"You requested to speak to me, sir?" I knocked on the black wooden door to Snape's classroom feeling apprehensive and nervous. Perhaps I was failing potions. Perhaps I had done something inappropriate (again) without realizing that there was some unmentioned, different British rule at Hogwarts. I winced at the idea of Snape being upset over misplaced laundry or a word choice that was entirely provocative by accident.
"Yes, close the door... come over here," he demanded in a bored tone. He hadn't even looked up from his notes to verify my identity. I supposed that my accent was sufficient enough clarification.
I stared for a moment before forcing myself to shut the bulky door, the echo of the unavoidable slam ringing around the room. Glass jars filled with questionable floating substances shook around the room from the impact. Snape dramatically rolled his eyes as a I approached.
"Dumbledore has been busy making some...new rules this year," his tone was clipped, as he stared down at me like a statue, arms behind his back. The only movement was his lips. You would think he was a frozen dementor, dripping in all black robes which dragged loosely behind his back. His eyes were hooded and cold, ruthless. His very essence was similar to the soul-sucking terror that the dementors imbued.
I held my breath. Rules. I'd broken another one surely. This couldn't be good. Maybe I was being punished unfairly for the ink accident. I could picture Malfoy running confidently to Snape, needing revenge, finding solace in his favorite teacher and the head of Slytherin. The head of my house as well, leaving me at the mercy of Snape's wrath. My father would not defend my school drama, he would only punish me when I was home at Christmas.
"The ink was an accident, not my fault-" I started blurting out but Snape snapped his finger loudly in the air to silence me. I winced from the bizarre gesture.
"I don't know about any...ink...incident," He narrowed his eyes briefly, "Although I will have to, make some inquiries... No, this pertains to Quidditch. It has, to my discomfort, been made clear to me that you, had expressed interest in joining the team and were blatantly rejected. Is that correct?" His expression was bland, but I sensed he was filled with curiosity and mockery.
I swallowed loudly and looked away, "Yes, sir. In France I was quite a, uh, er, competitive flyer. I have played many position.. positions." The pluralization of English was an unfortunate work in progress for me, and I despised the way it made me stutter.
"Hmm, is that so? I have been asked to remind Mr. Malfoy that, despite his personal values, there is now a strict rule that at least one female must play. Since you are the only one who, tried out, I would say it's a landslide win." He raised his eye brows, "Do not disappoint the house of Slytherin, Ms. Desrosiers. You are dismissed."
I fought to contain my smile until my back was turned and I was halfway across the room. Even though I wasn't sure what the position was, I could hardly wait to begin practicing in a weeks time. I would utterly crush it.
"Oh, and one more thing..." Snape's voice echoed around the room deeply, "Clean up that English. It won't due to have miscommunication in the game."
I nodded and headed to the great hall for dinner.
Dinner arrived and I had brought my English translation textbook to the previous class, so I sat silently, some distance from the other eighth years and read while scooping haphazardly at Shepard's pie.
I was mouthing words carefully, trying hard not say anything embarrassing out loud and work up the kids around me. Slytherin's weren't exactly known for their kindness. Opportunities to strike were always taken up on, even by myself who was certainly no angel. And my French had become a big, red, throbbing bullseye in my house. It was why I tried to avoid speaking too often. This of course contrarily only delayed my English development further.
As I flipped through the pages I could hear the Gryffindor's chatting loudly about the next season of Quidditch. Ron Weasley was up on the bench by his knees leaning across the table arrogantly, yelling about the unbeatable skills of the various members of the team. Harry Potter sat beside him discussing practice times and strategies, ignoring the barbaric rain of food hitting the table from Ron's waving hands. The corner of my mouth twitched upwards as I lurked on their conversation; Gryffindor's were so proud and unrealistic sometimes. So... enthusiastic.
My blonde hair kept falling forward into my vision. I had left it loose and straight that day because it was cold and rainy. I was tucking it back for what seemed like the hundredth time when I heard clambering across from me. The bench was being ripped back at an unbelievable speed, and two second year Slytherins scrambled to stand before they were tossed.
"Think you're pretty slick, don't you?" Malfoy sneered at me from his new perch across the way. He was baring his teeth and his eyebrows were furrowed in his signature, resentful expression. His robes had collected to one side of him from sitting down with a whoosh, his hood bunched up against his neck. I stared with dull eyes so as not to give him the satisfaction.
I hadn't spoken to him in over a week since I had tried to join the Slytherin try outs at the pitch. My fascination with him at the beginning of the year was starting to falter the more we actually interacted. He was explosive and difficult, and had served as a distraction more than anything. Not that he wasn't still very easy on the eyes, but he needed to calm down before I could really see the value in his personality. I hadn't factored in him being that much of a hot head.
Two more boys were on either side of me just as rapidly; Warrington and Montague, both tall and broad. Warrington had his arm wrapped around my shoulders dragging me over towards him slightly. I lifted the English translation book with one hand and smacked it into his face flatly, and he cursed, releasing his grip.
Draco continued without any concern for his peer, "You want to learn a new English word?" He nodded his head mockingly, and gestured at the book in my hands as Montague rubbed his nose, "Dead. You're going to die on that field. You'll be dead. We don't have time to train you. I'll put Crabbe in a wig and skirt before I let you play with us."
I slanted my head to the side with a wicked grin, "Don' worry, I can 'andle it. Besides, you have to allow me." I said the words slower than I wanted to but felt proud of the somewhat well structured sentence. I gathered my things in a tidy pile preparing to leave, "And ef you don't believe I am capable, allow me to show you."
"She wants to show you, Draco," Warrington's eyebrows went up and he stuck his tongue out suggestively. I grimaced in revolt.
Malfoy's fist came down on the table hard, causing students from as far as three tables away to turn around. Food migrated off of nearby plates onto the solid wood surface. The Gryffindor's fell silent and turned to watch the show, "You're going to cost us the game. Some of us need this for our future careers." His blue eyes sparkled with his typical raged emotions. He really thought he could bully his way into getting whatever he wanted.
I looked down pretending to keep reading, shrugging. I was enjoying this much, much too much, "Speak to Snape ef you are so, hmm, what you say, irate?" I met his eyes with the sweetest smile I could and rested my head in the palm of my hand without breaking contact. He looked momentarily off guard, but then his resolve reappeared.
"Very well, I will then." He smirked and shoved my book down into my food without hesitation. I carefully plucked it out, wiping off as much potato as I could from the now compromised cover.
As they walked down the aisle I heard Montague whisper loudly to Draco, "You have to admit she's pretty smashing though. Wouldn't mind snogging her at an apres game night sometime." He gestured inappropriately in the air and made uncomfortable sexual noises.
Without looking away from the direction he was walking Draco extending his arm straight into Montague's shoulder, shoving him into the parallel table.
Later that night I walked into my shared sleeping quarters with very dry eyes. I'd been studying till almost midnight at the library, hiding amongst the dark stacks of musty books. Learning to read in another language for the sole purpose of then learning a school topic was exhausting. I threw my heavy books onto my trunk and peeled off my robes. As I was taking my shoes off on the edge of the bed a piece of paper shaped like a crane floated in from god knows what direction. It landed delicately on my crossed knee while shaking its wings back under its sides.
I stared in suspicion at the animated paperwork as the girl next to me, whom I'd finally learned was named Hilda, clapped her hand over her mouth, "I know who made that!"
"Who?" I peered over at her like an owl.
"That's definitely from Draco Malfoy. He used to make them all the time and blow them at Potter during class." She replied in a high pitched tone.
"Shut up you old hags," Someone moaned from across the room, magically charming their drapes shut. Pansy, no doubt.
"Merde," I cursed. I slowly unraveled the paper bird which surprisingly didn't fight with me over its own destruction. The parchment was high quality, thick to the touch. There was a black, cursive "M" imprinted in the top right hand corner that looked like a family emblem.
Hilda leaned so far off of her bed I thought she might face plant, "Read it!" She whispered in anticipation.
I sighed and shut my eyes before turning to the spindly writing in the center. There wasn't much to read, it simply said,
You win.
Meet me at the pitch, 7am.
Tell anyone, and I'll kill you.
"Ha!" I exclaimed, then realized that I was being loud. Sssshhhh hissed the same girl angrily from across the room. I turned to Hilda with a low voice, "Seems dere will be a Slytherin girl playing Quidditch after all."
She smiled with shock in her eyes.
The crane began ripping itself to tiny shreds of illegible paper, leaving a mess on my bed covers.