This was impossible. Not only were they outnumbered, they still couldn’t see very well, and everyone’s tempers were flaring. Including his own, though he knew it wouldn’t help matters. He couldn’t help it. It was incredibly frustrating to be always losing the Quaffle, and he could not get himself calmed down. Every time he tried to breathe and relax, someone checked him again, and he got irritated all over again. And people yelling at him made him want to yell back, and… it was just not good. Not good.

“We could make a goal if we could hold onto the Quaffle long enough,” retorted Max, before he could stop himself. It wasn’t the visibility factor that was hurting the Chasers, so much as the fact that they were all off-kilter with the loss of their middleman and outnumbered. “Stop yelling at us,” he yelled. “It’s only distracting us! You focus on your job and let us do ours!”

Granted, it would be easier for them to do their job if the conditions were better, but it was unlikely that conditions would improve before this match was over. If it ever was… and Max was starting to feel like that was a rather big if. Okay. It was time to be a united front. A lean, mean, Hufflepuff machine. It was time to bolster spirits. It was time to start chanting. “I fly for Hufflepuff,” he roared, tossing the Quaffle to T.J. as the Gryffindor Chasers closed in on him. “For Hufflepuff I fly! And when you fly for Hufflepuff, you never say die! Never say die!”