Ted couldn’t help but cringe at the word ‘fuck’ followed by a heavy thwack of ball meeting flesh. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, a Bludger managing to tackle you, but Ted wasn’t going to allow sympathy to ruin his game. He’d grown, as always, more competitive as soon as he found himself on his broom. He’d learned many years ago that sympathy didn’t have a place on the Pitch, least of all for the team’s Beaters. As he had prepared to do, Ted twisted around and raced towards the Quaffle that was now unpossessed by either player.
He soon changed that fact, however, as he caught the ball and wedged it between his elbow and arm. Without so much as a backwards glance, he was gone. Emma would be tied up, if only momentarily, and every second counted. For, naturally she was going to win this match, but he could at least prevent it from being a massacre. In fact, if he could even land one more goal, Ted would be pleased. He’d entered this competition with no serious notion that he’d leave it the victor, but the amount of goals he had landed was at least somewhat admirable against a naturally talented Chaser such as Emma.
He reached the goals, and could practically feel Emma closing in. She wasn’t going to be happy, he knew, and so threw the ball without hesitating. Without an obnoxious Keeper halting his progress, Ted knew he’d manage to score without having too much of an issue. However, as his hand was in front of him, having just launched the Quaffle, he’d forgotten an important detail. With the adrenaline of the game pulsating throughout his body and the unfamiliar feeling of the Quaffle wedged tightly between his arm, Ted had forgotten the murderous black balls roaming the Pitch seeking blood for only a second.
Unfortunately, a second was all it took for a Bludger to cause harm. Ted was crudely reminded of the Bludger’s existence as soon as he saw the Quaffle ring through the hoops, the black Bludger found his hand in midair. With yet another sickening crunch, Ted’s hand was almost torn from his arm. Loosing several feet of altitude, Ted reflexively drew his hand to his chest. Forgetting, momentarily, about the game, he began massaging his fingers and clenching and unclenching his hand into a fist. Thankfully, because of the free reign his hand had had through the air upon impact, Ted had avoided any broken bones. However, he knew it’d hurt something fierce throughout the next few days without some kind of medical attention soon.
Still, the game was afoot Ted realized with a start. There wasn’t time to feel pain. He turned in midair to see what had become of Emma and that damned Quaffle, reminding himself to keep an eye out for the Bludgers in the process.
The Slytherin captain sees Ted score as she flies as fast as her broom will allow her. Now the score is sixty to thirty. Shaking her head as she trains her sight on the Quaffle as it passes through the ring, Emma sees when the Bludger flies right into Ted Tonks’s hand. She cringes at the sight but is silently pleased that she’s not the only one to suffer a hit from one of the Bludgers. He deserved to get as well as he gives.
Emma leans in close to her broom, pushing her broom to go faster as the red leather ball descends parallel to the goal posts. There’s no way she’s going to give him the advantage in this game. Only forty more points and she’ll have the win. Ted’s thirty points are close enough. And just as her hands catch hold of the Quaffle and tuck it under her arm, the whistle of one of the Bludgers sounds through her thoughts and she pushes forward, diving as she circles the posts and aims back for Ted’s hoops, the Bludger taking chase.
Glancing behind her, Emma looks for Ted as well has his Bludger, just to make certain that the iron balls of madness hadn’t decided to double team her instead of sticking to separate and conquer. Ted is trailing after her and both Bludgers are after them both. Turning back to face forward, Emma grits her teeth against the win and ascends toward the highest post, determined to score again whether it’s to her detriment or not with the Bludgers a constant threat on the pitch.
Andromeda laughed. “Well I’m glad you showed him some good competition- least it let them know what they’re really up against.” Andromeda threw a leg over her broom, lifting herself into the air. She watched in amazement as Emma did a backwards turn on her broom. “Wow. You’re just an amateur, right?” She shielded her eyes from the sun as she grinned, looking at Emma. She zoomed up to Emma’s height, crouching low so she wouldn’t wobble. The drop from her height was quite daunting, but strangely enough it didn’t put Andromeda off. It egged her on, feeling free from the rules she had to abide once he feet touched the ground. In the air, there was nothing. She could fly and do whatever she wanted, feeling nothing but the breeze in her hair. “Flying has really grown on me.” She kept her broom still in the air, balancing as she sat up straight. “Whether I make the team or not, I don’t think I’ll let this go. It’s flying without wings.” She smiled at her quote then slowly turned her broom around so she did a full circle. She shifted on the hard seat, trying to find a different position more comfortable. ”Though I think a new broom will be mandatory. This thing is almost as old as the quaffle I found lying around the other day.” She muttered more to herself than to Emma. Emma looked like a natural, like she’d been on brooms her whole life as she glided gracefully through the air. “What got you into flying?”
Emma looks at Andromeda balanced astride the school broom and shakes her head. It really is a sad excuse for a flying broom. She feels that everyone should own their own personal broom, but not everyone shares the same passion for flying that she does. It’s always a sad thought when Emma considers it.
“You definitely should get your own broom. It’s a far better flying experience and you create a bond with your broom, making it more comfortable and easy to make the broom move the way you want it to,” she says as she pats appreciatively at her Nimbus. Though she’s getting acquainted with this new one, she already feels that she can trust it to hold through the moves she pushes out of it. Her previous Nimbus 1000 was her trusted love for several years and she hopes to create the same with the 1001. “And flying is a worthy pastime, even if you don’t play Quidditch, though I have no doubt that you will play.”
Emma grins at Andromeda and then turns her thoughts to the other girl’s question. “Nothing truly got me into flying. It was something I simply did. I don’t remember a time where flying wasn’t apart of my life. Even before I got my first children’s broom, I was listening to my father tell stories of his Quidditch days here at school. I was attending professional matches before I could even remember. My father didn’t get a son but he was determined to make me love Quidditch and flying, even though my mother preferred he didn’t.” Emma smiles as she recalls being on a broom for the first tie. “I got my first kid-enchanted broom when I was six. And I always tried to push it past the limits they were charmed with for maximum speed and height. I broke several trying to make the go faster than they were supposed to or higher off the ground than they should.”
Giving a shrug, Emma goes on. “When I got my acceptance letter to Hogwarts, my father handed me my first real broom. The Nimbus 1000, along with my first pair of dragonhide gloves made from Antipodean Opaleye scales.” Lifting her gloved hands from her broom, she wiggles her fingers to show off the black worn scales. “These I have now are Hebridean Black. But flying on a real broom for the first time couldn’t compare to the charmed ones from childhood.”
“Flying is just in my blood,” Emma says with a wink. “But now we need to get you truly situated in the air, Andromeda. That Cleansweep may not be the finest broom but it’ll suit for the time being.”
Emma lifts her broom higher into the air, waving a hand to Andromeda that she should follow, before turning and flying at a decent pace toward the opposite end of the pitch.
Greta smiled as Emma laughed. She was glad that her friend wasn’t upset anymore. It made her, as a result, cross. She always felt fulfilled for a short while after ensuring her friends happiness. It was why her first choice in life was to be a Healer. She liked making others feel better.
She wrinkled her nose and chuckled. “Please don’t. What a painful thought. I do hope we aren’t meant to think of our housemates as an actual family.” She gave Emma a silly wink. “Then the snakes and lions would be disturbingly excellent with inbreeding.”
She returned the hug. “You’d go mental, of course.” Greta grinned cheekily at Emma when they released each other.
Emma’s question prodded Greta to think about her classes and the things that could have been bothering her. Aside from the Coron pill she had started to carry everywhere, she was getting closer to actually taking the small little thing. It was dangerous to take it everywhere but even more so to leave it where the house elves could find it. “It wasn’t unbearable to listen to your ravings. What have I got to complain about?” She asked this to herself, brain flooding with thoughts. Things she could tell Emma, “Hm. Slughorns been a bit mental with homework. That bloody textbook.” She shook her head. “It just takes me longer to get the work done than it should, is all. Otherwise there has been nothing of much consequence. The little, petty things, they don’t matter as much as they used to.” she sighed before running a hand through her hair and beginning a little pace. “I can’t shake this odd feeling I’ve got. Like something bad will happen sometime soon. It’s different from my other feelings. I’m not sure. It doesn’t even matter.” She waved her hand dismissively. She didn’t want to worry Emma with her pathetic and strange musings and seemingly random dreams.
Emma grimaces at the mention of Slughorn’s class. Potions is nearly as dull as History of Magic to the brunette and she doesn’t relish the workload he’s landed all of them in preparation for N.E.W.Ts. Though it certainly gets done—Emma has not other option but to do so—it doesn’t mean she enjoys it in the least.
“Slughorn’s work is nefariously tedious,” Emma says haughtily. “There’s far too much to get through and it’s all dull and lifeless. I completely understand your thoughts, Greta.”
The Slytherin shakes her head and then stops and considers Greta seriously at her serious thoughts. Greta’s always has an affinity for Divination and over the years, Emma has learned not to pass off the girl’s feelings and vibes as trivial or without consequence. When she’d first started having her nightmares, Emma had immediately gone to Greta about them. And the mention of something bad happening soon immediately sense chills of alarm racing along her skin. Stepping up to her Hufflepuff friend, Emma looks into the other girl’s face and says, “No no, tell me about this bad feeling, Gret. You know I’ll listen.”
Mary’s face tightens for a few seconds; the sharp intake of air almost felt like her lungs were about to be torn apart and Mary’s stomach crunches in the anticipation of flying her new broom like it was the first time for herself to ride on one and on how better or worse Emma would be after spending their past time zooming around the Quidditch pitch. The Gryffindor recovers after a while, trying to steady her breathing as she tailed on Emma. “I thought Salazar Slytherin’s name already is,” Mary blinks a few times in the midst of squinting, and explains why, “Salazar wasn’t a good guy, so I’ve heard. They didn’t like us, muggles, too much.” Mary breathes through her mouth as her nostrils had been warmed up by the force of the air that has been slapping against her face.
Now turning slowly to scarlet, Mary quickly adapts to the situation and whirls around the air with laughter echoing in her ears. It’s been her favorite thing to do while practicing for Quidditch matches, slipping past the other houses like it was an obstacle course or a labyrinth.
“I’m not a complete anomaly within my house. However, I may be the rare one to accept muggle candy without question.”
Mary’s lips grin widely, showing her teeth as chuckles escaped her mouth. It was a risk to offer a Slytherin some candy, muggle candy, without even thinking; Mary was more concerned with helping the girl with her frustrations rather than just stare at her like Emma was some monster to be afraid of, and maybe that would’ve been more offending than the peace offering with the candy. But maybe candy wasn’t enough to bring Emma out of the misery of her nightmares. Whatever the nightmare was about, it seemed too disturbing for the Slytherin girl, and nothing was working from taking Emma’s mind out of it. Mary wanted to ask, ‘What do you need?’, but it seemed too early to feel like there was a beginning friendship between the both of them, because fate was enough to bring the two together and it seemed like Mary was to ease Emma out of the adrenaline spreading through her veins, making the Quidditch Captain more aggressive and baffled by the negative thoughts. The Gryffindor stops, 50 feet bellow Emma as she sped up in the atmosphere, leaving Mary behind in the calming finds that was finding serenity that balanced Mary and Emma’s personality. It seemed like it was the borderline. The air and winds, from a hundred feet, seemed violent and was absolutely a way to let out your anger, where Emma was now flying. Meanwhile, Mary chews on her cheek, trying to figure out where Emma was beneath the heaps of clouds, left in the winds that were less destructive than a hundred feet above.
Then again, Mary zoomed to catch up yet again with Emma, fighting with the urge to just be still and gawk like an idiot down bellow. It wouldn’t be a good sign for the Gryffindor pride whenever you back down from something, or when you’re just being useless. Mary’s hazel eyes search for Emma, and immediately, gripping tightly on her broom as she turned sharply, telling Emma, “I know that we’re not exactly friends,” Yet. “But you could tell me what you need, and we maybe we could stop attacking the atmosphere with such force before one of us would, maybe, fall off the broom due to fainting or fatigue.” Concerned, but with Emma, not with herself.
Emma levels out and stares at Mary for a moment before barking out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t fall off my broom for any reason, MacDonald. And there isn’t anything I need, other than a fine distraction and possibly an endless supply of dreamless sleep potion.”
The Slytherin knows she’s lashing out but she can’t help it. Flying wasn’t accomplishing much more than allowing her mind free reign with the images from her nightmare. It only drives her to fly more madly, less safely, in an attempt to rid herself of the memory that clings to the edges of conscious mind. Mary’s presence, though previously comforting, is now a nuisance. Emma doesn’t want to share her nightmare to another person, and the more Mary sticks around being unnecessarily friendly and kind, the more it wears on Emma’s resolve to fly and keep her thoughts to herself. The Slytherin has never dealt with complicated emotions well and hates trying to sort them out. She wants to throw herself into the most difficult Quidditch moves—ones she hasn’t learned to perfect yet—instead of face her nightmare yet again. She’d rather wrench her shoulder out of place than talk about it another time without any relief. No one can assure her that what she sees frequently in her dreams won’t actually come to pass, and for that, Emma hates talking of it.
Flying on the pitch is the only place where her emotions can let themselves out without question. Everywhere else, rules dictate her actions, even when she likes to think herself free of them. Leveled out in the middle of the pitch, Emma finally forcibly halts her thoughts and takes a deep breath before looking at Mary and saying, “I really am not in the shape to make friends now. Don’t expect any apologies from me for my behaviour. If you’re staying here with me of your own choosing, it’s your own fault. That’s the one thing I don’t easily do—apologise for my actions, because I do as I please.”
Amycus never liked jigsaw puzzles when he was young. The wizards in the picture of the puzzle moved even when the pieces were apart… It was very disturbing to hold a piece with a hand on it and have it wave at you while the head was on another piece, completely unaware of what it’s hand was doing. And Amycus never had liked puzzles and riddles either. Now, he stared at the parchment in front of him with his scribbled words forming a plan. He was trying to figure out the puzzle of a girl named Dorcas Meadowes- the girl his sister wanted to destroy to ashes. Scrunching up the parchment into a ball, Amycus thew it into the fireplace beside him with furrowed brows. So far, his plans haven’t been acting along. That Gryffindor girl was too stubborn for her own good and sometimes he just wanted to smack the stubbornness out of her. He knew she was Chaser for the Gryffindor team and maybe he could use that fact to his advantage. Just as he raised his head, Slytherin’s Quidditch team captain sat lowered herself into the chair opposite of him.
“Decent?! You know this place is anything but decent. It could be worse though so things have been so far so good.” It surprised him to see Emma in the common room, he’d expect her to be out chilling with the Gryffindors, or was it the Ravenclaws now? “It’s been quite a while since we last talked if I remember correctly… How have you been, Emma?” he asked, offering her a polite smile that didn’t reach his cold, dark eyes. Amycus had certainly not been pleased when he learnt about Emma’s mingling with those who weren’t purebloods and to this day, Amycus still disproved even Emma said it was to learn the weaknesses of those mudbloods and halfbloods. It disgusted Amycus to know that a Slytherin was wasting their precious time on those who didn’t deserve it. But Emma was his housemate and he’ll treat her with the respect she deserved. He saw no point harming a Slytherin… unless they gave him the reason to. “I trust everything has been well?”
“I’m doing well enough, thank you for asking,” Emma says politely. It’s always expected to uphold the niceties of opening conversation but now Emma pushes ahead, aiming for what she wants.
Leaning forward on in her chair, Emma stares at Amycus as she says, “I’m working on gathering the best of the Slytherin house on my team for this season. Our first match is against Gryffindor on the twenty-second of September.”
She watches his face—his expressions—as she continues. “I know you’ve never shown interest in competing in the game. I’m also aware that you’re on probation. Consider the fact that if you were a Beater on the team, you could target any mudblood or traitor on the pitch and no one would question you openly on it. The rules change when you’re on that pitch and I think you’d make a fine addition to my team, Carrow.”
Leaning back, Emma waits patiently for his response. She expects him to disagree, to dismiss her, or even insult the game she puts so much effort and time behind. If he refuses, she won’t push it. Her offer is there and she’ll take what he gives her. There are other housemates she could scout out, but Amycus’s brutality would be an asset, especially against Ted Tonks and Otto Bagman’s Bludger attacks.
Ted chuckled as he began making his way to Emma’s side of the Pitch. He couldn’t help it, this is what he lived for. The adrenaline rushed through his veins in an almighty flow, filling him with a jubilant anxiety. Adding the Bludgers to the mix, Ted truly believed, was going to work deeply in his favor. Though he reminded himself to refrain from growing cocky, as that could potentially be his downfall.
He was nearing Emma’s hoops and noticed that the Slytherin was taking far longer than normal to intercept him. Good. A smug smile appeared on his face, and Ted hoped that his favorite Quidditch ball was forcing Emma to dance with it, buying Ted enough time to score a couple times, perhaps earn a few more goalsin the process. But then she was there, next to him, and as the bristles of their brooms met in the air, the struggle for the Quaffle occurred again. But Ted immediately knew that Emma wasn’t as confidant. She only tried to wrestle the Quaffle from his clutches for a moment before rushing off towards the other end of the Pitch. Ted knew, from experience, that the Bludger was surely closing in. Reflexively, as soon as he heard the whistling coming towards him, he barrel rolled which allowed the fiendish ball to pass him and tear after Emma instead. He scanned the skies momentarily, ensuring his safety from the other Bludger before continuing on and launching his shot at the hoop.
Emma hadn’t even tried, Ted realized. It made sense, the more he thought about it. So long as she recovered the rebound, she would win this match. She was faster and had more experience as Chaser. Plus, she already had a forty point lead. With a sigh, Ted realized he was going to need to become slightly more crafty. Ted launched himself down the Pitch and stayed slightly ahead of her for the moment, but looked desperately around for the Bludgers. He knew she’d speed past him and any efforts made to prevent the fact would be futile. Instead of trying to stop her scoring, and increasing her lead by fifty, Ted concocted a plan in the back of his mind.
He spotted them, the beautiful black balls. One seemed Hell bent, currently, on destroying Emma. The other was making its way closer to him. With a grin, Ted lifted himself up about ten feet further in the air in an effort to gain its attention. Thankfully he managed, and sensed it zooming behind him, targetting his back. Ted looked down in time to see Emma score yet another shot, and he rolled his eyes. She was significantly ahead of him at this point.
Now was the time to act.
Maintaining a downwards slope in the air, in such a way that he knew he’d intercept Emma’s rebound before she reached his hoopsagain, Ted sped up. His plan was fairly simple, and he’d used it plenty of times in real games already. Though the tactic wasn’t exactly typical, Ted was always in the mindset of, “Why the Hell not?”. If it worked, after all, it worked. He’d cut her off, leaving a few feet of air between himself and her as he did so. Because of his timing, hypothetically, the Bludger should ram straight into the unsuspecting Slytherin, probably forcing the Quaffle (which Ted now saw was once again resting in her arm as she made her way around his hoops in an effort to score) from her clutches as she attempted to maintain her balance. It was dirty, yes, but Ted had learned that Quidditch was a dirty sport. Besides, Emma wasn’t exactly a princess on the Pitch.
Taking a deep breath, Ted leaned forward on his broom to carry out the plan. He would immediately turn around in the air if he heard the Bludger making contact, tearing after the Quaffle and hopefully scoring before Emma recovered her bearings, leaving her at his side of the Pitch.
Emma had doubled around, trying to shake the Bludger and get back to the falling Quaffle. She successfully caught up the Quaffle and then moves back upward, aiming for his posts once again.
And then the bastard is suddenly flying right past her, nearly causing a collision. She tries to pull back, deaccelerate. Doing so only succeeds in two things: giving the Bludger behind her time to catch up and put her in the direct path of the ball of charmed iron that was hot on Tonk’s broom bristles.
“Fuck!” she exclaims as she hears twin whistles growing louder faster than Emma can react. With no time to deliberate, Emma ushers her broom to lift higher, hoping desperately that she can clear out and let the two Bludgers meet with a crack. However, she is not as fast as the harbingers of pain. The Bludger flying from behind her goes past below her but the second catches her in the left thigh, right above her knee. It hurts like a bitch but she’d prepared for it, bracing for impact. Still, she cries out at the sudden throb of pain as the force of the Bludger’s hit sends her rolling.
Between the pain in her leg and trying to right her broom and maintain her altitude, Emma’s arm slackens and the Quaffle is lost. Ted Tonks was smarter than Emma gave him initial credit for and used her speed against her. Gritting her teeth, Emma’s still moving forward as she spins and tries to force her broom to level out. The bludger that hit her still tears off after Tonks while the one that had been hot on her broom doubles back toward her, now aiming for a head-on collision if she doesn’t do something quick.
Spinning, Emma finally finds her equilibrium in the movement and continues it as she veers to the right, just as the Bludger blasts past her. Robes billowing, Emma levels out of her spinning and sees Ted with the Quaffle under his arm and already halfway down the pitch. A string of curses leave Emma’s lips as she pushes off after him, hearing the Bludger nearing yet again. As she moves, she flexes the muscle in her thigh and flinches at the pain she’s met with. However, she doesn’t think anything broke; only bruised. A Bludger can do damage but the femur is the strongest bone in the body and they’re flying without the force of a Beater’s swing propelling them faster.
Ted Tonks, you crafty bloody wanker.
Marlene was a bit surprised at Emma’s answer. She was under the impression that all the Slytherin Purebloods were haughty enough to only speak to each other unless necessity dictated otherwise. Maybe she had misjudged them - or at least this one in particular. Was it possible to even be friendswith a Slytherin?
Finding herself growing more and more intrigued with the taller girl, Marlene turned the thought over in her head. Maybe having a new friend would be a good thing. But then again, she’d heard all her life (and especially the past six years, living in Gryffindor Tower) about how Slytherins were not to be trusted. But stereotypes were often misleading and altogether untrue. Perhaps Emma was one of the rare snakes who could be trusted, or least was non-hazardous. Setting aside her prejudice and preconceived notions, Marlene boldly met Emma’s eye and smiled.
“I just couldn’t sleep. I’ve been wrestling with insomnia lately,” she replied in what she hoped was a nonchalant voice. “If I can trust you not to hex me, would you like to join me in meandering the castle? The Head Boy and Girl happen to be close friends of mine so I doubt we’ll get in much trouble if we’re caught out past curfew.” Marlene gave a small shrug, rather hoping Emma would walk with her. It would be nice to have something to focus on other than the plight of her family. She missed her mother desperately.
Emma recognises the moment of consideration just before Marlene speaks. The Slytherin has learned to expect it when encountering new people from different houses who all assume the same of her as a Slytherin. At this point Emma just waits it out and sees which direction the person will take. At Marlene’s words, the taller brunette smiles, appreciative of this girl’s attempt to know her as a person rather than judge her by her house colours. And of course, Emma would afford her the same in return. Her house is known for their strong grudge against Gryffindor for simply existing and for the stories of Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin’s falling out. If she expects to be well received by other houses, even Gryffindor, then the last thing Emma needs to do is treat them poorly based on old history.
“I prefer not to sleep when other more interesting things can be found to do,” Emma says with a grin, “and no hexes unless I think you deserve one, and so far I see no reason for it.” She winks and then shakes her head. “I’m familiar with Head girl and Head boy. Unfortunately not well enough but with you at my side, I’m just as confident that we won’t get too busted if caught.”
Emma turns to stand at Marlene’s side and grins, sweeping her arm out to the side. “Since this is your wander I’m intruding on, you can lead the way, McKinnon.”
“You don’t seem like a Slytherin—- I mean, like them.” Mary comments, looking up to the sky, then back to Emma’s again. It doesn’t feel awkward, it doesn’t feel hostile, and it doesn’t feel ridiculous; talking to Emma Vanity was beginning to sound natural and… nice. For the gruesome years in the Quidditch pitch being ravaged and bloody, here is Mary Macdonald, being civil and having no ill intentions to the Quidditch Captain of the House that made her life in Hogwarts depressing and uncertain; negativity should be pushed away from your heart, Mary thinks, before it controls you.
Mary fiddles with the handle of her broomstick, the quiet breeze passing by the 7th years. The Gryffindor’s hair blows past her, and it feels refreshing being outside of the castle, not being restrained in any way. Mary observes Emma, on how she talks and how nonchalant she is with a Muggleborn. She doesn’t fret; she doesn’t distance herself too much. It’s normal. “Maybe you should disregard the nightmares and make happy memories with other people instead of letting the nightmares bring you down? Maybe those wonderful moments take you to a lovely dream to overcome those shadows and darkness inside your head?” The girl shyly asks, smiling gently at Emma who was right about considering herself a better Slytherin.
She feels heart-felt gratitude from Emma even if it’s just a little favor that Mary did, and her fingers curl around the plastic of skittles, shoving them back into her robe as it flowed with the wind. “It’s no problem. I’ll be here with candy if you want more,” Mary jokes, chuckling for a bit, trying to repay the kindness Emma was showing.
Surprise almost knocks Mary over as Emma invites her for a spin, or just plain flying around the Quidditch pitch like honey bees over a field of lilacs and buttercups? A smirk tugs on Mary’s lips; it wasn’t so uncharacteristically for her to do so, because Quidditch or flying always triggered a mesmerizing or enchanting effect on Mary’s personality. She doesn’t reply, and zooms straight to level with Emma in the skies. The Nimbus 1001 was most definitely different and much faster than Mary’s previous. “I think this answers your question,” She half-yells, her voice vibrating and echoing in the empty field and Mary almost feels like a phoenix soaring through the wind.
This is Mary Macdonald’s first encounter with a Slytherin for this year in Hogwarts, and Emma Vanity has certainly changed her views about all of the bitter and nasty people being housed in Slytherin. Mary feels like she owes Emma a solemn apology about it, and Mary doesn’t really feel comfortable in the midst of feeling like owing somebody a debt. Mary stops in midair, shooting a gaze at Emma, whose problems Mary could tell was slightly sparking right back up by Emma’s facial expression. She doesn’t want the girl to feel physical, mental or emotional pain streaming through her veins because Mary has gone through that phase and everything seems so bad and unworthy of the little bit of compassion.
“They,” Emma says with a bite in her tone, “drag the name of Salazar Slytherin through the mud.”
Then she lets out a heavy sigh and grips tightly to her broom as she tries again. “I’m not a complete anomaly within my house. However, I may be the rare one to accept muggle candy without question.”
The Slytherin gives a shrug and then looks out over the pitch as her hair, tied back at her head, shifts in the breeze. It’s the moments like this one here that assure her that her view on blood politics is the right one. However, she still keeps that view under lock and key. The muggles she’s grown up with summer and winter, year after year. Greta Catchlove and her friendship. Lily Evans and her impeccably high marks in every subject. Ted Tonks and his confidence and skill on the pitch. And now the kindness of this Gryffindor girl here, Mary. Emma honestly can’t understand what about them all makes them deserving of a swift or painful death. So they don’t come from the same long line of traditions as the Pureblood families do, perhaps they came into the wizarding world at a disadvantage not having known magic all their lives, but they all have the magic in them and it doesn’t seem any less than the magic of her family or the Blacks or Carrows. Sure being Pureblood in wizarding society makes your life far easier but who is she to be cruel? She’d rather have her fun and live her own life instead.
And the nightmare. Athlone in flames, seeing all her friends die before her eyes. Gran—Emma’s mind lurches fast away from it, not wanting to revisit it in vivid detail right here in the middle of the pitch. Her grey-blue eyes find Mary’s as she says, “Keep up, MacDonald.” Then Emma’s body is wound tight, muscles clenching as she leans down, hugging herself to the broom handle and firing off across the pitch, reaching the Nimbus’s max speed in seconds. 106 miles an hour feels liberating and reckless. The Slytherin turns sharply to make a tight circle around the goal posts on the far side of the pitch and then shoots straight into the air, rolling tightly as she ascends and levels out several hundred feet above the pitch, feeling the sharp bite of colder air in her lungs before diving back downward. Whether her flying partner is following after her, Emma doesn’t know and doesn’t stop long enough to look.
Alastor choked and his last swallow of whiskey nearly climbed it’s way out of his throat.
“Quater past eleven? Merlin’s beard, time flies. I should be getting back.” He paused before adding “unfortunately.”
“Thats also very wise.” He admits about her stance on not getting too drunk, something Alastor wished he’d thought about because he felt a tiny bit light on his feet and he sure hoped the stairs don’t move too much tonight on his descent back down to the Hufflepuff ‘den’. Wouldn’t want to go slipping off the side or anything.
He eventually managed to get to his feet, before offerring a strong hand down to Emma. She took it graciously and Alastor sort of helped her to her feet, although he used her to balance as well as he didn’t quite trust his legs to hold him upright too securely.
Alastor smiled at her, realizing he was holding her hand a little longer than necessary and released it with a flinch.
“Well, um, it was nice talking to you, Emma.” He paused, breath hitching and vision fuzzy in the weird, orange light. “Look, if you ever want to come here, don’t let me stop you, infact we may even bump into each other again, which wouldn’t be too bad.” He added, quite tentatively, knowing that the few other people who knew about this room wouldn’t be too thrilled with the knowledge of a Slytherin gaining access to it, but he didn’t care.
Stowing the almost empty bottle of Firewhiskey safely back underneath the window seat, he turned back to Emma and gave her an incredibly awkward little bow thing.
“I’d offer to walk you back to your common room… but I’m sure it’d be wiser to leave here individually, so as not to get caught, and I don’t want to ruin your reputation by having you seen escorted by a lowly Hufflepuff.” Alastor cetainly didn’t hope she’d see it that way, but all the same he pulled the rickety door open, exposing the black expanse of the corridor, he stepped out, flicking his wand, lumos, and then he ventured back, carefully, to the common room.
As Alastor departs, Emma stands in the centre of the room, taking it in one more time before stepping toward the door. Alastor Moody was yet another character the Slytherin is finding intriguing. Despite his initial tone, one that suggested he was distrusting of her, once they had begun to talk, and especially once they entered the room, conversation had moves smoothly between them. Some of his words proved he still didn’t think highly of her as a Slytherin—I don’t want to ruin your reputation by having you seen escorted by a lowly Hufflepuff. Either he wasn’t aware of her close friendship with Greta Catchlove or he assumed that regardless of her outward actions, she was still silently judging and criticising.
Whatever he thinks, Emma finds herself glancing back into the room as she raises her wand and hoping that she would have future encounters with Moody and his fascinating personality in the year ahead.Nox. Emma returns the secret room to darkness and then pulls the door shut behind her before traipsing back down to the dungeons undetected; she’s had enough encounter for one night.
[ Closed ]
He shrugged with a slight smirk. “Everyone in this school knows that I’m rightly a Gryffindor. I’ve got the bravery and courage thing down. I just don’t see what wrong in doing what I can to be better than everyone. That’s all I’ve wanted since I came to Hogwarts, well that and Lily Evans. Look around. I’m the one that calls the shots in this place and have since I was a fifth year.”
“That’s because we both know that we’re the only ones in this bloody school that makes decent captains. Hufflepuffs are a waste of time in general and please, we could beat Ravenclaw almost as easy. When all is said and done, we are each other’s biggest competitor, despite the fact that you’re a girl and all. But you would definitely need all that practice because everyone knows that girls cry if they fall off their broom. But, I would assume you don’t cry quite so much after this long.” He nodded with a smirk. “You would never back down. It’s why I respect you as a competitor. You push as hard as I do, not that you’ll win but still.” He was surprised they actually had the same thoughts on Quidditch but she’d always been the only one who challenged him from Slytherin.
He smiles at her, and then grabs his broom. “We both know the answer to that one.” He took off up into the sky opposite from her. “So, we’re all talk down there. What about up here? What’s it like up here? Care to try your luck in outdoing me?”
He knew she wouldn’t back down either. She never did and that’s what he counted on in a competitor.
Emma can’t really argue with James and his claim to being a true Gryffindor. She’s had it said that she has a lot of qualities that would make her well suited to Ravenclaw. However, Emma blames it on having a Slytherin mother and Ravenclaw father who both value studies a great deal. However, Emma’s ambition and determination are what pulled her to Slytherin and she has never doubted the sorting, regardless of the kinds of people she shares a common room with regularly.
The Slytherin raises an eyebrow at his talk about Quidditch competition. “If you think Hufflepuff is going to be a breeze then your ego really is a problem, Potter. Ted Tonks may actually do something about those sluggish badgers. But continue to think however you want. And when Tonks comes out winning against your proud lions, I’ll be the one having the last laugh.”
She grins at him, then looks out over the pitch before turning back to James beside her in the air. “Alright then, big shot. What do you have in mind?”