle above her. She lifted her eyebrows, wondering if she'd spot an increase in points for Cork, but she sighed as Holyhead pulled even further into the lead. She leaned back, ignoring the disgruntling feeling of the creaky, wooden bench digging into her joints, and she let the back of her head bonk against the metal of the stands behind her. A pop echoed from her elbows as she stretched her arms out in front of her, folding her fingers together and flexing so that she could finally feel something other than complete and utter boredom.
As multicoloured shapes flew about on high-end broomsticks, Koko stared up at them through the blurry substance of her wand-produced umbrella. They ended up fading into stray pops of colour within the rain. Koko's lips curved upwards, but her smile faded as quickly as it had appeared when Holyhead scored again. Seriously, what the fuck were Cork doing? Any more points and even a quick grab of the Snitch wouldn't save them.
Deciding the game was a lost cause, Koko rested her wand against her torso and closed her eyes, deciding that if nothing was going to go right during this game, she might at least get some beauty sleep – especially if it looked as if their Keeper had no intention of getting hit with a bludger. Holyhead hadn't even thought to target him yet! Koko couldn't even follow the tactics of the game at this point; everything just seemed to grow more ridiculous by the minute.
She expected darkness. Perhaps a calming, spa-like rest, given that it was misting. But instead, almost immediately, colour and vision filled her gaze, and she would have spat out a series of swears if she hadn't found her consciousness taken from her in an instant.
It was as if Koko had never closed her eyes at all – she glanced at the scoreboard to see that it was still 190-50, Holyhead. The Beaters hadn't seemed to move.She was standing in a square, near a memorial. A famous memorial it was, definitely the one in Godric’s Hollow. Cold air almost burnt her skin, the village sounds were muffled as if behind glass. She looks at it, and then there’s a tug in her chest that draws her away from the memorial.
It’s like fast-forwarding, everything is blurred, and the next stop is near a ruined cottage. There are no noises, it seems to be a bit away from the village. There are Ministry-marks all over the place, but it’s worn out. The air feels colder and quieter. The insides are whirling around as if something has happened here.
The next tug draws her inside the building. She looks into a vertical shaft — there’s only darkness, pure void. She feels her own arm straining, stretching down the shaft, her hand locked around someone’s wrist. It’s slick with cold sweat. It’s not someone, it’s… Galton…
“Koko… Please…”
And the fingers slip, and then Galton drops into darkness.
Despite never having been properly close with Galton, she'd known who the former prefect was. They'd been on the same team during Professor Weems's broom race over the summer. They'd traded jokes. Something twisted inside her, and she gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the urge to head all the way to Godric's Hollow and make sure Galton was okay. If something had happened to him and she could have done something...
'And they've done it! Holyhead have caught the Snitch! I repeat, Holyhead have caught the Snitch!'
Well, that was bloody great timing. Koko stood, tapped her hands together in almost-sarcastic applause, and then picked up her broom. She swiftly changed out of her Quidditch robes and into clothing that could pass for Muggle-adjacent in London – just a jumper, trousers and a fluffy scarf – and she sought out the nearest fireplace she could use on the Floo network. She didn't have it in her to apologise to anyone she might have accidentally shouldered out of her way; her only intention was to ensure Galton was safe.
Run. Run. Run.
[pc] koko riddle · 'pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick, and pull yourself together.'
'it always starts and ends with birds.' · cyrus darsel [inpc]