A/N: Thank you for reading, I HOPE you are enjoying it, please let me know if you are :) Of course, thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, I really appreciate it. Keep them coming because I love to know what you are all thinking.

Sorry this chapter was a bit late coming. I am going to try to keep updating once a week(ish), seeing as I have no work for the time being so am FREEEEE!

Anyway... onwards with the story...

"If you can laugh together, you can work together."

-Robert Orben

Saturday September 4th, Gryffindor common room

That is IT.

I am getting to the bottom of Malfoy and his 'gardening' issues if it kills me. I couldn't really care less if he was weird and unsociable around other people, but if it's making him go all loon-bucket around Albus and, in fact, myself something serious must have happened. That or he has just gone stark-raving bonkers.

It is not normal, for example, for the boy to shout at me.

Shout. As in, physically raise his voice above a level that is polite for civilised company.

I know we have never been best friends, or in fact anywhere near that level of acquaintance, but never before has his inner raging Malfoy taken over him so much that he actually got angry. And not just 'I am a smirking Slytherin' angry. I am talking seriously vengeful. Full of rage. Harbouring deep internal anguish.

He is usually one of those silent brooding types, that if he is mad with you will throw you dirty glares and sneers from the other side of the Potions classroom or library or whatever. The boy doesn't shout. It is far too uncouth for someone of his upbringing, the poncy twerp.

But something must have been annoying him because he did. Shout, that is.

After breakfast, Natalia and I were feeling very jaunty and I felt that my poor arm in a sling needed a bit of jostling around to get it used to its new position, so we decided to go for a calming walk down to the lake and back before our first class of the day. It wasn't raining or anything, so this seemed like a perfectly plausible and satisfactory idea.

However, for Al who stumbled into the hall just as we were leaving, it was 'dangerous' for us to be going outside alone and therefore he was obliged to accompany us.

Which was incredibly annoying, since I was fully intending on reliving the dramas of last night in the hospital wing to Natalia, however, now I could not since we had a boy (my cousin no less) in our midst. And everyone knows that you cannot discuss boy troubles in the presence of other boys. Particularly if that other boy happens to be related to you and would therefore take the boy troubles as a personal attack.

Despite this, I had no choice but to divulge the events, since I really needed advice on the matter. I also needed to grovel over the detention I was given for chucking tissues out of the hospital wing window. That Mme. Bovine seriously has it in for me.

So I recounted the fairly awkward conversation I had exchanged with Alex Finch-Fletchley the night before… Al was thankfully in another world looking out over the lake and I was vaguely under the impression that he hadn't heard a single word.

But there you go. At least I still had Natalia. Women are so much more reliable when it comes to the trials and tribulations of boy troubles.

"Alex asked you out?" She asked in mild disbelief.

I understand where her disbelief was coming from. Let's face it, the boy isn't exactly renowned across the school for being full of confidence. He's hardly a beacon of self-importance since he spends most of his time knocking things over and walking into walls. Also, I don't think he'd ever had a girlfriend. So, the fact that he had asked me of all people out suggested that it wasn't just a casual mate-date.

I nodded to Natalia. "And you said yes?" She confirmed, looking thoughtful.

"What choice did I have? I could hardly say no." I sighed. "He's a decent bloke, I wouldn't want to crush all his hopes and dreams."

"I doubt you'd crush all his hopes and dreams, Rosie," Al suddenly interjected, still gazing aimlessly over the lake. "Though you'd probably crush a few."

"Mmmm," Natalia mumbled pensively. "And he said he wanted it to just be mates?"

"Yes," I replied. "Do you think he meant it though? He might just have added it on because I was hesitating and he was worried that I would crush all his hopes and dreams."

"It's possible," Natalia said. "I have always suspected that he had a little thing for you…"

"Whatt?"

"Oh, you know, there was that time in first year," Natalia began.

I knew exactly which story she was going to tell. Honestly, that girl reads more into things than there really needs to be read.

"Urghhh," I groaned.

"When he jumped in front of that snowball that James chucked at you. I thought that was very brave of him, especially as he hardly knew you at the time." Natalia turned to face me and grinned. "So, do you like him?"

"Oh good lord," I announced. "Is that really a question you have to ask?"

And then that was when HE turned up.

It appeared that he had gone out for a morning jog and being far more successful than I have ever been on the whole not losing one's breath front, had managed to catch up with us as we neared the little beach next to the lake just past Hagrid's hut. However, judging by his rather disgruntled appearance, I surmised that he had, in fact, been listening in on our conversation.

Which is just rude.

Alright, I know that I was listening in on his and Al's argument the other day, but that was only because I was mightily concerned about the mental welfare of a most beloved cousin. What reason did Malfoy have to be listening in on our private conversations?

Pure. Nosiness. Which, really, is no reason at all. It is just impolite.

Even though he had been listening in, he reacted very oddly to the news. Especially considering he had no idea who we were talking about. At least I don't think he did as we did only mention Alex's name once, and even then we could have been talking about any Alex…

And, in fact, I was slightly concerned that if he DID know then he might go and tell Alex that I was not as madly in love with him and Natalia believed him to be with me (due to the first year snowball incident) and then Alex's hopes and dreams really would be absolutely crushed.

Anyway, he pitched up without his usual pomp and ceremony of swishing his cloak around and trying to look important. He wasn't wearing a cloak so no swishing could occur. He just sort of jogged past and then slowed down as he was next to us, panting like a Hippogriff that had just flown from New Zealand to the Orkneys via Hawaii.

"Weasley," he gasped/spluttered venomously. I should have seen that as a sign that he was not in a tip top mood this morning. But I did not and proceeded to babble on like an idiot.

"Aah, finally starting your physical training regime, I see. Where are the rest of your team?" I cast a patronizing glare over the surrounding woodland. "Scared of coming out in case they break a nail?"

I don't know why it annoyed him so much. It is nothing so bad as he usually says to me (usually comments about my wild hair, and of course the generic 'your-quid ditch-team-is-crap comments), and even Al thought it was the tiniest bit witty. Well, he sniggered, I assume this is a sign he thought it was witty. That or he was sniggering because he could read his friend's face like a book and knew exactly what was coming to me.

"I beg your pardon," he stopped running, standing in front of me so that I had no choice but to come to a standstill. I rolled my eyes as I stood in front of him, getting a bit of a crick in the neck from having to look up so high. "Did you just offend my team?"

"Come on, Malfs," I snorted. "It's not like you've never offended MY team before. All's fair in love and war, as they say. Besides, even you admit that your squad are a bunch of pansies."

"Sometimes, Weasley-" With the venom he uttered my name in, I could actually tell that he was in a properly NOT GOOD mood. I shuffled my foot backwards in an attempt to back away and make a run for it, but he grabbed my arm (thankfully not the slinged one) in a vice grip. "-you can be really immature."

HA! ME! IMMATURE! Look who is talking! Hark, the bells of hypocrisy are ringing throughout the valley.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" I was fair tempted to call him 'Malfs' since the nickname had grown on me in a weird pathetic way. But it was quite jolly and judging from Malfoy's face the last thing he needed at that moment was a poor attempt at frivolity.

"McGonagall wants to see us in her office later. You better be there, because I'm not covering for you."

"I didn't ASK you to cover for me," I snapped back.

He stammered for a moment. "Yeah, well… Just be there, Weasley. And none of your smart-arsed remarks, alright? I'm not in the mood for your witticisms."

I'm not in the mood for your witticisms.

Bleurgh, what an insufferable git. You know, every year before now I have managed to at least put up with the prat for Al's sake but he is really getting on my nerves this year. I don't know what is up with him, but if he snaps at me again I swear to Godric Gryffindor himself I will hex him so badly his ancestors will squeal.

"My remarks aren't 'smart-arsed'," I gaped back, as he frowned in my direction looking distinctly less than pleased at something.

"Your remarks are always smart-arsed, and most often entirely unnecessary."

Unnecessary? They could hardly be called unnecessary! Sometimes people need taking down a peg or two, or always in his case.

"What has got into you?" I had thought that perhaps by going down the direct 'demand what is the problem' route, we might actually solve his little man-PMS issues. Unfortunately I was mistaken, because instead of doing what any normal person would do and break down into tears revealing all the dramas of their family owl passing away during the holidays, he got angry. At me.

And that was where the shouting came in.

"NOTHING!"

Right.

Really.

Nothing?

Honestly, I may not be an expert in psychobabble and reading people's most intimate darkest feelings, but even I can tell that there was definitely SOMETHING up with the lunatic.

"I'm GOING." He announced to the three of us, who were standing there silently, before storming off at a hasty sprint.

"What a charming boy," I muttered, more to myself than anything else.

Al, of course, was just odd after that. As Natalia watched his retreating back with an expression of horror mingled with shock, Al just rolled his eyes and sighed like an old man. I swear that boy is becoming aged beyond his years.

"I said prune it not bloody hack at it," he grumbled to himself and then sprinted after the blonde buffoon.

Of course, this brings me back to my first point: I'm getting to the bottom of Malfoy and his gardening issues if it kills me. This bloody pruning nonsense has reared its ugly head again, and I need to blow that secret right out of the water to stop Malfs (Harhar) being a stress git.

How to do this?

First port of call is a deep emotional chat with Al. Perhaps if I get him thinking philosophically he may reveal hints about this mysterious gardening problem that Malfoy seems to have.

I am convinced it is a metaphor… unless… Maybe Malfoy is struggling in Herbology?

For the good of all our sanities, I will endeavour to help Malfoy in his Herbology lessons. Of course, it all makes sense now… I'm sure he only got an E in his O.W.L. He must be struggling with the hardcore N.E.W.T level nonsense they put us through! I only listen in class really, because I have Longbottom's cardigan to look at, but you are as straight as Malfoy claims to be then of course you will not be encouraged into working hard for an attractive Professor's approval.

Mmmm. Perhaps I have the qualities of a deep thinker after all.

Much later, the Library
Mission Herbology Help 10% complete

Note to future self: Do not attempt to lend Malfoy your 'Expert Herbology For You' textbook as:

A) He will not appreciate the kind gesture that you are trying to save his grades and stop him having a meltdown and potentially killing someone with his death glare, and will end up dropping it in front of you two minutes later saying, "I think you forgot your bedtime reading".B) He will snap at you from then on for relatively minor offences such as 'breathing too loudly' or 'closing a book too forcefully' or 'being too ginger'. Many of these offences cannot be helped.

From henceforth I am cancelling Mission Herbology Help, and if that snobby dimwit prances over here with some other complaint, or to find some other reason to take out his Herbology frustrations on me, then frankly I will ignore him since he does not deserve my mighty attentions.

Pahaa! He is coming over. Time to put new mission into effect.

"Weasley," he is saying.

I am not listening. I am not listening. I am not -

"Weasel," he says with a little more venom.

Oh, this is so liberating. I can just pretend I am writing an essay and then the idiot will eventually give up any attempts to tell me off for disrupting the air currents by breathing or whatever.

"Weasley. Listen to me."

No. I will not listen to you, stressy boy. Frankly, I never wish to listen to you ever again. The only time I ever want to hear your smarmy voice is when you are congratulating me on having won the Quidditch House Cup and apologising for never taking my Herbology help when it was offered.

"Earth to Weasley!"

He's starting to get really annoyed!

This was, on reflection, a much better plan that the Herbology help one. From this day forth I will ignore him.

"What are you even doing?" I think he is -

A few moments later, The library

Well. Just because I had happened to forget about that stupid meeting with Professor McGonagall this afternoon really was no reason whatsoever for that moron to come stomping over here snatching books (private books) out of my writing hands and refusing to give them back until I listened to him.

That constitutes bribery which is illegal which means I could sue which means he could go to Askaban and take out his gardening anger on the Dementors. Plan.

Seriously, he actually whipped the book out from under my quill, slammed it shut and then stood there just staring at me like he was a teacher about to give me a month's worth of detention.

The look didn't suit him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you say something?" I feigned ignorance.

"FINALLY. For someone who spends so little time actually doing homework, it's quite disconcerting how quickly you've taken to it," he scoffed, twirling my book around in his hands.

"What do you want? I have things to do, so spit it out then go away."

He slid the book onto the table. "Were you not listening to me earlier?" I shook my head. Honestly, when have I ever listened that closely to what he's said? Apart from when I'm spying, because of course any information is a clue. "McGonagall wants to see us."

Quite obviously, I had completely forgotten about McGonagall wanting to see us, and so let out an irritated sigh. The library is on the first floor, and McGonagall's office is on the fifth. That is one hell of a climb up a load of stairs.

"When?"

"Ten minutes. But we'll leave in two since we have to walk there." Then he lumbered off like the impolite oik that he is, whilst I sat there cursing the day I was ever made Captain of the Quidditch team because, obviously, this is what this whole fiasco is going to be about.

Unless… they're not going to cancel the tournament this year are they?

If they do I will never forgive that batty old woman.

What else is there living for, if one does not have Quidditch?

Apart from cake.

TO DO:
Learn levitation spell to get up stairs in haste. What is the point of being a witch if I can't abuse my powers?
HOMEWORK

Later, Gryffindor common room

MERLIN'S PANTS. Must that woman make my life any more complicated?

First, she gives me endless amounts of homework in transfiguration class that, frankly, I could probably do without, and has been doing so for SEVEN whole years. This is tough and doesn't exactly do wonders for my self-esteem. I am a Quidditch player not a transfiguration guru!

Secondly, she makes me Quidditch captain. I won't complain about this one. It is pretty cool. I get to choose which drills and stuff we do, which means we can avoid James' favourite from last year - the Quaffle relay (quite possibly the most pointless energy-consuming training regime I have ever experienced in my life).

And NOW. This. THIS ludicrous suggestion. It's madness. Absolute madness.

In FACT, I am tempted to write home RIGHT NOW about this total load of cobblers. Who has ever heard of merging the house teams to form one school team?

What is the POINT? There are… what, two schools that we could possibly play against in Europe? TWO.

I think her age has actually gotten to her head. And in fact, I would have hexed her right there and then if she had suggested doing away with the house teams entirely. Seriously, you can't just have away with hundreds if not THOUSANDS of years of tradition just because you need to spice up the school sport life a bit. It's the most ill-conceived manner of dealing with things and McGonagall should know better.

I suppose I should start from the beginning.

Well, after Malfs (I'm loving this nickname. It sounds so dorky) had his library break-down and finally managed to drag me away from pretending to write an essay to walk, in awkward silence, up to McGonagall's office he painfully neglected to mention that McGonagall didn't JUST want to see the two of us. She wanted to see Lorcan and Darren as well.

Of course, that would have made so much sense if he had actually told me this in the first place, and I wouldn't have been so terrified about coming. For all I knew it was a 'pruning' ambush!

So when we rounded the corner to where her office was, I breathed an enormous sigh of relief that there would at least be witnesses to my potential murder. Or his. You know, if he seriously got on my nerves. Or shouted at me again, since I had no book at the time to pretend to be writing in with which to ignore him.

Lorcan, the handsome bloke that he is, immediately gave me a dazzling smile. "Hey, Rose!" Darren kind of awkwardly grinned.

I smiled back. After all, here I was standing in a school corridor in the company of not one, but three lads who made it onto the official Hogwart's Hot Boy list, although one of them was not of my choosing whatsoever. Many girls would have given their left leg and both arms to be standing where I was, slap bang in the middle of three… Ok. Two handsome grinning blokes, and one grumpy, irate (yet still not altogether hideously formed) bloke.

So I gave Lorcan my best dazzling smile and went to stand next to him, on account of the Malfoy still remaining, distressingly, completely silent. It was unlike him to not be bombarding me with his self-professed sparkling wit every second of the journey. "So, Lorcan, got any idea why we're here?"

"None," Lorcan confessed. Though the slightly guilty smirk that dropped onto his face a second later told me otherwise. "But I have heard from my sources that it's something to do with this mysterious dance at Christmas."

"Really?" I beamed delighted. Such juicy gossip, and from a Hufflepuff, no less! "Is it a Quidditch themed dance, or something?"

Lorcan shrugged. "I dunno. But I hope so. That would be brilliant."

"We could have snitch confetti -"

"Quaffle balloons - "

"And listen to that ancient band the Quidditch Quartet," I finished. "Actually they're awful. But we'd have to listen to them on principle."

"Of course," Lorcan said, with mock-seriousness. "It just wouldn't do to listen to a band without Quidditch in their name."

Malfoy tutted loudly, and Lorcan turned to look at him with quite the glare.

"IF…" Malfoy began ominously, "You two have finished blabbering on about Merlin-knows-what, then perhaps you'll notice that Professor McGonagall has kindly opened the door to her office."

She had, in fact, opened the door. But as she was sitting at her desk and had merely opened it through a silent flick of her wand, I would hardly have noticed it unless I had been staring at it like someone clearly had. Darren and Lorcan filed into the room, but walking behind them Malfoy and I attempted to walk through the door at the same time.

It was like one of those awkward moments that you rarely experience with anyone other than a stranger, where you're standing opposite each other trying to get past, but each time you move one way they move the same way and you continue to do this for quite some time like some bizarre courting dance, before one of you has the courage to grab the other one by the shoulders and just move them aside with a friendly smile. Only it wasn't quite like one of those moments, because Malfoy and I weren't strangers.

And that smile he gave me before he squeezed past me through the door first was anything but friendly. It was hostile almost fierce. But the piercing gaze that met my eyes displayed an entire different emotion, almost as if there was something really bothering him. Guilt? Confusion? I don't know what. His eyes were too hard to read.

That one gaze, however, pretty much set the tone for the rest of the evening. That it wasn't going to end well.

"Gentlemen and… lady," McGonagall glanced my direction for a split-second. "I must ask that what I am about to divulge remains within this room, at least for the time being."

Sworn to secrecy? By McGonagall? Oh yes, I was right about this not boding well.

"Is that understood?"

We all nodded in agreement, and her scrutiny jumped to each of us in turn.

Then she smiled. Somewhat severely, but then again, even the slightest curl of the lip when it comes to McGonagall constitutes the equivalent of a full-blown grin.

"I have some exciting news for you," she announced, looking immensely pleased with herself. I have to say the change in her tone was a tad disconcerting. Also the fact that she thought it was exciting probably meant that it was not exciting at all. I bet they're holding the International Transfiguration Convention here or something else incredibly mind-numbingly dull. "I gather you are aware of the existence of Durmstrang school?"

All round nods. And all round general confusion, as we were all thinking WHERE the hell is this going?

"The headmaster of Durmstrang and I have decided that in the interests of healthy school inter-competition and international magical cooperation to host a Quidditch tournament."

"A tournament?" Darren uttered in immense confusion.

For a second I genuinely thought that he was, in fact, more stupid than we had ever given him credit for and had no idea what a tournament was, but then he clarified further.

"A tournament against one school is hardly a tournament," he said.

McGonagall shrugged. "I suppose it could be considered a sort of test series."

"Like in cricket," Malfoy suddenly announced. The four looks of sheer disbelief he was granted with at this exclamation that he WAS in fact aware of something that was only found in the muggle world were completely lost on him.

Then I remembered the conversation I had overheard between him and Albus the other week.

- "It's just not cricket."

Of course, AllyPally must have mentioned this old muggle saying before meaning that he had had to explain cricket, it's relevance to English muggles and the whole 'test match' situation.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy, I suppose it could be compared to cricket," McGonagall repeated, looking quite surprised. I mean, it wasn't everyday that you met a Malfoy who could name a muggle sport. And it was certainly extremely rare for them to mention it in magical company. And seeing as McGonagall had known about five generations of Malfoys (she's that old, I am sure of it) then it must have been all the more shocking for her. "The Durmstrang team will stay with us for a week in the run up to Christmas, where we will play a game. Then in April, we will take a select team over to Durmstrang Academy for a week to play another, and the final match will be held here at Hogwarts in the summer."

I was gob smacked. A trip to Bulgaria (or wherever their school is) would be BRILL. Absolutely spiffy. Far better than the pathetic excuse for a spring we have here in Scotland.

"This is fab!" I announced, without meaning to. Sometimes these things just pop out of my mouth, especially in moments of great excitement, which in case you couldn't tell was just about now. "Absolutely fab."

"I'm glad you feel so positively towards the idea, Miss Weasley," McGonagall informed me severely. I got the feeling that she was disapproving of my grinning demeanour.

No matter. This is a SCHOOL TRIP. These never happen. So this is a once in a lifetime opportunity!

McGonagall, as usual, chose the moment that I was clearly basking in the glory of such a happy occasion to spring another piece of delectable information about this whole predicament upon us. "Of course, this means that we need to create a single school team combining our strongest players."

Darren and Lorcan looked at each other in hushed panic.

"I will be enlisting Professor Wood's help with the selection, though all four of you will be placed on the team, we will need to fill the remaining places and allow for reserves." McGonagall gulped rather ominously. "The Bulgarians aren't known for gentle Quidditch play, so I imagine we will be needing replacements."

All four of us sat there in silence.

"Any questions?"

"Will the Quidditch cup still be on?" I couldn't help but ask. I mean, just because she wanted us to play against some fur-coat wearing lunatics from the snow-covered wilds of Bulgaria doesn't mean that I am going to give up on my dream of winning the school cup!

It is a matter of honour.

"Yes, it will. I am sure we will have enough time for the usual number of inter-house matches. It is only three weeks spread out over the year."

THANK THE LORD.

I am blessed.

This means I am still in with a shot of kicking Malfoy's arse. And Scamander's. And McLaggen's. I have a chance of kicking all their arses and proving to the world (and Hogwarts) that a FEMALE Quidditch captain is the best possible one there could be.

"Professor," Malfoy queried, solemnly, "Assuming the four house teams are combined, and all four of us are on the 'Hogwarts' team…"

McGonagall nodded.

"… Who will be Captain?"

Oh god.

This had not occurred to me. HOW could this not have occurred to me? Am I not the daughter of the most intelligent witch ever to walk the halls of Hogwarts? Must I inherit my father's lacklustre logic as well his capacity to blush at a second's notice?

"Ah," McGonagall said. All four of us had sat forward in our chairs. "I suppose we will cross that bridge when we come to it. I will consult Professor Wood on the matter."

Bum. Despite (apparently) hating bloody Malfoy's father, Wood for some reason loved his enemy's lowlife son. Therefore, would most likely choose him.

You know what this means? I will have to spend the rest of my school year being bossed around by MALFOY.

After that, the meeting wrapped up pretty hastily, and I returned to the Gryffindor common room to be bombarded with the same question by several people.

"Why have you been so long in the library? It's the first Saturday back. How much homework can you POSSIBLY have?"

I wanted to inform them of the whole Quidditch-with-Durmstrang thing, but bloody McGonagall had sworn us to secrecy. I never really realised until now how hard it is to keep a secret that is quite so exciting. Apart from the Captain dilemma, the fact that we may potentially have an exciting school trip on our hands makes this almost the best news I have heard all year!

I tried to subtly quiz Natalia about Durmstrang, as she has had several family members that went there and I needed to investigate the competition. However, the talk of Quidditch just made her mind turn to other things… Like boys.

"You know Durmstrang?" I had asked, all subtle and unobvious. Not that she would have ever been able to guess what was going on, particularly as I had interrupted her in the middle of a very serious toenail painting session. Today the colour was a garish shade of bright pink.

"Uh huuuhhhh."

"What are the people who go there like?"

She peered up from her toenails with the most mischievous grin I have ever seen upon her little face.

"They're all lads."

"Right. And are they-" I was going to attempt to ask whether or not they were good at Quidditch, but then two things simultaneously occurred to me.

1) That the chances of Natalia knowing whether or not they were any good at Quidditch were about 100 billion to one. Ie. Very slim.

2) That me asking about them being good at Quidditch may alert her to the fact that something fishy is going on this year… And she would bribe me with cake until I relented and told her what it was. But then I would get into trouble with McGonagall.

The slight moment of hesitation allowed Natalia to start nattering away. "They are all fit. They have that sexy dark European look going on. And they wear fur coats."

I fail to see how fur coats are attractive on a man, but then I have never experienced such attire on a 'sexy dark European' so it is possible that I am entirely mistaken.

"I want to marry one."

And that was pretty much the topic of conversation for the remainder of the evening. Once Natty gets talking about boys it is fair tricky to get her to stop. Therefore it is much easier to simply join in.

Sunday September 5th, 7th Year Girls Dorm - Gryffindor tower

Reasons why I should be Captain of the Hogwarts Quidditch team

1) I am quite a good player. Well, I must be alright if I was picked to be Captain of the Gryffindor team… This may be speculation. Perhaps McGonagall felt she needed to make sure every Potter-Weasley made Captain…?
2) I am v. organised. I write To Do lists and everything - everyone knows this is a sign of great organisational skills.
3) I am a good public speaker. (I have a loud voice - this is all that is really necessary to be a great public speaker in Quidditch practices).
4) I make up brill training regimes. Everyone says so.
5) I am a girl. This gives me the edge since all the Durmstrang lot are lads.

Reasons why I will not be Captain of the Hogwarts Quidditch team

1) I am not rich so cannot bribe the person who chooses the Captain.
2) My name is not Malfoy, so I cannot scare the person who chooses the Captain into choosing me.
3) I am a girl - may be perceived as weak by anti-feminist Quidditch players.
4) Professor Wood doesn't like me.
5) I don't have a Lightning III. Sob.

Later, Great Hall (dinnertime)

NOTE TO SELF: Fur coat - suitable for Scotland? Would keep me vair warm in Winter. Seek fashion advice from Lily on subject.

AAAH! I have always wanted to bring another magical school into one of my stories, but have never been able to find a way it worked. But here we go, Durmstrang will be pitching up SOOON... however, we are still in September so, of course, it will still be a while. I may start squeezing several days (possibly an entire week) into a chapter otherwise this will be moving TOO slowly!

Until next time.

Love, Gco. XXX