He couldn’t believe it.  Every muscle in Pete’s body stood rigid with tension as he stood at the door to the Gryffindor lockers and looked out at the pitch – at where the pitch presumably was anyway.  If he hadn’t spent practically every day out there for months on end, he might not have believed that a pitch even stood before him under this fog.  It couldn’t be happening.  The weather had been clear and sunny all week - perfect for playing Quidditch.  Pete could deal with rain.  He could fly through wind and snow.  But this?  This fog was a nightmare.  Oh, they got fog often enough through the year, but this fog was so thick he couldn’t see to save his life and it didn’t look to be lifting any time soon.  To send his team out in this seemed like a kind of suicide.  How was he supposed to protect them from Bludgers?  How was he supposed to know who he was batting at?  How was Millie supposed to see the Snitch in this?  

Pete dragged his hand over his face, a growl vibrating deep in his chest.  He wrestled in his mind with what on earth to say to his team.  But he could only stand there on the doorstep, shaking his head.  The sounds of the students in the stadium floated down, though they seemed muffled somehow.  Pete sighed and turned back to the locker room, tugging his glove onto his hand.  

“Right, so we’re going to focus on our short game today,” he said to the team.  “We’ll fly close together as a group.  No long passes, nothing tricky, stick close where you can see the team.”  He reached for his other glove, aware that he lacked his usual pre-match bounce and hoping his team didn’t notice.  “We’re ready for this,” he insisted, hoping to convince himself.