I own nothing. J.K. Rowling is the amazing enchantress behind Harry Potter, and Hogwarts. Only the original character and derived plot are mine, and they are mediocre in comparison to her genius.
I was born and raised Catholic, so needless to say when a letter arrived by owl in the dead of February my parents were a bit confused – then again as was I. First, there's the logistics of the matter. An owl in the middle of the frosty winter wasn't exactly commonplace in Wandsworth. Our dogs barely went outside in snow that deep. Then you have to consider that I was a tall, gangly eleven year old who had never received a note, or Valentine let alone a letter. And now all of a sudden these two things collide like some sort of cosmic car crash.
My parents were shocked. More shocked than when the car refused to start Sunday morning and every public transit unit that went to their Church was also out of commission. More shocked than the time they grounded me for snatching candy, and shut me in my room only to find the ceiling raining gumdrops. I guess they'd been expecting something, some sort of divine sign that I was a saint in the making. What they got was something all too different, something more powerful than they cared to admit and darker than they'd let themselves see.
Saying they warmed up to the idea would be like saying the Americans warmed up to the presence of the Red Coats. They put up with it though, begrudgingly. How far off is witchcraft from a body rising from the dead anyway?
My name is Hannah Marsh, daughter of Sal and Bev Marsh, muggleborn, Slytherin and witch extraordinaire. This is my story.
My back hit the ground hard, and a snarl ripped through my lips before Finnegan could even offer his hand to help me up. I was back on my feet before his could touch the soft mud of the Quidditch pitch. He opened his rather large mouth to speak just as my gloved hand met his cheek, tearing his head to one side.
"Agh, blimey, Marsh! Don't get your knickers in a twist now." My eyes shot daggers at the tall, brunette as he rubbed his freshly reddened cheek.
"Next time maybe you'll bloody block, you twat." I spat, pulling clumps of grass from my dark hair.
"She punches me in the face, and I'm the twat." He cajoled, swinging his powerful legs back over his dark broom as the captain's figure became clear as approaching through the sheets of rain. I rolled my eyes in preparation for the one and only reigning arse of Slytherin. His blonde hair clashed dramatically, and a bit unnecessarily, with the green of his Quidditch robes, which tangled and untangled around his legs as he passed through the cold air.
"Just learn to play the game, and we won't have a problem." I muttered, shoving his shoulder playfully. He swayed in feign hurt, squinting his hazel eyes until they were barely recognizable.
"Oy, watch it. You could break a bloke's shoulder with a shove like that."
"You flatter me, Rowan." I fluttered by dark lashes quickly, lowering my head and looking up at him.
"And his heart with a face like that." He whispered softly before pushing off the wet land and floating back into formation. I shook my head, clearing it of his joke as Draco Malfoy landed in front me.
"You think maybe we could get back to the game, if you're done?" He asked harshly, panting slightly from the regimen he had implemented on all of us.
"Anything for you, darling." I sneered, lifting my broom easily from the pitch and flying to rejoin the team. I could hear his scoff from behind me as I flew away.
You see, I get along with most everyone quite well. Most people were actually surprised when I ended up in the infamous House of the Dark Lord himself. If there is one person whom I can absolutely not stand, however, that person would be Draco Malfoy. Although thinking about it now, I'm not sure if it's that I dislike him or that I just like making his life Hell.
I'm a bit of bitch, actually, a trait that came about as a result of three years of bullying for being a muggleborn in the only House where it made a difference if you were one. The prime perpetrator of this abuse was the Slytherin God himself. Of course, I'm sure you expected to hear that. From remarks against my parents, and about my dirty blood to insults of my intelligence, Draco was there leading the way, setting the standard for all of the other sheep to follow.
Many miserable nights were spent crying helplessly over these traits that I couldn't change, and after one such particular night I realized that I was at fault. I was sitting there, allowing these dolts to laugh and jeer at me, without so much as a squeak in response. It was like a switch had been flipped in my head. I awoke the next morning with a new found resilience and the first person to say a word to me was the person I was going to put in their place. Poor greasy Draco happened to stumble across my path, rambling on about some squib his father had almost taken pity on.
"It was pathetic, really." He squeaked, as his minions laughed and nodded encouraging him to continue. I shook, nervously, reconsidering my resolution until his next phrase was directed toward me. "Speaking of pathetic." He turned his shoulders my way, squaring up for an imaginary duel. "Tell Sal and Bev, my parents still haven't heard if the house elves could actually use their help with the chores."
A roar of laughter sprang from the mouths of the thirteen year olds. All of my fear left, as adrenaline flooded my bloodstream.
"Actually, Malfoy, the house elves told the squibs who told the muggles that your father couldn't cast a proper spell if your mother's life and his hair depended on it. It turns out that intelligence has a vital role in being a wizard. And if the gossip is true, than intelligence isn't the only area in which your father is lacking. Hopefully for your sake, that particular gene didn't swim its way into your gene pool." I glanced obviously at the slacks surrounding his legs, and silence came from his crowd.
"What's wrong, Malfoy? Having trouble compensating?" I snickered, brushing shoulders with him as a I continued toward the Potions Chamber. My heart fluttered haphazardly as my stomach swirled with butterflies. This was a rush I could get used to.
I guess it's no surprise that this became my trademark. In any situation where I found myself the victim, or potential victim, I struck out violently. Slashing with my words before they could hit me with theirs. If I had anything to thank Draco for, and that's a stretch in and of itself, it would be that I was no longer a doormat. People respected me. Or at least in my mind they did. That's all that matters anyway, right? If it's what you believe, and you act as though it's true, it's true enough for what counts.
After a particularly grueling end to practice, the team made its way to the changing room to rinse the grime from their heads and to listen to a motivational speech from the captain. I followed the only other girl on the team into the locker room, watching her blonde ponytail bob as she walked. I couldn't wait to wash the mud out of my hair, and get out of those dreadful boots.
"Not horrible." Draco's voice filled the room, and suddenly I felt a headache coming on. "But it could be loads better." I snorted, and yanked the tie out of my hair.
"Come on, mate. It wasn't bad. You had us out there in the bloody rain. What did you expect?" A short, broad boy with messy curls said, looking around the room for nods of agreement.
"You're not going to get better, if I let you sit on your arse and stuff your face. Most importantly, you're not going to go out on that pitch and embarrass me with your hand-eye coordination, Crannet." Draco spat.
"Oh, please, Draco." The words left my mouth with the weight of a freight train. "We all know Dumbledore's not letting us play this year anyway. What's the point in all of this practice? Even Saint Potter's not dragging his sad excuse for a team out, and he's got Dumbledore wrapped around his stubby finger."
"If you don't want to be here, Marsh, then you're welcome to leave." He sneered at me, his face darkening at the sound of the headmaster's name.
"You don't mean that. We all know I'm the best chaser, Slytherin's had in ages." I pulled my fingers through my hair and watched as a rather large clump of mud and leaves fell to the ground with a wet splat.
"I do actually. Get your bag, and get out." I stopped, and looked up. Bringing my eyes to meet his, I gauged his seriousness.
"Honestly. You're not fooling anyone." He stepped toward me. Reaching down he grabbed the straps of my large green duffel bag and swung it off the stone floor. Shoving the bag into my stomach roughly, his voice came out low and hard.
"Leave this room now. I'm not stopping practice for any more of your bloody tantrums. You're replaceable, Marsh. Everyone's replaceable. Get out." My heart sank a bit, and it took me aback. I hadn't expected to feel such a feeling of emptiness.
"Good fucking luck now." I seethed, throwing my bag over my shoulder. "You'll never win anything, if there is anything to win. What a colossal waste of my time."
Shoving past the boys standing slightly aghast in the passageway, I counted my breaths in an attempt to sound measured. If he wanted a fight, he was going to get one. He could count on that.
I entered the Common Room in a whirl. My legs were heavy from practice, and I hadn't had the chance to take off my tall leather Quidditch boots. I'd left muddy footsteps through the dungeons, which would normally make me pause. I had a bit of a soft spot for Filch. Well, mostly Mrs. Norris. She was a demon, but God if I didn't love seeing sneak around following the Golden Trio.
"Ugh!" I yelled, anger seeping through me bringing a pink glow to my cheeks. "Fuck you, Draco fucking Malfoy." I shoved through a group of fourth year girls giggling over a Teen Witches magazine. They gasped, when the magazine fluttered to the ground.
"Oh, sod off." I roared, giving them a steely look. They silenced immediately, and I smirked. That was better. I deserve some respect around here. Merlin knows I've earned it.
I would just have to come up with some way to get Draco back for that stunt he pulled. I couldn't believe he had the balls to talk to me like that. Especially in front of the team. I stomped up the stairs into the Girls' Dorm. As soon as I passed the doorway, I ripped my sweatshirt over my head simultaneously kicking off my boots with some difficulty.
"Hey, Han." Millie greeted lazily from her bed, not bothering to open her curtains. Unbuttoning my pants, I gave a quick one handed wave. With a swish, the velvet green curtains separated, and Millie appeared with one pointed blonde eyebrow raised. I glanced over at her, kicking my pile of clothes under my bed.
"Oops." I said un-apologetically, flopping half naked onto the soft comforter.
"So practice was that good?" Millie asked. She scooted forward, so that she was sitting on top of the dragonswood trunk at the foot of her bed.
"I suppose you could say that." I retorted. The slender blonde sighed loudly in response.
"Do not make me drag it out of you. I may be a healer's daughter, but I'll tear you apart."
"Draco was being an arse as usual. He kicked me off the sodding team, Millie. While every bloody person in there just stood around gawking. I swear. This. Bloody. Sodding. House. It's going to be the death of me." I fumed.
"Typical Malfoy. It's that whole tiny cock thing that makes him act like that." I snorted loudly. "We're going to humiliate him right?"
"You read my mind, Mill. He has no idea what's coming for him." A grin spread around the angular face across from me. We quickly congregated behind the curtain of my bed, using our feminine wiles to develop the perfect beginning to the scheme that would land Draco in St. Mungo's Psychiatry Ward from embarrassment.