It was in the moment Casey righted his broom so the sky was in an upward orientation that he heard the voice. Casey, get the quaffle. I don't care how you get it. Just do it and get it through the hoops!"

Occlumency barriers where not the sort of thing Casey could keep focus on while trying to fly in a Quidditch game. The low level barrier he did keep, just to practice longevity, gave slight recognition to what was happening. Casey felt something in his mind, just that something was different, before having his eyes lock onto the source.

It had been Demitria Strelnikov's voice. And the brief look towards her felt like an Impendimenta'd moment, a short moment of time stretched out. There was something off about her. Something otherworldly about her imposing frame on the broom. Some kind of enchantment pulsed from her in waves behind that compelling voice. Get the quaffle by whatever means and get it through the hoops.

Of course you need to get the quaffle in the hoops. Why does it have to be because Demitria said so? The internal question caused Casey to halt in turning his broom. Of course Demitria wouldn't be appreciative of Slytherin not scoring goals. But hearing her words gave him a renewed sense of purpose. To catch the quaffle. He could do it. He had to please her.

Please her? Why? I can do it myself? I don't have to prove myself to her just because she said so. Although the compelling force from Demitria's words were invigorating there was something nagging at Casey internally. Not a doubt. She's messing with my head. Not Legilimency but the same sort of thing I wanted to learn to resist... But they were in the middle of a game, Casey had to do it so they could win. Had to.

And he could do anything.

For some strange reason, that snaky mental thread of 'do anything' was overriding Casey's internal filter, the part of him that tried to resist what was going on. Demitria's words had given purpose and had taken Casey off of some kind of leash. By whatever means. They could still be his means and showcase his might.

After all, she said to get the quaffle through the hoops. Plural.

The internal debate took mere seconds but Casey felt that a monumental decision had been reached. A beckoning. And without fully registering the how, suddenly his wand was in his hand, though he had left it with his things in the Slytherin locker rooms.[1] Two spells came to mind and were cast. The second was Banishment. The first? Gemino

From where the quaffle had been recovered[2] it began to multiply. First to two. Then there were four. Then six. And soon there was a shower of red quaffles, some blasting to the goals, others caught, others falling.

Casey's wand was swiftly stored away as he gritted his teeth. He flew under the duplicating balls and caught as many as he could haul. Getting the quaffle to the goals suggested Demitria wanted him to score multiple times. Theoretically, this would be much more efficient.

They drive remained even as Demetria blacked out, unnoticed by Casey.

1.	Casey's new wand, the pearwood, has previously exhibited behavior of coming to Casey's hand at the slightest impulse
2.	this can be from either team

Erin was confused about what just happened.  Not that was atypical, but the chasers were in the middle of the pitch, and Erin was guarding her hoops.  And then Demitria fell of her broom.  Erin really thought she should call time out about now, but whatever her thoughts on the matter were, she was deluged by a giant see of red balls.  It started out with one or two which she caught easily but then the quaffles multiplied in an exponential growth pattern.  She voiced her concern. 

"Harper! Snitch!   No way I can block this!" she yelled as she began flying in a crazy pattern, trying to keep as many balls out of her hoops.  The sheer torrent of red would seem like a buffet to a vampire.  Despite her best efforts, the red plague sent a number of quaffles went through the hoops.  She thoght this was  a quidditch match, not a keeper practice.  Still, no one had called the game yet so Erin kept trying to kick, punch, swat, block, or do anything else to stop prevent the torrent of quaffles from coming throug her hoops. 

Hooch had never seen its like before.  She hesitated as she, wait! - was that a second quaffle?  At first Hooch thought it must be a prank, someone cheeky git from the stands tossing in a extra ball to befuddle the match-up.  But soon there were more.  Hundreds of quaffles!

So taken by the veritable swarm - no, onslaught - of quaffles being sent at Gryffindor's hoops, Hooch almost didn't take notice of the waifish Demitria Strelnikov's part in it nor her fall from her broom.

But about a dozen lads from the stands did and that's what caught Hooch's eyes.  Twelve or fifteen people were suddenly swarming the pitch! And more were following....!  Male students nearby where Demitria had fallen were abandoning all sense and rushing to where she'd landed, clamoring questions at her, pushing and shoving to be close to her.

"What in the world...!"  Hooch was momentarily frozen on the spot! Did she see first to the hundreds of quaffles, or the hundreds of boys, or the fallen Chaser?

Out of the corner of her eye, Mairead saw Harper drop into the dive.  From her vantage, there'd been no sign of a flicker, no flicker and no fluttering wings.  The Slytherin's descent could very well have been a feint but, just as likely, he could have actually spotted something that Mairead had missed.  She'd yet to see any sign of the snitch where she was so Mairead turned on the spot and set after the Slytherin's trajectory. 

Halfway through her dive, Mairead had to veer to avoid crashing into two colliding Slytherins, loosing ground on the other Seeker in the process.  She took off again, trying to put distance between herself and the growing chaos. 

There were far too many balls in the air but there was no time to try to make sense of the chaos.  The Slytherins were egging Harper on and Mairead had no intention of making it easy for him.  The pint-sized Gryffindor flattened herself against her broom and sped after the boy, trying to get even a slight glimpse of whatever it was that had caught his eye. 

"Ye better not be fakin', boyo!"  Mairead yelled as the ground continued to speed towards her.

He'd thought he'd seen the Snitch below, and he sped for the tiny ball. But right as he was nearing the snarl of Chasers, something tore him from the chase. Someone. He couldn't have been ten feet away from Strelnikov when some indefinable force snapped both his head and his broom around. He'd never paid much attention to Demitria before - Erin preferred his flirtations a little more psychotic - but suddenly the Snitch didn't seem quite so important as his (clearly Star potential) Chaser. Who was... who had... stopped Chasing. Erin's brow wrinkled in neanderthal confusion. That wasn't right. Was she hurt? Did she need help? He'd been a Chaser once - he could get the Quaffle for her if that's what she wanted. It was his duty as captain to make sure his team was comfortable and safe!

He nearly went after it, thinking that doing so would surely earn approval from Demitria, but then she spoke directly to his ear.

"Harper, find the damn snitch now."

Without hesitation he sped off, new determination strengthening his usual resolve. Of course... he didn't know where it was. But that didn't really matter when all he had in front of him was a wide open field and - uh - several dozen Quaffles. What? One flew by close enough to his face that Erin flinched. Swatting at the air, he wheeled on his broom, torn between continuing to search for the Snitch and between flying to the aid of Demitria who'd just fallen from her perch.

Figaro was pushing and shoving his way down the rickety wooden staircase that lead to the pitch from the lofty stands.  He'd seen Demitria Strelnikov fall and he realized how foolish he'd ever been to bother her and think of her as a privileged know-it-all fun-hater all these years.  She needed help and it was now his life mission to be at her side.  If only all these other doddering sods would get out of his way.

"Move!" he shouted as he burst forth and ran across the grass.  There were quaffles everywhere, but they didn't hinder him.  He kicked one out of the way and it split into two more.   He rushed to Demitria's side, sliding into 'home base' on his knees, slipping in the wet grass.

Figaro knelt over her.  "Demi.  Demi.  Are you dead? Do you want some money? I can get money."

Chaos seemed to be growing all around them with a battalion of quaffles flying everywhere and Slytherins plummeting from their broom.  Mairead had no intentions of letting the going ons distract her as it seemed to distract Harper.  Mairead watched the boy pull to a stop and stare at his teammate, seeming to forget they were in the midst of a quiddtich game.  If he wanted to pine after his fallen teammate, that was his own prerogative.  Mairead would happily take any advantage she could find. 

After all, thankfully, it had been the quaffle that had suddenly multiplied, not the bludgers.  Mairead lowered herself against her broom and sped forward, eyes peeled for any glimpse of flashing light or gold that would give away the snitch's location.  . 

"Good of ye to join the game!" Mairead glanced over her shoulder and yelled at Harper when the boy finally came to his senses and started back on the hunt.  "Did ye think she'd give ye a snog for loosin' ..."

In that moment, Harper's arm had flashed in front of his face.  Had he seen the snitch?  Had he made a pass at it?  Obviously, he hadn't caught it, otherwise he'd have pulled up to show it to Hooch.  It must have been there, though!  Right there in front of him!

Glowering at the Slytherin, Mairead shifted her course, speeding up as she narrowed in on Harper.  "Get off it!" she called, hoping to pressure him off course.  She continued at him, full tilt, ignoring the quaffles around her and with no intentions of pulling up .  Either he'd relent the chase or they'd be too close for comfort.

It had all gone to the absolute lowest of low.  The match had decayed into utter, unfathomable disaster.  There were full-on one thousand quaffles now.  There were players on the pitch.  There were spectators on the pitch.  The bludgers had gone rogue.  And the snitch was nowhere to be seen.

Fweeeeeet!  Fwee-fwee-fweeeeeet!

The sharp tones from her whistle were unmistakable.  All stop.

"Everyone on the ground now!" she shouted.  "All stop! That means you, mister!"  It would have been a very long time since anyone had seen the Quidditch coordinator so livid, and even longer since a Hogwarts game had to have been fully stopped.  But there was no other option.

The student announcer surmised as much.  "I'm not sure, but I think that Madam Hooch is calling for a full stop of the match.  A full stop, ladies and gents.  According to my records, this hasn't happened since 1976 when a cyclone escaped from a Charms experiment and swept away the south hoops.  I don't know what's going on, but I think it's over."

Hooch herself had by that time given the ball trunk a mighty kick which summoned back the bludgers.  The snitch, well, that was another story.  The snitch could not be recalled - it could only be caught.  But that was a problem for a different time.

With most of the players on the ground, Hooch began shouting orders angrily. 

"Locker rooms now! I will see captains just as soon as this mess is sorted!"

Demitria needed a Healer, that was clear enough.  And something had to be done with these quaffles...

Narrowing his eyes Erin continued to hunt for the snitch, his head ducking and broom shifting as he tried to see past, over, and sometimes through the quaffles swarming the pitch. Grubby O'Fargle was yelling at him like she thought she was somebody important - yeah, right, little second year competition - so he didn't pay her the slightest bit of attention until she started rushing him. His head whipped around (not in her direction but the other - was the Snitch behind him?) and then snapped back around, his expression changing to one of annoyance and anger as he decided she'd just upped her yelling to a more physical distraction strategy.

"Oi, get grounded!" he snapped, barely diving out of Mairead's way. He swept up and around, not backing down from his Gryfindor counterpart. But even as he faced her Erin's eyes kept darting, unable to escape the compulsion to look for the Snitch.

The whistle, likewise, had a hard time keeping his attention. He hesitated, then was taken hold of by a sudden panic: they couldn't end the game now! He hadn't caught the Snitch yet. Slytherin hadn't won! Demi - er, his teammates would be so disappointed - and hurt! Erin couldn't let things end like this. He bolted for the ground with new incentive: to get to Hooch.

Erin liked Hooch, as he liked most all things Quidditch-related. Experience and caution warned him about attracting her ire at a time like this, the hawk-eyed witch's impatience already practically a visible aura about her as she shouted the players back down to earth. Of course, he ignored both experience and caution, driven by the lingering remains of Demitria's urgent command. They could have a rematch, a quick Seeker's one-on-one, anything - so he shot after her, literally leaping off his broom once he'd gotten close enough to the ground. He stumbled only momentarily, slung his broom over his shoulder and strode towards the Quidditch coordinator.

"Madam Hooch!" And when he got closer, breathlessly, a quieter, "Madam Hooch, look, we can - Fargle and I can still go for the Snitch, or, yeah, I could go catch it alone - did you see the way she flew at me? Definitely a foul, and it'd mean more to catch it in this mess anyways, right? Right?" The grin he tried was sickly with a bare hint of desperate hope. Erin was very aware that if anyone was getting a foul, it was his team.

The look - oh the look Madam Hooch gave the Slytherin Captain Erin Harper.  It was withering.  Her pale brown eyes - almost yellow - flashed at him with smoldering anger.

"Lockerrooms now, Harper.  I have exactly this much room for your nonsense right now."  Her finger and thump were pressed together so that not even a Shiveling Whitewhisp[1] could squeeze through.  And she strode away leaving him to follow her orders (or else).  Someone needed to stop the duplicating spell and vanish all of these quaffles. 

What a disaster.

1.	Apparently a very thin magical creature who is normally good at slipping through cracks...?