Slytherin Score!
"So, you're sure about this? I mean…" second-year Neville Longbottom asked, looking around at the green-accessorized masses. His fellow students frequently intimidated him, and staring around at all those Slytherins, together in one place, potentially about to turn, see him, and hex him into the next century…Neville gulped.
His companion seemed blithely unaware of his discomfort. Or perhaps she was simply indifferent to it. "Come on, Neville. Everything will be fine."
"How can you be so calm?" he grumbled as they found seats in one of the back rows. He tried not to make eye contact with any Slytherins. Who knew what they would do? At least Malfoy wasn't in the stands; as Seeker, he would be flying out onto the pitch any second now.
The girl beside him seemed amused. "I really don't think anyone is going to hex you, Neville. Besides, you're with me. And you know there's no way I was going to sit in the Gryffindor section with you. I have my pride."
Neville stole a sideways glance at her. He knew that wasn't the real reason—she wouldn't sit in the Gryffindor section because of her cousins. There were at least three of them at Hogwarts now. He studied her profile. She was sitting very straight (Neville's Gran would have approved her posture). Her long dark hair streamed down her back, looking silky-smooth, and her cool dark eyes were fixed upon the pitch. As usual, there was a faint air of tragedy about her. He thought she looked especially worried, though.
"Elle?" he asked. She turned toward him politely. "Are you worried about Leo?"
"Of course not, why would I be worried?" she said at once.
"Well, because this is the first match he'll officially be playing in," Neville pointed out. "And sure, he's been on the reserve team since his second year, but since Adrian Pucey is off sick, or injured, or whatever, this is his chance to show he deserves to be on the team in his own right."
"Yes," Elle acknowledged. "But, of course, he'll be brilliant. And anyway, it's only Hufflepuff."
Neville decided not to point out that Cedric Diggory, Seeker and Captain of the Hufflepuff team, was really quite good, and that anyway Hufflepuffs weren't actually dunderheads, no matter what most people said about them. There was no reason to worry her more, after all.
He sighed, thankful that this wasn't Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Of course, that match had already happened—as usual, won handily by his roommate Harry Potter—but all the same, he felt devoutly thankful he hadn't worn a red and gold Gryffindor scarf that morning, but one of the ones his Gran had made for him. He pictured himself getting mobbed by an angry Slytherin horde, egged on by Professor Snape, while Elle and Leo smirked a few feet away, debating whether to save him or leave him to some unspecified but horrible fate.
He gulped again in fear, glancing around at the Slytherins nearest him. Luckily, none of them appeared to be glancing his way. He felt devoutly thankful that Professor Snape, seated in the first row, hadn't seen him come up here. Hopefully, from a distance, he simply looked like any interested, innocent spectator. Of course, one never knew with Professor Snape.
"And they're off! Slytherin in possession, Montague heading toward goal—"
With a start, Neville realized the game had started. Elle was leaning forward, her eyes fixed on the speeding figure that was Leo.
"His broom is different than the others," Neville commented, surprised. "I thought Malfoy's dad bought everyone Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones."
"Not the reserve team," Elle answered briefly. "Leo's folks are rich, though—he has a Cleansweep Seven."
"Lestrange tears up the pitch, Hufflepuff's Keeper blocks it—no! Slytherin score!" called Lee Jordan, a Gryffindor with a grudge against Slytherin—though that was rather redundant, Neville supposed.
At the mention of Leo's family, he had felt his spine stiffen. No matter how much he might admire and like Leo, who had so far been a great friend and had introduced him to Elle, he could never be comfortable with his family. Although he knew Elle had been talking about the elder Lestranges, Leo's grandparents, any mention of them still rankled, and sent splinters of anger and hurt racing up his spine.
People said it was ironic, his friendship with Leo. Neville didn't know about that—but already, it was painful.
"Slytherin lead, fifty-ten…"
Neville watched as Leo raced through the air, leading Montague and Flint in several complex Chaser formations. The Hufflepuffs were good, but Leo was better. Malfoy and Diggory circled above the rest of the game, looking for the golden Snitch.
"Slytherin in possession, Chaser Lestrange ducks two Bludgers, three Hufflepuff Chasers, races toward goal…"
Suddenly, the attention of the crowd seemed to sharpen. Malfoy dove toward the Hufflepuff goalpost—
"Slytherin Seeker's spotted the Snitch!" cried Lee Jordan. "Diggory close on his heels—Malfoy narrowly misses a Bludger—pity, but there it is—Diggory is gaining—"
Neville saw Malfoy and Diggory hurtle toward the Snitch, now neck and neck—the Snitch changed direction, heading back toward the Chasers, and Malfoy tried to shove Diggory out of the way—he reached out a hand—Diggory, impossibly, was faster than Malfoy and his Nimbus Two Thousand and One—Diggory snatched the Snitch by one struggling wing—
The game was over. Slytherin win, two hundred and twenty to one hundred and seventy. All around Neville, Slytherins were cheering their new highest scoring Chaser—Leo Lestrange. Draco Malfoy landed, scowling.
"Come on," said Elle, getting up and yanking Neville's arm. "Let's go."
"And meet Leo? But he's surrounded—I really don't think—" began Neville, getting up and swaying slightly with vertigo. He felt dizzy at the thought of going closer to a horde of screaming Slytherins. Briefly, he wondered if this were some sort of nightmare.
Then Elle pinched his arm in her haste to find Leo. Wincing, he regretfully abandoned his theory.
They pushed through the crowd, Elle shoving people out of her way with reckless abandon. What she lacked in actual upper body strength or intimidating stature she made up for in sheer fierceness. Neville followed as best he might.
At last, they reached Leo. He was heading back to the changing rooms with the rest of the Slytherin team, minus Malfoy, who seemed to have gone off sulking. A few more Slytherins were crowded round, congratulating the team (for their victory) and themselves (for no reason Neville could see). As they got closer, they could hear what Leo and the Captain, seventh-year Marcus Flint, were saying.
"—so practice is every night we can get the pitch, usually pretty late; that work for you?" Flint was asking.
"Of course," answered Leo calmly. "Are you sure about this?"
"Sure? You just scored thirteen goals! I should bloody well think I'm sure! Welcome to the team, Lestrange." Flint clapped Leo on the back. "You'll love it."
Leo nodded. Some instinct seemed to tell him Elle was there—she'd made her way as close as possible in the crowd—because he turned around and grinned at her. Neville felt bewildered; Elle definitely hadn't said anything aloud.
"Good game," Elle said softly.
"Thanks," Leo replied, and his smile seemed to grow even warmer.
"Yeah," agreed Neville, breaking into their moment. He kept glancing around nervously. On the plus side, most of the students (including Leo's new fan club) seemed to have dispersed. Unfortunately, a few teachers were still on the field, including Professor Snape. "Good job, Leo. Really."
Leo raised one eyebrow at him.
"I hate it when you do that," Neville muttered.
"Well," said Leo carefully. "You are a member of our rival House. I appreciate you coming to watch, but surely you're planning on reporting my techniques to your famous roommate…"
Neville was shocked. "I never even thought of doing something like that! I would never—are you accusing me of spying on you?"
Elle shrugged. "Why not?"
Leo grinned at Neville. "Forget it. I know you're too good for that."
"Of course," said Neville, still somewhat annoyed.
"So," began Elle, deftly changing the subject, "who's Marcus going to kick off the team in order to give you your spot?"
"Adrian, I think," answered Leo, grimacing. "He's only a third year, so…"
"The Slytherin team is organized by seniority?" Neville asked, confused. "How can you ever expect to win?"
Leo shrugged. "It's not all seniority. And after the Gryffindor fiasco, I'm not sure Marcus did expect to win."
"Good for you, challenging expectations," praised Elle. Her lips twitched in the beginning of a smile.
Leo smiled back, but started walking again, toward the changing rooms. "I got to go. There's the victory party later, and the posturing, and what I'm going to say to Adrian…It's a whole big thing. Nev, take care of Elle."
Elle glared at him.
"So sorry, I meant, Elle, take care of Neville," Leo said, grinning. Then he swung the door open, and disappeared into the changing room.
Neville glanced over his shoulder. Professor Snape was perilously close, striding back toward the castle beside Professor Sinistra. Professor Lockhart was also nearby, declaiming on the proper way to score a goal against a well-organized team of Chasers to Professor Sprout (who looked furious).
"Er…walk me back to the castle?" he asked Elle nervously.
"What?" She looked around at him. "Oh—of course. You're safe with me, silly."
"Yeah," said Neville, thinking aloud. "Yeah, I guess I am."
