"Scamander!"

I pull my broom to an abrupt halt – a blast of cool air roaring past my face as I do so, sending my blonde hair into a wild frenzy as it whips around my shoulders. With one glove-cladded hand I push the few strands of hair that have come loose from my pony-tail out of my eyes. In the other I loosely hold my shabby, old bat, which I had just used to send a rogue Bludger hurling through the air towards my wanker of a Captain.

My eyes narrow into furious slits of blue as James Potter pulls his own broom up in front of me, clutching his left arm rather dramatically.

I scoff. It's not like he didn't deserve it, really.

There I was, innocently practicing my swing technique when James – pompous idiot he is – threatens that if I don't improve my aim by next week's game he'll tell my older brother, Lysander, how I got drunk over summer break and snogged Fred Weasley.

And by threatens I mean that he yelled across the entire pitch, so that not only Lysander but the rest of the entire, sodding Gryffindor Quidditch team found out about my – not entirely innocent – summer endeavours.

Well, I guess my aims not so bad now huh, Cappy?

"Are you out of your freaking mind?" James demands, his black hair an outrageous, tousled mess as he balances expertly on his Nimbus Platinum. "You could've knocked me off my bloody broom!"

"Remind me why that would be such a bad thing?" I snap in aggravation, waving my bat in front of me in what I hope is a menacing fashion and scanning around the rest of the team for any back up that they might be willing to provide me with.

This, of course, proves completely uselessbecause now my team mates are so disgusted with me that they're all shooting me dirty looks and uttering strings of profanities under their breaths. I guess I can't blame them, really. I mean because of the fact that half of our team is actuallyrelated to Fred Weasley.

Excluding me, of course. Jeez, I'm not some kind of sick pervert who goes around snogging members of my own family or anything.

Lysander, who's hovering in front of one of the goal posts at the other end of the Pitch, is sending me death glares and making gestures with his hands that I'm about to lose my head.

I ignore him. James and Lysander have been best friends since they were young, and they're absolute terrors together. Sometimes I think Lysander fancies it his sole purpose in life to make mine a living nightmare.

James let's out an exasperated sigh, ignoring my previous question and letting his hazel eyes roll back dejectedly.

"Lyra, my little Salamander – why do you enjoy being so difficult? I'm your Captain. So that means if I tell you you're doing a shitty job on the Pitch, then you better bloody well start shaping up." He furrows his dark eyebrows menacingly, "Or else."

"Or else what, Captain?" I ask, spitting the title dispassionately. "You'll start shouting my personal life across the Pitch like a freaking Howler?"

James throws me a careless grin, the bruise on his arm apparently forgotten for the moment. "Something like that."

"You are the worst Captain, ever!" I let out a shriek of frustration, drawing back my bat with the idea to smack the arrogant smirk clean off his face. That is until with a whoosh of air, a dark haired girl rears her broom up between the two of ours, her dark hair, styled in a long braid, swinging over her shoulder fiercely and her hazel eyes burning into me from under a pair of raised eyebrows.

"Would you two quit it already," She snaps, clearly annoyed. "Let's just finish this practice before class starts, yeah?"

Roxanne Weasley – ever the mediator. It doesn't help that's she's a psychotic wench who will gladly smack the living daylights out of anyone who pisses her off. She gets it from her mum, Angie, I swear.

Roxanne, aside from being one of my best friends, is the other Beater in our happy little team, making Gryffindor the first team ever at Hogwarts to have two female Beaters.

I love her, really. Though maybe not right at this moment.

She waves her bat between the two of us – something in her eyes saying that if we don't back off there will be hell to pay.

James rolls his eyes at his cousin before narrowing them at me and regaining his composure. "Do it again, Lyra, and I'll have you running laps." He barks, and for a moment I wonder if he means assaulting him with a Bludger, or snogging Fred. "And take that goddamn piece of junk off from around your neck. I've already warned you about wearing it on the Pitch."

And then he just flies off, leaving me scowling after him like a kid who's had her candy taken off of her. I finger the necklace that hangs around my neck, the piece of junk he had called it. I suppose it does look sort of strange. It's a cluster of Muggle bottle caps that my Grandfather, Xenophilius, had given to me over the summer. He said that it would help to ward off Frosthoppers, because they had a fear of anything Muggle.

I don't know what a Frosthopper is exactly – or even if they actually exist. But no way in hell am I taking any chances.

Besides, it makes Grandpa happy to know that I wear it, and it's not like I've never seen James do anything just because it made his Grandfather happy. I've seen him in the garden shed with Arthur, many times tinkering with toasters, or whatever the hell it is that they do out there.

I tuck the necklace inside my tank top before turning to meet Roxanne's raised eyebrows.

"Please tell me you did not snog my brother." She clicks her tongue and waves her bat in my face crossly.

"Merlin, it was a dare, alright!" I explain in frustration – silently vowing to murder James Potter in his sleep for letting word of this get out. How the hell had he found out about it anyway? The only people who even know about it are of course me and Fred – and the one who had designated the dare in the first place.

And Roxanne knows all too well that I never back down from a dare. Well, not one that isn't going to kill me anyway. And let's face it – playing tongue hockey with Fred Weasley isn't exactly a life threatening situation.

In fact, it was kind of nice. Well, that's what I'd been thinking anyway until I saw the way that Roxanne was scowling at me. After that I thought maybe it wasn't so nice if I had to deal with the butt-kicking that the scowl entailed.

"And who would dare you to do something as disgusting as that?" Roxanne asks, which I think is a bit harsh of her. I mean, Fred isn't exactly a troll. Before this year he had been the Captain of our team, and did a bloody good job of it too. More so than our current Captain, anyway.

I don't even have to answer for Roxanne to know who the culprit is, however. She only has to follow my narrowed eyes to the messy, black-haired boy who has taken advantage of the Captain's momentary distraction to lay sprawled on the dry, patchy grass of the Pitch below.

Albus Potter – Frenemy Extraordinaire. He shoots a wink once he notices me and Roxy both glaring down at him and I growl lowly under my breath – scheming all the possible ways that I can maim him. That is until James' barks at the two of us. "Roxy, Lyra – get your lazy arses back into formation!"

I resist the urge to hurl another Bludger his way, and with a forced calmness, Roxanne and I go back to practicing our drills.

It's not like I don't understand that our first match of the season is in less than a week and because it's James' first year as Captain he's desperate to win the Quidditch Cup and do his parents proud and all that crap.

But his constant, big-headed attitude is beginning to give me one hell of a headache. I'm a bloody good Beater, and he knows it. His problem is that he's too stubborn to admit it.

Maybe I should have thought about snogging Fred beforesummer break. Then he might have made me – the only player on the team who actually deserves the position – Captain, instead of dung-for-brains Potter.

Not that there wasn't any reason that he shouldn't have left the position to me without me actually having to use my feminine wiles on him anyway.

After another half hour of Roxy and I batting Bludgers at one another, James finally dismisses us from practice. I touch down on the ground with a light step, and swing my broom onto my shoulder, grumbling as I do so.

"Maybe next time I should aim for his head. Whack some sense into that thick skull of his." I say, waving my bat in front of me and mimicking it smacking into James' head.

"With that arm, you'd most likely kill him. And then where would we be?" Remarks the mousy-haired girl to my left, the third piece of our happy little trio and my other best friend.

Pippa Bell – the sensible one. Taking after her Aunt, Katie, she's a wicked fast Chaser, and always the one to calm the storm of female emotions that is Roxy and I.

"I know where I'd be." I answer Pippa with renewed enthusiasm. "I'd be Captain of this bloody team."

Roxanne scoffs darkly at me. "For Merlin's sake, are you still going on about that?"

"Yes I'm still going on about that, you slag!" I counter in exasperation, pointing my bat at her accusingly. "And you should be supporting me."

I don't hear Roxanne's reply, however, as a rough shove from behind me almost sends me tumbling face first towards the ground.

"Oi, you." Lysander addresses me gruffly.

Oh, that's real nice, you prat. I do actually have a name.

"What do you think you're doing, sneaking around with Freddie?"

"Jeez, calm down, will you? It's not like I'm going to marry the guy," I say, and Lysander scowls at me as if the very thought of that is offensive. "Besides, it's not actually any of your business."

I can't help but notice Pippa, who's practically wetting herself at the fact that Lysander's walking beside her. Half the girls at Hogwarts act this way around him, it's disgusting really. If I had actually had the chance to eat lunch today I would vomit. On Pippa's Quidditch boots, just for good measure.

"Of course it's my business, the guys two years older then you!"

"Oh, you're worried about age now, are you? That's funny, I don't remember you caring so much when you hooked up with that bint in Paris last Easter. How old was she? Like, forty?"

To say that Lysander looked horrified would be the understatement of the century, and I feel a small burst of satisfaction at the sight. He narrows his sapphire eyes at me.

"She was twenty-four! And how do you know about that?"

"I know everything you get up to, buddy! I'm always watching." I say, motioning from my eyes to his. Menacingly, I hoped.

Lysander stalks off, running a hand through his fair hair exasperatedly and muttering under his breath about nosey sisters.

Roxanne raises an inquisitive eyebrow at me.

"Do you really know everything he gets up to?"

"Not at all."

"Thank Merlin for that."

"Agreed."

"I'd like to know everything he gets up to."

"Shut it, Pip."

I scowl after my brother. It was actually his twin, Lorcan, who had told me about the whole Paris thing.

Lorcan, although identical to Lysander, couldn't be more different in nature. He's in Ravenclaw, and everyone says he's just like our Mum, Luna. When he isn't giving some incredibly boring speech about a new species that had been discovered, he's actually somewhat tolerable. At least he doesn't have the gall to treat me like I'm five years old.

Lysander and I are more like our father, Rolf, I've been told, who had been a Gryffindor during his time at Hogwarts. Everyone seems to think that the reason we're so often at each other's throats is because we're so alike.

But I like to think it's because he's a complete and utter prat.

I mean, Lysander Scamander? How lame is it to have a name that actually rhymes. I have taken it upon myself to remind him of this fact every chance I get. Unfortunately for me, however, the female population at Hogwarts seem to think that it makes him sound like some kind of rock star.

Idiots.

I bustle into the damp locker room, which is alive with moans and groans from the rest of the team, in pain and utterly exhausted from the non-stop practices we've had this week. Except James, of course, who's threatening that if we don't shut up and stop complaining – he'll double them.

I swear if we don't win this game next week, we're dead as doorknobs. Or is that doornails? Oh, I don't know. Either way, we'll be goners.

The girls side of the locker room, separated from the boys by a thick, concrete wall – is already strewn with Quidditch gear and various articles of clothing, as everybody rushes to nab a shower and soak their aching muscles.

I step under a shower head and turn it to somewhere around scorching, letting myself fall into a weary daze as the water streams down my skin, soothing both my body and mind. A short while later I vaguely hear Pippa and Roxy through the streams of water, telling me to get my arse moving, but I ignore them

I step out of the shower, throw my uniform on and braid my damp hair to the side, painfully aware of the gurgling void that is my stomach. It isn't until I notice that I'm the only one left standing shivering and wet in the locker room that I realise I'm totally late for class.

"Oi, Scamander – let me borrow your quill."

My eyes narrow darkly – my foot, clad in a clean, white sock, taps against the wooden table leg in front of me impatiently. I'm currently perched on one of the many plush armchairs in the Gryffindor Common Room, my Self-Inking Quill in hand and a piece of parchment on my lap.

I'm supposed to be working on my Transfiguration essay, but all I've managed to do so far is write down a list of ways that I can exact my revenge on James Potter.

1. Push him off his broomstick.

"C'mon, Lyra, I left my bag down at the pitch and I can't be arsed going down there to get it."

Yeah, right, you backstabbing prat, like I'm just going to let you lay your slimy, traitorous hands all over my stuff.

2. Push Albus off his broomstick, and make sure he takes out James on his way down.

Albus, who is lazing on the floor with his many unfinished assignments scattered around him, gives my foot a squeeze. I send a kick in the direction of his face in response, scowling darkly as he catches it before it can make contact.

Damn him and his sodding Seeker reflexes.

I growl lowly under my breath, trying and failing to once again focus my attention on the Transfiguration essay I'm supposed to be writing. Transfiguration isn't exactly my forte,in fact, none of the classes Hogwarts offer are, really.

No, I would take the clean, crisp air of Hogwarts muddy Quidditch Pitch to the odious stuffiness of its classes any day. Except today, perhaps, considering that if I fail another of Professor Haggle's deadlines she'll flunk me.

This, I know for a fact is true because she had told me so during her class this afternoon, of which I had walked into late I might add.

"Lyyyyra." Albus continues to whine from the floor, rolling over onto his back and staring up at me through eyes the colour of emeralds. I ignore him and finger the necklace that hangs around my neck absent-mindedly.

3. Smother him in his sleep.

Something that looks like an old Bertie Botts bean, covered in fluff, is all of a sudden flung in my direction. My parchment then finds itself being scrunched into a crumpled ball and thrown at the dark-haired boy's head, who merely ignores it and continues to stare up at me with an infuriatingly lazy grin spread across his face.

"For Merlin's sake, Al – would you shut it already." Roxanne, who is seated on a nearby couch with Pippa, huffs as she takes a spare quill from her folder and throws it down to Albus, who picks it up lazily and twirls it between his fingers.

I don't know why she bothered, really. It's not like he's going to use it anyway. The only reason he's been whining at me is because he knows I'm pissed off at him, and he's trying to make me speak to him again.

But I have every reason not to, really.

I'm about to tell Roxy this until I remember that I'm not speaking to her either. After all, she should have had the common decency to drag me out of the shower and force me to class. It was quite rude of her not to, really.

And so for my tardiness Haggle had made me stay after class and write "There is no O.W.L exam for Quidditch," a hundred and fifty times.

On a blackboard.

With chalk.

So now that my writing hand is predominantly cramped from all that chalk-writing, it's taking me an extra long time to write my Transfiguration essay which is in fact due tomorrow. And the fact that Albus had opened his big mouth and told James about me snogging Fred over summer, really hasn't done anything to improve my mood.

Yeah, Albus is normally a pretty great guy, when his sodding wanker of a brother isn't around of course. After that he just transforms into the King of all prats.

"Alright, kids – down to the Pitch we go!"

I take back my previous thought. In my annoyance at Albus I forgot for an inkling of a second that James is indeed the King of all prats, and Albus is merely his evil puppet.

My scowl deepens as James struts through the entrance to the common room, rustling Roxanne's dark hair and earning a hiss of anger from the girl.

Roxanne narrows her eyes at him, swatting his hand away with her Transfiguration book and growling.

"You can't be serious, you already had us training down there all through lunch!"

James waggles his eyebrows in amusement, propping himself onto the arm of Roxanne's chair.

"Yes, dear cousin, and do you know why?" He asks, not waiting for any kind of answer before carrying on in a falsely pleasant voice. "Because our match against the Slytherins' is in less than a week and if we don't win this game – I will end you."

I roll my eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. "No way am I missing dinner again tonight. Some of us are actually human, you know, we need to eat."

James fixes his hazel eyes on me, his eyebrows raised mischievously.

"Unfortunately for you, Scamander, I'm your Captain," He boasts, "which means that you and the rest of your little friends have to do what I say."

I narrow my eyes at him. "And what about my Transfig essay? You know that if I miss another deadline Haggle will flunk me."

James eyes my scrunched up essay, which is currently lying in a crumpled ball by Albus' head.

"Something tells me you're not all that concerned with your essay right now."

I cross my arms across my chest stubbornly. "I am not going."

James stands, moving to seat himself on the side of my armchair instead, and lazily drape an arm around my shoulders. "Then you're off the team," he says in a false cheery voice and I growl lowly under my breath, knowing that in all his arrogance he really would kick me off, if even just to prove the point that he can.

"You would never. You need me," I counter bitterly, pushing James' face away from me with my hand.

James studies me for a brief moment before answering. "I'll tell you what. I'll cancel practice tonight, so you can work on your little essay. But we're rescheduling for five o'clock in the morning. And if anyone has a problem with that, then you have to deal with it."

I wrinkle my nose. That's an awfully ridiculous time of the morning to have to get up and lug myself out to the Pitch. But the look of disappointment from my former Ravenclaw mother that I'm bound to receive if I flunk class, makes me think twice.

"Deal." I agree stubbornly, and Albus and Roxanne both let out loud groans of protest.

I don't care though, since I'm not talking to either of them.

"Alright, then," James says, looking a little too happy for my comfort. "Let's have a look at this essay."

He squeezes down into the armchair next to me, which I might point out is only meant to seat one person at a time, and motions for Albus to throw my crumpled essay up to him.

He smoothes it out, and I'm suddenly shot through with panic as I remember that what he is holding is not actually my Transfiguration essay but my carefully thought out plan to murder him.

I snatch the parchment away from him, earning myself a nice paper cut in the process, and stuff it into my bag.

James raises his dark eyebrows incredulously. "What the hell was that?"

"I, uh... that was the wrong one." I cover quickly, looking for something to stem the trickle of blood from my finger.

"Give me that," James orders, taking my hand.

Jeez, bossy much?

He runs his wand along the small cut, healing it in an instant, and I glower at him darkly.

"I could have done that myself."

James smirks at me, leaning an arm across the back of armchair and making himself comfortable, which only serves to crush me more into the side of the chair.

"Do you want help with your essay, or not?" He asks, and I sigh in defeat before pulling a new piece of parchment from my bag.

I had only started writing the title on the paper, however, when a screech of girlish laughter reaches my ears and I wince at the sound.

Lysander bounds down from his dormitory with heavy footsteps, his arm around a tall, blonde-headed girl who as recognise instantly as Seventh Year, Marissa Darling. I can't help but gag. As well as having the most ridiculous name in the entire school, apart from Lysander himself, she's also earned herself quite the dirty reputation.

She's a downright slapper, to be honest. And here she is, bounding around in all her slapper-ish glory with my brother, of all people. Well, that is nothing short of revolting, really.

I watch in disgust as she reluctantly breaks apart from Lysander to join her best friend, and coincidentally the snobbiest, and most downright insufferable girl in the entire school, Lydia Harlow, who stands waiting for her friend demurely next to the entrance.

For the first time I notice Lydia glaring daggers at me almost as darkly as I had been glaring at her best friend, her arms crossed in front of her chest firmly.

Why the hell is she glaring at me like that? Not that Lydia Harlow ever needs a reason to dislike someone. She flicks her dark hair and strides out of the common room, her daft friend in tow behind her.

On second thought, maybe she had been glaring at James instead of me. That certainly would make more sense, given how infuriatingly idiotic he can be.

"Hey losers," Lysander greets the group of us with a stupidly smug grin spread across his face, plonking himself down on the couch between Pippa and Roxanne, who both look as disgusted with him as I feel.

"What the hell are you doing with her?" I ask him accusingly, before realising that I don't actually want to hear the details and raise a hand, saying quickly. "Actually, don't tell me, I might just throw up."

Lysander narrows his bright eyes and nods his head at me and James. "You two done trying to kill each other, then?" He drawls, and I purse my lips tight.

"For now."

"I thought we were supposed to be at practice?" He asks James, who shrugs absently.

"Lyra decided she'd rather get up early in the morning and train."

Lysander glowers at me darkly and asks. "What did you do now?"

I shrug innocently. "Nothing!"

"Only left her Transfig essay to last minute," Albus drawls from his place down on the floor and I kick my foot out at him again, this time getting him in his big mouth. He lets out a satisfying groan of pain.

I'm not usually so violent, I swear.

Okay, well maybe I am a little. But growing up with two older brothers, and the brutish kids of my parents friends like James and Albus, you have to at least learn how to defend yourself.

"If I fall off my ruddy broom from lack of sleep, you're the first one I'm hexing." Lysander threatens, and I resist the urge to tell him he'd probably be dead, and in no shape to be hexing anyone, before he pushes himself up off the couch and disappears out the entrance hole, growling something about dinner.

After the dark cloud that is Lysander had left the room, it actually doesn't take too long to get my essay finished with James' help, although he made me do most of the thinking and sat there the whole time asking me questions on the subject and threatening to start practice even earlier in the morning if I didn't answer them.

Apart from the whole threatening business, I suppose he can be sort of nice sometimes. Though I highly suspect that's only because he knows I'll tell his mum, Ginny, how horrible he's been to me when I see her next – like he actually thinks that I enjoy seeing him taking a verbal beating from his mum and her don't-mess-with-me-or-I-will-end-you finger pointing.

Well, I do actually, so he's right on that one. Ginny Potter loves me, really. She thinks I'm an angel compared to these two, horrid sons of hers.

"Finished." I announce triumphantly as I scratch in the last word on my essay. James taps me under the chin gently.

"Now if only you can improve your aim by the game next week – life will be perfect."

I scowl and send him a swift smack across the head to prove there's nothing wrong with my bloody aim.

Did I say he could be sort of nice sometimes?

I take that back.

"I can't believe we have to start practice at five in the morning!"

Pippa balances cross-legged on the end of her bed, waving her arms animatedly to show her distress. I'm lying on my back on the comfortable four poster next to hers, utterly exhausted, my arms crossed behind my head as I try to tune out sounds of moaning and whining coming at me from either side.

We'd just returned from dinner in the Great Hall, and I was in considerably higher spirits after having stuffed my face until I was practically bursting. That was, of course, until the complaining had started up.

Roxanne lets out a rather unattractive snort and points the brush she's been grooming her long hair with at me. "I can't believe dung-for-brains over here actually snogged Freddie." She says, and then wrinkles her nose in disgust. "Ugh, I can never look at you in the same light again, Lyra, I swear."

I send her a mischievous grin. "You know what? He's a brilliant snogger too, that brother of yours." I tease her, before having to swiftly dodge the hairbrush she throws my way.

"Speaking of brothers, I can't believe yours is shacking up with Darling." Pippa says, failing miserably to hide her jealously. "I mean, he could of at least picked someone with a positive IQ."

"Like you?" I tease, and Pippa turns a bright shade of red.

"N-no, I just meant that-"

"Come off it, Bell, we've seen you drooling over him more than enough times during practice to know you luurve him." Roxanne adds and we snigger at Pippa, who denies it with wide-eyes.

I barely suppress a loud yawn. "Well, we should probably get some sleep seeing as how we have to get up at an ungodly hour of the morning."

"No thanks to you, you wench." Roxanne says distastefully.

"Come on!" I grumble, no longer able to hide my exasperation. "How would you feel if you had my mother and you were on the verge of flunking a class? You'd agree to get up at five in the bloody morning too."

"If my Mum thought I was about to flunk a class she'd have my ruddy head," Roxy counters darkly. "I don't think your parents have even heard of the word discipline."

I shrug openly – it was true. My parents travelled a lot for their jobs as Naturalists, sometimes even during our holiday's home, so I suppose they didn't want to spend the time they had with their kids disciplining us.

Maybe that's why Lysander grew up so horrible. I can hardly say the same for Lorcan, however, who's pretty much a model student.

"Besides," Pippa says as she tip-toes over to sit on the foot of my bed. "You're not the only who's struggling in classes. My Potions have beensobad this year, it'll be a wonder if I get a decent enough grade to take the class again next year."

"And you know why, right?" I ask, and Pippa shrugs innocently.

"Because I suck at Potions?"

I roll my eyes lazily. "Uh, no, Pip. You got an 'O' in your O.W.L for Potions last year so clearly you don't suck at it. It's because of James his bloody boot camp style Quidditch training! How can we be expected to pass our classes on no food and no sleep? It's barbaric!"

Roxanne lets out a defeated sigh. "Yeah, but there's nothing we can do about it. James is as stubborn as anything when it comes to Quidditch."

"If only I was Captain," I say longingly. "None of us would be falling behind in anything, and I bet we'd still take the Cup."

"Fat chance. The only way you'll be made Captain is if James' abdicates the position, and specifically leaves the Captaincy to you." Roxanne states unhelpfully. "Or he spontaneously combusts."

"In which case the rest of the team would have to elect you," Pippa adds.

I think about this for a moment before asking smoothly. "Say he was to spontaneously combust, you'd elect me right?"

Roxannes snorts. "And have you lord your power over us like my prat of a cousin does? Yeah, right."

"I always thought Lysander would make a pretty nice Captain." Pippa adds dreamily and I seize my pillow, lobbing it against her head in disgust.

Ha. Try thinking Lysander would make a nice Captain now, you twit.

"So if my so-called best friends won't even elect me, I'll just have to think of a way to make James give it up." I say, racking my brains for any brilliant ideas.

"Good luck with that," Roxanne says sourly, rolling her eyes. "James has never given up anything. Well, except when he gave the old Snitch that Uncle Harry gave him to that girl he was convinced he was in love with."

Roxanne sniggers, until I bolt upright, and she freezes like a deer in headlights, hooting me a look of pure alarm.

"No. No, you cannot even think about doing that." She rules, pointing a menacing finger at me. "It would never work! This isn't a Golden Snitchwe're talking about here."

"But what if it did work?" I raise my eyebrows eagerly, still stuck in the fantastical thought that I may have stumbled upon the perfect way to drag James Potter down from his high Hippogriff.

I look to Pippa for support, and she shrugs helplessly. "I don't know. I mean, I suppose – if you can get him to look past the fact that you're his best friend's sister and all. And if you aren't whacking bludgers at him every other day."

"If I can make James Potter fall in love with me," I say slowly, trying to plan the situation out in my head. "There's sure to be some way to make him give the position up. And then I'll be guaranteed Captain for next year, as well!"

I glance between Roxanne and Pippa, barely able to hide my enthusiasm.

They, however, stare at me as if I've lost the plot.

Roxanne shakes her head doubtfully. "Okay, genius. Even if you do get James to fall in love with you – which I doubt you can, given that you're both as infuriatingly stubborn and hot-headed as each other – how exactly do you plan on making him give it up?"

I frown at her. "Well, obviously I haven't figured out the details just yet, but there's bound to be a way."

Roxanne scoffs at me. "You're insane, you know that?"

I ignore her, utterly convinced that it's the best plan in the world.

"I will make James Potter fall in love with me." I declare, tuning out the groans of negativity.

I mean, how hard can it be, really? I'll just slap on some makeup, giggle like a twit and gush about how he's the best Captain in the world. And Merlin knows that he's got such an annoyingly large ego, he'll be falling at my feet, for sure.

Either that or he'll be so stunned that he'll spontaneously combust, in which case I'll have to leave it to the rest of my mad team to elect me as Captain, of which there was little chance of that happening, as they'd most likely all vote for themselves instead.

Crap. This means I'm actually going to have to be nice to him.

What the hell am I getting myself into?

A/N: Hi everyone! New story, what do you think of it? Is it worth carrying on? I have been debating for a while about posting it because I wasn't too sure. There's sooo many next-gen stories aorund, and I wanted to make one that was a little different, hence the creation of Lyra Scamander. I don't really read a lot of next-gen stories, or know much information on the characters so I hope nothing is out of place.

Leave me a review and let me know what you think xx