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Tarth grabs the quaffle, and she’s off! Giantsbane is quick on her tail, but he can’t keep up...look at the way she is dodging those bludgers, folks! But, of course, she has her sights fixed on Greyjoy. Looks like she’s faking left, and...yes! 10 points to Ravenclaw!
Sansa lets out a whoop along with her other teammates in support of their Captain’s bold play.
Leave it to Brienne to come in strong, as she tends to treat Quidditch more like a battle than a game.
Sansa supposed that’s what made her such an incredible captain.
Stark is flying across the pitch with the quaffle. Ravenclaw is closing in, but he’s too quick; he’s heading tow- Woah, Stark just took a bludger from Waters! Ravenclaw steals the quaffle. Another goal from Tarth, putting Ravenclaw in the lead with 40 points!
Sansa worriedly looks around, needing to confirm that her brother is okay.
She spots him righting himself on his broom, the hit nearly unseating him. But, besides clutching his shoulder, he appears to be unharmed. Sansa knows more than anything; it’s his ego that is smarting from dropping the quaffle.
Sansa forces herself to look away. She can always fuss over him once the match is over.
She tilts her broom up, flying towards the clouds to get a better view and escape from the mayhem for a moment.
Her eyes narrow as they scan the pitch, searching for that flash of gold. She’s so entranced in her task that she almost doesn’t notice the flash of black and red in her peripheral vision signaling a Gryffindor player.
She turns, preparing to see a beater aiming a bludger at her, but instead meets a familiar face with a mop of black curls.
Unable to help herself, she glares.
Either he doesn’t notice her ire or chooses to ignore it because he just gives her a nod in return before turning his attention back towards the pitch.
She huffs before forcing herself to do the same.
Sansa won’t allow him to get the jump on her this time.
This was the final match before the Christmas holiday, and Sansa’s pride would not allow her to lose to Jon Snow.
Of course, Robb had invited Jon to stay with them at Winterfell. She can just imagine now how he would lord the win over her. It was almost as if he enjoyed getting a rise out of her. Going out of his way to point out her flaws.
Like she needed to give him another reason to tease her and make her holiday miserable.
It was bad enough to watch him laughing and joking with her family all morning at breakfast this morning. Acting like he was a king holding court at the Gryffindor table. As if the thought of their match didn’t make him nervous at all.
In comparison, Sansa felt green, and her breakfast of toast with jam tasted like ash in her mouth.
Sansa was suddenly shaken out of her reverie by the sound of buzzing, like an insect in her ear. She turned her head and spotted the flash of gold with flapping translucent wings.
She instinctively grabbed it; the snitch danced away just out of her reach. She used her free hand to stabilize herself before inching out even further, hoping her steady movement would tame it.
Just as she felt her fingertips barely skimming the snitch’s surface, she saw a flash of robes and a Gryffindor seeker who appeared to be barreling right towards her.
The snitch soared away, much like a frightened bird, when their brooms connected with an audible whack.
Sansa felt her body sway sideways from the force of their collision. She scrambled for her broom handle but was unable to secure her grip.
Her gut jerked, the world turned upside down as the field of the pitch came into view. Sansa instinctively closed her eyes against the feeling, giving into the fact that she was falling…
Until she wasn’t.
She felt a firm grip on her robes, pulling her up until she was righted back on her broom. Her eyes open in surprise, looking right into the dark blue eyes of her unexpected savior. She grips the broom handle in shock, unable to say a word.
He gives her a small smile. Sansa can tell from his expression that he is trying not to laugh at her, knowing Jon that would not be surprising. He was always one to call her out on her weaknesses.
He didn’t seem arrogant that he had saved her while being the reason she lost the snitch. Just content that she was seated safely on her broom. Jon had never intentionally caused her harm for all of his faults, and she knew deep down he would never forgive himself if she had fallen even though the Mediwitch would have her good as new in no time.
He looks past her, something catching his sight below her, she turns to look as well, but she’s a second too late.
He dives.
She follows behind her face a hair’s breadth away from the tail of his broom.
They swerve in between the stands, the crowds going crazy as they pass. Sansa can hear Tyrion’s magically elevated voice calling out in excitement. Still, she is so focused she can’t make sense of his words.
Sansa nearly gives up hope on getting ahead of Jon until she sees the bludger Water’s aims at Jon’s head. He faints to the side at the last second, the bludger missing its target, but it gives Sansa the slight advantage she needs to zoom past him towards the snitch.
She pushes forward, leaning her body against the broom to prevent wind resistance. She reaches an arm out, eye on the prize, desperately thinking that she just needs to be a little faster.
She is vaguely aware of a hand reaching out nearly parallel to hers.
Jon caught up with her.
They are both grasping the air, desperately trying to clutch the sneaky golden ball that was dancing just out of their reach.
Sansa registers that they are heading directly towards one of the stadiums filled with cheering students. However, she is unable to let up and instead pushes her broom to go faster still. Jon does the same, and they stay neck and neck.
Sansa feels her heart clench as the stand comes closer and closer, unwilling to think what will happen if and when there is a head-on collision.
However, Jon isn’t hesitating, so she forces herself not to either.
Before she can blink, the stadium is right there. She waits until the last second before lifting her broom to avoid the hit, following the snitch.
When the snitch unexpectedly veers towards the left, Sansa throws herself towards Jon, but it’s too late. Jon leaps nearly off of his broom but somehow manages to snatch the snitch from the air.
It’s over. Gryffindor wins.
Jon lands gracefully on the field, his teammates immediately swarming him. Sansa spots her sibling jumping on top of Jon in joy. The fans in the stadium chant his name.
Sansa slowly flies down to the pitch to meet her teammates.
Brienne tries to hide her disappointment with a shrug of her shoulders and a ‘good game,’ but Sansa feels the sting of it anyway.
She puts on a smile for her teammates, but it feels tight and unnatural.
She looks towards Jon with a slight longing, wishing that she came out on top.
His cheeks are red from exertion and, knowing Jon, embarrassment from the attention. People always flock to him. Winning the match just made it twice as worse.
Sansa imagined that Gryffindor would be up late tonight celebrating.
“Sansa,” he breathes out as if relieved, and she wonders how long he has been waiting outside the locker rooms for her. She had purposely lingered in the shower, not wanting to face her housemates just yet.
“Jon,” she replies. “Congratulations.”
She says it quickly, hoping he can’t sense her reluctance. But, instead, he nods back, and she can tell he’s trying to be humble for her sake. She finds herself kind of hating him for it.
“Um, you played really well today,” he looks up at her shyly before darting his eyes back down to the ground and rubbing the back of his neck. His curls are sweaty, sticking to his skin.
“Thanks, you too,” she says back automatically, more than a little thrown by his behavior. At the very least, she expected him to tease her, but instead, he seems almost nervous. She picks at the hem of her sleeve.
“Were you waiting for me?” she asks even though it’s evident that he was.
“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you alone..” he trails off. Sansa finds herself noticing how much his voice has started to crack lately, giving away to the deeper voice of a man grown. Both him and Robb have that in common.
“What do you want, Jon?” she inquires, her exasperation with the day evident in her tone.
“I thought we could talk about the bet,” he admits in a rush. Sansa stares at him blankly for a few minutes, rummaging through her memories to try to figure out what the bloody hell he is going on about...
When it hits her, she feels her face flush, matching the boy standing in front of her shuffling his feet and refusing to meet her eye.
She had nearly forgotten the stupid bet they had made. It felt like ages ago.
Sansa curses herself for even agreeing to such a stupid wager.
It started during the summer holiday. She was playing Quidditch with her siblings and Jon in their backyard at Winterfell. But, as usual, Sansa let her competitive nature get the best of her, calling foul play when Jon had managed to snatch the snitch from right under her nose.
She lost her temper, insults flying off her tongue. Jon came back at her just as heated. She hadn’t even realized that they were nose to nose, red-faced and panting until Robb intervened.
Jon hotly stated that she was just jealous because he was the best seeker in their year. When she protested, Robb came up with the solution to make a bet. The seeker who scored the most points by the end of term won.
Sansa declared that if she won, Jon would have to give up his broom for a whole year, the latest Nimbus model that Jon had received as a gift from his godfather. It was his most prized possession, and it gave Sansa an evil sort of satisfaction to picture taking it away from him.
Jon agreed to the bet. But, only if Sansa would give something up that was just as valuable, Arya interjected by saying Sansa should have to kiss Jon if she lost. Her siblings must have found the thought of her kissing Jon hilarious because they laughed and agreed that would be adequate punishment.
Sansa sputtered out her refusal; looking to Jon for help, she was surprised to find him staring at her with a severe expression. From their argument, she assumed, his usually pale cheeks were pink, but he had a determined glint in his eye.
She doesn’t even remember agreeing to the bet. Instead, Sansa locked her eyes on Jon’s, caught in his intense gaze.
For weeks afterward, she found herself thinking about the expression on Jon’s face while she lay in bed. The memory made her feel warm all over, and her stomach lurched uncomfortably. Yet, for some reason, she had this sense of anticipation when it came to him.
She found herself studying him far too often after that. Trying to decipher what these new feelings meant. However, once the term began, she was determined to put it out of her mind. She would not let Jon Snow distract her. She had been so determined to avoid Jon that she must have forgotten the bet as well.
Now looking at him shuffle his feet back and forth, unable to look her way, she wondered how she could be so stupid to forget.
It took her a moment to realize he was mumbling out something that sounded apologetic.
“... I knew this was a bad idea. I know you don’t think about me that way, and I’m sure it would feel like kissing your brother.” Jon winced. “I just wanted to tell you that we don’t have to do anything. Especially to fulfill a stupid bet. I can always lie to Arya and Robb and tell them we did it or tell them the bet is off. Whatever you want.”
“You’re not my brother.” She replied, her voice harsher than she intended. Hearing him compare himself to her siblings felt wrong.
Jon nods his head. It’s no secret he always wanted to be a member of the Stark family since the first time Robb brought him home. But, unfortunately, Jon was raised as an orphan with no family until he found his godfather in his third year. So the sad truth was that he would always be an outsider.
Sansa tries to explain, wanting to erase the forlorn expression on his face. “It’s just I don’t think of you like that. You’re just Robb’s friend. And my classmate. Nothing more.”
“Right.” He lets out a hollow laugh. “Thanks for the reminder.”
“What did you expect me to say?” Sansa snaps. “We are friends? You and I both know that we have never willingly spent any time together.”
“It’s not like I haven’t tried. You want nothing to do with me.” Jon retorts, his tone bitter.
“Me? It’s you that constantly makes my life miserable. The last time you stayed with us, you bewitched my underwear to fly around the house! Do you have any idea how mortifying that was?” Sansa could feel her temper rising to the surface. She had been the victim of his and Arya’s pranks more times than she could count.
“I was only trying to make you laugh. It was harmless,” Jon defends.
“It was humiliating, and it made me realize how childish you really are. Frankly, I would rather kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt than you.”
Sansa could see he was angry from the way his jaw clenched and his eyes flashed. She wanted to fan the flames of his temper until it consumed them both.
Lately, Sansa had found herself craving these arguments, the rush of adrenaline that came from a good row. Up until now, it had been very effective in releasing any tension between them.
She was strangely relieved that he was angry with her. Jon being sweet and awkward was too much.
“But you had no problem kissing Harry Hardyn at the Yule ball last year. It was disgusting the way you let him hang all over you,” Jon sneered at the memory.
“At least he was a gentleman. He bought me flowers, and we had a lovely evening. You’re just bitter that you were stuck with Robb as your date.”
Sansa had fond memories of that night, as she spent most of it laughing and twirling with her date. She was honored that the seventh-year quidditch captain had asked her, a fourth-year at the time.
She remembered Jon and Robb sitting on the sidelines, looking miserable. His dark eyes meeting hers anytime she broke away from Harry.
She fleetingly remembered Jon’s girlfriend Ygritte breaking up with him a week before the dance, leaving him to go stag.
At first, she had felt sorry for him, contemplating asking him to dance to cheer him up. However, the thought quickly left her when she heard him insulting Harry to her brother on her way towards the punch bowl.
Jon spent the night glaring at Harry. At the time, she had thought it to be a quidditch feud, but now she wasn’t so sure.
“So that’s all it takes? Flowers and a few superficial compliments, and you’re willing to fall into any guy’s arms. You know that’s the only reason Hardyn asked you to the ball, right? He was bragging to everyone about how easy you were. Sometimes you act like such a stupid little girl.”
Sansa found herself at a breaking point with him.
All her rage and tension were boiling to the surface. Letting out a shriek, she lunges at Jon, her wand thrown to the side and forgotten. All she wants is to wipe the smug look off of his face.
Jon had picked the words that he knew would enrage her. He could have her fuming and cloud her judgment after just one insult.
Her unexpected attack left him unbalanced, and he tumbled down, dragging her along with him.
She didn’t stop to think, just landed hit after hit on his chest, determined to make him pay for his comment. Sansa Stark was anything but easy.
To her surprise and annoyance, he just started laughing, his arms raised to defend himself. The fact that her rage amused him made her want to smack him in his too-pretty-face, sick of it distracting her.
She grabs his wrist, using her entire body weight to press his arms down on the grass until she has him pinned. He stops laughing as she forces herself down on him.
Sansa suddenly realizes the predicament she landed them in. She shifts her hips where she is straddling his abdomen, his body warm and hard underneath hers. Their faces are close, and she can feel his hot breath skating over her lips, contrasting with the cold December air.
Her tongue peeks out to wet her mouth, a nervous habit, and his eyes dart down to follow her path.
The feeling comes back again, the one that plagues her at night when she pictures his eyes on her. Her stomach is clenched, and she feels restless. She instinctively shifts her hips, trying to relieve the ache that is suddenly building.
She tries to remind herself that this is Jon.
The boy has tormented her since she first set foot in Hogwarts. The one person that can spit the most terrible truths in her face and then smile at her so warm that she forgets the anger almost as soon as it comes.
They had always been brutally honest with each other, but there were some things between them Sansa was not willing to face just yet.
Jon lets out a groan, his hands coming to her hips. He steals her movement by gripping her tightly.
“Sansa I..”
She doesn’t let him finish.
Instead, she leans down to press her lips to his. She had meant it to be a quick, forceful kiss, to shut him up and maybe help relieve the tension she was feeling.
Maybe deep down, she just wanted to know what it would feel like.
She feels his fingers immediately tangle in her lengthy hair, wrapping it around his palm and anchoring her to him just as his tongue slips between her lips. Turning the quick peck she intended to a full-out snog.
Jon’s tongue was wet and foreign, invading every inch of her mouth. She lets out a sound of surprise at the unexpected intrusion, instinctively backing away. Still, his hand in her hair prevented any movement.
After what felt like several long seconds, her tongue tentatively traces his, trying to find the same rhythm. It was awkward at first, but they soon found a rhythm uniquely theirs. Finally, Sansa finds herself wanting more, chasing his tongue back into his mouth, making him moan into her.
Her fingers come up to twist into the soft curls on the nape of his neck, the way she had secretly wanted to all year as he continues to kiss her passionately. His head reared off the ground, keeping their mouths firmly sealed together. She feels lightheaded, clutching his shoulders to keep herself grounded.
Suddenly it was all so much. The way his palm roved her back, pressing her against him so firmly she could scarcely breathe. She breaks their kiss abruptly, causing his head to fall back with an audible whack. His eyes wide and his swollen lips slack.
She wipes the trace of saliva off her mouth with the back of her sleeve, standing up until she towers over him. She forces herself to look disgusted, not wanting him to realize how pathetically aroused she was after one kiss.
“Consider my debt paid,” Sansa states, hoping to sound indifferent when in reality, her heart is pounding. She turns away from him under the pretense of picking up her wand so that he can’t find the truth in her face.
As she walks away from the pitch, she calls back to his retreating form, still lying on the grass, looking as if he hasn’t moved an inch after their kiss ended. “If you tell anyone about this Snow, I will kick your arse!”
His answering laugh follows her all the way back to Hogwarts.