Hello again! Chapter alert! Yes, this seems highly unusual for a quick update. I was feeling the power of inspiration and simply couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy this chapter and review!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, presently or past, as his world solely belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 9

"My, my, whatever is Miss Perfect Gemma Wood doing in detention?"

"Not now, Potter-"

"Might I also phrase, in the same detention as a hardened delinquent? Such as myself, of course." It was Saturday, lo and behold, the finest day a Hogwarts student (sixth year, incidentally) could spend. And also incidentally, the worst possible day for detention. Which was exactly what Gemma Ross Wood was doing. Serving detention.

Just thinking about it made her shudder. Not from her crime, but for the consequences that followed. No, she should rephrase that. She didn't mind having detention. Never would she have thought she would be proud of her crime. But, James Potter also had detention. Incidentally. And he didn't even realize that he was the main reason for her detention. Git.

They were to scrub Slughorn's potions room spotless, the Muggle way. Having a Muggle-born as a mother had taught her the value of magic, especially by cleaning her room herself. But that didn't mean she would have to like it. She glared at her offender, with his stupid hair. "I never called you a hardened delinquent."

The ruffled-haired troublemaker flashed one of his most prized smirks. "I never said you did, darling." He paused for a moment, the smirk slowly melting off his face. "And you promised me in the beginning of the year that you would call me James."

One Day Earlier

"Miss Wood! Miss Wood, if you please!" Gemma turned and saw old Professor Slughorn running toward her. It was a wonder he was still alive at all, considering his pudginess and the sparse white bristles atop his head.

He stopped in front of her, panting and immediately straightened his lilac-striped robes. "Miss Wood, I was hoping to see you in my office later today. If you would be so kind to come for a kip that would be extremely lovely." Professor Slughorn's pleasant expression peered into her eyes. Gemma smiled. He was always her favorite professor, despite having an unfortunate tendency to pick well-connected students.

"Sure, Professor. I have a free next anyways." This was good an excuse as anything, especially as a certain Potter's hair-raising note in Transfiguration gave her the chills. Not that she didn't want to discuss anything with him, it was just that she didn't want to talk right after class. This may have seemed cowardly and Gryffindors were anything but. However, Gemma considered this a minor setback and resolved not to be a coward in the future.

Turning to walk with the portly professor, she almost managed to escape when…

"Oi! Gemma, wait! I told you we needed to-oh. Oh! Hello there, Professor Slughorn. How are you on this rather dreary Friday?" There it was, the copyrighted Potter charm, turned up on full swing. Within seconds, that smirk was wiped off and replaced with a goody-two shoes smile. It was too innocent.

Slughorn looked surprised and admittedly, uncomfortable. Between the tension in the air, Gemma vaguely recalled that it was Slughorn who gave James detention on Alfie's lie. "Miss Wood and I were just about to go up for a kip. Would you, er, care to join us, Mr. Potter?" Perhaps it was an attempt at making reconciliation, for James's tightened expression loosened a bit. Gemma prayed that he would say, no, he had a class or some stupid assignment to make up, but:

"Of course, Professor. I have a free next." And on that terrifying note, the three went off.

"I still don't see how this pertains to your detention, Gemma."

"I'm not finished yet, Po-I mean, James. Hold onto you knickers, don't pee just yet."

"So, Miss Wood, how is your school life so far? I daresay you're at the top of your class." Professor had taken a sip of his tea, from an enchanted tea set given to him by a past student who was now the rising star of Witches' Trinkets. Despite its high praise, the tea tasted quite bitter and had the strangest aftertaste of Gurdyroots. Gemma only drank to be polite, unlike the ruffled-haired hitchhiker who gagged and was in the midst of mumbling something about going to the loo. Slughorn looked put out as James got up, green, and walked to the loo on the right.

She tried for a smile. "Really, Professor, it's barely been an entire week at school! I'm so behind, I really should have studied more…"

"Nonsense, Miss Wood! I know a good seed when I see one! Brains, athleticism, and a phenomenal backbone to boot! Once you've graduated from Hogwarts, I assume many successful people will be looking for your call. And how is your dear father? I've heard Puddlemere United's coach is retiring and looking for dedicated wizards to fill in…" On and on, Professor Slughorn ambled on about his connections in the world of Quidditch and on and on, Gemma lost track.

Yes, her dear father. Oliver Wood, burly retired Keeper of Puddlemere United's team (promoted to the official team after three successful years on the reserve) and otherwise hardcore Quidditch fanatic. Being his only child and a daughter at that had made him expect more from her. The year she turned three, her father began giving her lessons on how to properly fly a broomstick. The first couple of years were fun, until her father yelled at her for not gripping the broom right.

"How else will you make the Gryffindor team, Gemmy? Not one Captain will be impressed with a player who can't get the grip right!" She was only ten, and her heart fell. Flying was fun; she didn't realize, until that moment, that her father never intended for these lessons to be fun. This was training. Conditioning. Boot camp. No more "Daddy", no more "Papa" or "Pops." This was Captain Oliver Wood at his roughest and toughest and he wasn't going to bend for anyone. Especially his daughter.

She had thought she would make him proud by making the team as a Chaser, and one who broke Gryffindor's record of scoring the most points in one game. She thought he would be proud that she was the one who gave Gryffindor that edge in her third year, and enabled them to win the Championships. But he only expected more. "I tried to train you as a Keeper, Gem. Guess it was your mum's genes you got." Or: "You could have beat Slytherin that match if you had just scored one more goal! Ten points, Gemmy! Ten points mean quite a bit in statistics."

And when he found out that his precious daughter didn't become Captain, he flipped. "Gemma, how else will Quidditch scouts recommend you to prestigious teams? You're a smart girl, you've got leadership in your blood! Did you expect your father to scam someone in the League to take you? I thought I taught you better than this." Shaking his head, he went into their house and left Gemma in the fields outside. Her mother, Katie Wood (nee Bell), was also a former Quidditch player and a former Gryffindor Chaser. She was the only one who was able to keep the peace in the Wood household.

"Sweetie, it's alright," she comforted her daughter after an exceptionally tough day of summer training. They laid on Gemma's red-and-gold duvet covers, a room decorated with Gryffindor regalia, "for team spirit."

Gemma sobbed hard into her mother's shoulders. "How can I make him understand that I love Quidditch for the fun, not for the trophy? I try so hard to live to his expectations, and when I think I succeed, he only tells me I've done nothing." Her eyes were red and her hamstrings were pulled. Her broomstick, a Moontrimmer 3003, laid against her drawers and she eyed it with disgust. Katie, noticing this, sighed and stroked her daughter's hair. "Your father has always been obsessed with Quidditch. At school, everyone would tease him about it and although he seemed stoic, he would get upset. It was the only thing he was ever good at it; his grades were okay and he couldn't talk to girls without mentioning the entire fourth chapter in Quidditch Through the Ages."

"Mom, what does this have to do with me?"

'Oliver has a hard time communicating with others. It took a while with me and it'll take a while for him to understand that you're growing up. He figures this'll be a good way to bond with you, but it'll be hard. Don't let him upset you, Gemmy."

To make him accept her, she tried to confront him about her O.W.L. scores the following day. Sixth year was about to start and she needed to let him know that she didn't want to be a professional player. But, as only Captain Oliver Wood could, he talked over her about how fine a player she would make. He even made a list of classes (approved by him, from a quiet study of her results) that she would take, in order to practice even more.

Which was why she wasn't taking Potions for N.E.W.T.s. As far as the Captain was concerned, the only thing Potions was useful for were medicine and even then, she could take a trip to the new Quidditch Apothecary in Diagon Alley. It would break her poor dad's heart to say she wanted to be a potions researcher in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries…

"Miss Wood, did you hear my question?" Professor Slughorn asked politely, if perhaps a bit louder. Gemma shook her head to clear away the fog, realizing that a) Slughorn was still speaking and b) Potter wasn't back yet.

"I'm sorry, sir, what did you ask?"

"Why did you choose to not continue Potions? I remember specifically a few years ago, that a certain third year Gryffindor asking about potions research in the various branches of magical science?" Oh no. She should have known this was what Slughorn wanted a meeting for. She couldn't tell him why; if she did, everything would spill out and her poor father would be devastated…

Never had Gemma been so happy to see James Potter come back from the loo. Still a bit green, he shuffled back into the seat next to hers and slouched.

Slughorn looked taken aback. "My dear boy, are you feeling alright? I daresay you've got a poor immune system?" He peered over his desk.

James shrugged, a smirk tilting the ends of his mouth. "Not a poor immune system, Professor. Just the tea choice." Gemma snorted and covered it up with a polite cough. James, caught between looking pleased and looking cross, was in the midst of a retort when the bell rang.

Professor Slughorn sighed dramatically. "Ah! Saved by the bell, Miss Wood. Not to worry, we can catch up at one of my upcoming dinner parties. Well now, carry on! And good day to you as well, Mr. Potter! Don't forget your detention, tomorrow…"

They shuffled out of his room and walked in silence to their respective classes. Gemma realized the tension building between them and made note to walk faster. Before she could act on the impulse, James said quietly: "So why don't you take Potions?"

"Because my father doesn't want me to." Both Gemma and James blinked. She remembered the promise she made a few days earlier, to be a good friend to him and realized that she wasn't putting in her part of the deal. She continued:

"He wants me to go for professional Quidditch, like he did."

"Do you?"

"What do you mean?" But she knew perfectly well what James Potter meant. They stopped at a corner, where they would part for their classes: Muggle Studies and Ancient Runes. They were standing so close, Gemma could see the pale dusting of freckles across the ruffled-haired troublemaker's nose. Breathe Gemma, she willed herself. This was Potter, not Alfie a year ago, where they a chance meeting this same way…

The warning bell went off, calming the electricity. She cleared her throat and James looked disappointed. "My dad believes I can make it." Hesitating, she asked, "When are tryouts for the team?"

James, shaking his head, said, "Perhaps next week. But you don't need to tryout. You've proven yourself on the field quite enough." He gave her a tentative, shy smile and waved as he walked towards his next class.

"I see you've been slumming, Gem. I didn't realize you'd use Potter as a rebound." Recognizing that voice that used to be so alluring, Gemma sighed and said, "I'd never guess that you'd be the jealous type, Alfie. Seems to me that someone's a bit too clingy for their own good."

Alfie's face, which used to be so breathtaking, so striking, tightened and lost all of its former appeal. He lowered his voice and said, "I miss you, Gemma. I need you, you don't understand…"

"Alfie, you brought this upon yourself. I'm allowed to do whatever I like, hang out and talk to whomever I like and you can't stop me…"

"But why Potter? You said that you were just friends, had no feelings toward him whatsoever! Now, you break up with me because he couldn't handle a joke-"

Gemma's temper, crackling slowly and slowly by the second, was rising. "You basically shouted out to the world that it was a warning to stay away from me, Alfie! How dare you suggest this was nothing more than a joke?" The last bell went off, signaling that both of them were late. But neither made a move to leave, each too immersed in winning the fight that everything else didn't matter.

She checked her watch. For heaven's sake, she angrily thought. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be getting off to Ancient Runes." Alfie, growling, grabbed her shoulder. "Gemma, you never listen! If you'll just…" But Gemma never learned what he wanted; for her wand was out and was in the middle of attacking Alfie with every hex she knew, with every ounce of hatred she felt: for Alfie, for James and his stupid infatuation, for Alice and her self-righteous honesty, and for herself-

"MISS WOOD! What on earth are you attacking Mr. Thomas for?" Gemma tore her eyes away from her wand to find Alfie sprawled across the floor and Professors Slughorn and Vector staring at her in shock. Slowly, she looked again at Alfie and shuddered. His skin was pale and his legs were twitching in a way reminiscent of tap dancers, his teeth long and buck-toothed. He, too, stared at her in shock and something she couldn't quite pinpoint.

Professor Vector was seething. "Miss Wood, I am absolutely disgusted by this act of barbarism. You're usually so very responsible and-and-and cutting class to attack a student is something I'd expect from the likes of a hooligan. Forty points from Gryffindor and a detention tomorrow! Slughorn, I believe you're supervising tomorrow?"

Professor Slughorn seemed to be in a daze and said, "Yes, yes! Not to worry, I'll have this sorted out, Septima. Please, it'll be sorted." Professor Vector, still shaking her head, left with a disappointed look on her face. Gemma stood still. She had just attacked her ex-boyfriend. She, Gemma Ross Wood, just resorted to violence. So why didn't she feel remorse or guilt? Why did she feel so, so proud?

As Alfie stood up, Professor Slughorn said amiably, "Ah, Miss Wood certainly knows her stuff! Why don't you take a trip to the Hospital Wing, eh, Thomas? I'm sure Madam Moon will patch you up in a jiffy!" Grumbling, Alfie tap-danced his way over to the Hospital Wing and muttered darkly.

"Miss Wood?" Gemma looked up, scared, into the portly professor's eyes. She feared he would be able to read the triumph she felt. But then:

"That truly was some spectacular spellwork. Now don't forget: detention tomorrow in my office at seven!"

"And that is the story of how I came to share this wonderful detention with you." James looked up at Gemma, somewhat surprised. She didn't quite strike him as the person who would attack anybody with magic. Even throughout his endless tirade of rejections, she only resorted to verbal abuse.

Gemma stopped scrubbing the floor with her mop. "Well?" She asked, rather tersely. "Don't you have some ridiculous retort to make? Something about this being the beginning of my criminal career?"

The thought of doing just that made him laugh. "You find me to be too predictable, my fellow convict. I was just blissfully imagining Thomas's expression of distress. It's quite amusing." She chuckled and the familiar swoop went in his stomach. For Merlin's flabby cheeks, he needed to get a grip. And he needed to summon up that Gryffindor courage…

"I hate to spoil this lovely evening, but in a way, it's exactly what I needed."

Ah. The confused yet attractive stare. "An evening cleaning Slughorn's remarkably dirty office?"

Shoot, she didn't get it. "I hope you can recall the note I sent you in Transfiguration yesterday. I really did-do, I mean, want to talk. It's important." That caught Gemma's attention, as a red blush spread across her cheeks. She began scrubbing again, as if to distract him. "Oh? And what about?"

Come on, Godric. "At the beginning of the year, we made a decision-suggested by you, I might add- that we would start out as friends. But everything has gone crazy and you seem to have forgotten your part of the deal."

Gemma's cheeks colored even more. She choked out, 'I-you're right. I've been nothing but horrid to you and you've done nothing wrong. I'm sorry." She slowed her scrubbing and looked into James's eyes. "I don't know if you've heard or not, but I've broken up with Alfie. He was horrid to you too and I couldn't take it anymore." His breath caught. So she didn't know that he heard the entire exchange between them that night?

James shrugged, hoping to seem cool and nonchalant. "I heard. But Gemma, I'm a big boy. I can handle myself, I mean look at my fantastic cleaning abilities!" They both stared at the pile of grime grated between the floor corners.

"Are we officially back on track as friends? Or on hiatus?"

"Yes," Gemma started. "Back on track." She gave him that smile that he had so longed for in the past and the electricity flowed through the room. He heard himself say, "Good. Took me a while to figure out."

Laughing, Gemma stopped her scrubbing and teased, "You never fail to amaze me, James." James felt his neck coloring and prayed she couldn't feel the embarrassed heat steaming from his face. He chuckled tensely and whispered, "You, too, Gemma. You always amaze me."