A swallow, a determined kick of the ground. Leontius McKay was ready. He swung a leg over the broomstick, prepared himself to kick off and tucked his necklace back out of sight.
The feeling of the air rushing past him was unlike anything else. Immediately, his nerves dissipated and the crowd vanished. There was only the pitch, the players, the balls. Leon and the rest of the English team would move as individual limbs of a single organism. Just like they'd practiced.
His eyes followed the quaffle as the official launched it into the air. Although he flew quickly towards it, it was snatched by an Indian chaser. No matter. They could recover. He dropped slightly, aware of both the quaffle's movements - Misra, Nagarkar, Misra - and that of his fellow Chasers. As Misra neared the goal posts, as Urupi came in to the right, he rose slightly higher, head ducked.
They couldn't let their opponents score.
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