Disclaimer: If you recognize someone, they belong to JKR. The others are creations of mine to fill the gaps. Plus, any similarities are accidental and completely unintentional.
A/N: Something More is a companion story to my "Don't Fuck It Up" series. I DO NOT recommend reading unless you've checked that series out, since a lot of these one shots are either plucked from and/or built around the stories in the series. It'll be weird out of context.
Personal A/N: You asked, I wrote. I had many people ask about how Jack felt about certain things after the "DFIU" series concluded, and since I did it with Ted, I thought why not do it with him, too. I love a good alternative point of view.
I had a few scenes requested, and I did my best to cover all the big ones that I felt relevant enough to mention. Then I added some new stuff, both about Jack as a character, his family, and with Dominique. With Ted and Victoire, I was retelling the same story through both POVs, and while in parts I obviously had to do that here too, I tried to work around it being a complete retelling of Dominique's story. I wanted this to focus more who Jack was and the events that led him to Dominique; then their inevitable relationship.
Each chapter is visiting parts of his various years at school (seventh year will obviously get broken up into multiple chapters). There won't be a lot of chapters like my usual stories, but the chapters will be much longer in this one. Feel free to let me know what you think of particular stories and bits. Always enjoy the feedback! Here's hoping you get a kick out of something more. /intentionalpun
First Year
#1: Duck
"Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether they could, they didn't stop to think if they should."
There was a knock at the door, if one could call it that. A knock usually insinuated the other person would wait to be acknowledged or invited in, but not in this case. The knock was more cursory than anything else, because a second later, the door to Jack Ians' bedroom swung open.
A fourteen year-old boy, to Jack's eleven, stood on the threshold looking in on Jack as he sat on his bed watching television. Jack had assumed he was here to say something to him, but instead they stared at each other for all of five seconds before the older boy suddenly threw a small, yellow, stuffed duck toy at Jack's head.
"Duck," he said, though it barely grazed Jack's hair.
"You missed," said Jack, picking up the duck from where it had landed on his bed and then tossing it behind him and up toward the pillow. He'd hold onto that for now.
His older brother shrugged as if it were no bother to him. For brothers, the two didn't look much alike. Jack had dark blonde hair; lighter, grey eyes; and a solid build that he'd picked up from his mother's side of the family. Jiffy—his brother's nickname—was skinny and lean, sporting much darker hair and eyes like their father. Aside from their looks, their personalities were different as well. Jiffy was the more outgoing and extroverted one, while Jack...well, he didn't go out much if he didn't have to.
Jiffy's eyes quickly went to the television before settling directly back on his younger brother. He immediately sighed. "How many times can you watch Jurassic Park?"
Jack shrugged. "Can there be too many times? It's a classic."
Jiffy walked over and immediately shut the television off, causing Jack to shoot him a rather contemptuous look. "What are you doing?"
"You're going to waste away in here," said his brother, pointing at the screen. "You know that?"
Jack shrugged again. That really didn't sound so bad.
"Maeve Donaghue told me she saw the Byrne brothers fucking with you this morning. Said they tried tossing you into a bush."
"Tried," Jack mumbled, keeping his gaze away from his brother. "The didn't succeed. Not today, at least."
The stupid Byrne brothers. They were always on his case since the day three years ago when he'd—and he still didn't know how—broke David's finger after he'd been circling it in his face in an obnoxious manner, claiming to not be touching him. All Jack had done was barely flick it away, but the surprising force of it had apparently snapped his finger in two places. People could hear the crack from across the classroom. From that day forward, David and his brother, Donald, had started calling him a freak and told the entire school he was an alien.
He didn't know if people really believed it, but it still didn't stop them from talking about him; making comments about him whenever anything unusual or strange happened. "I bet Jack Ians did it…" was a common phrase when something strange happened.
Some people, like the Byrnes, felt that tripping him when he passed or shoving him into walls in the corridors was apparently going to make him less of a freak. Others just laughed and pointed. If something strange happened, even if he'd been nowhere near it, he was always somehow responsible.
And the worst part is that they weren't entirely wrong about him making strange stuff happen. He did make loads of strange stuff happen, though he had no idea why or how. The finger thing was just one example, but he'd also once been able to make a glass from the cupboard come straight to his hand just by wishing it would. He twice woke up hovering inches over his bed, only to fall the second he realized it. He hit a tennis ball extraordinarily hard in P.E., but it hadn't been a sudden showing of athletic prowess. At the time, he'd barely even tried—he's tapped it, really—but it had gone well over the perimeter fence over a hundred yards away. It had caused the entire class to stare at him rather mystified; it had prompted his coach to tell him to seriously consider proper tennis lessons.
He hated the looks and the stares, the questions and the whispers about whether he really was an alien; he avoided everyone as much as he could, choosing instead to sit at home watching his film collection. When the characters on the screen made strange things happen, it was often considered a good thing. Spiderman didn't get nearly the same amount of shit that he did; if he did, at least he had something to show for it.
"You know the Byrnes are always messing with me," Jack said. "I don't care."
"They actually tried to get you in a bush?" Jiffy asked.
He shrugged. "I wriggled free before they could. They gave up quicker than usual. I think David had to get to football practice."
Jiffy sighed, sounding aggravated. "Jacky, you've got to stand up for yourself."
"But it's easier when you just do it for me," Jack said with a cheeky sort of grin. The Byrne brothers were eleven and twelve respectively, so Jiffy and his friends did have some clout over them. The problem was that they were as big as his fourteen-year-old brother, and cared little for rules. While Jiffy had told them to fuck off repeatedly, the Byrnes barely cared what he had to say. They would just wait until Jack was on his own to beat on him.
"They're never going to stop unless you do something," Jiffy offered, now leaning against the door frame. "You, not me. Do you really want to start the next year of school with them thinking they can—?"
"Jif! Jack!" called the voice of their mother from the lower level of the house. "Downstairs! Now!"
Jack made a face. She sounded annoyed. Jiffy noticed it too as they exchanged silent looks. Neither said a word, but apparently the lack of response only prompted their mother to yell again. "Now, is not the time for dawdling!"
"Did you do something?" Jiffy asked as Jack stood and began following him downstairs.
"Me? I've been in my room all afternoon. You're the one who probably—"
They'd reach the bottom of the stairs where they found their mother waiting for them, not looking all too pleased. She was a stout woman who usually had a very friendly and warm aura about her, though you wouldn't know it now given the very concerned look on her face at the moment. Her blondish hair—which was a very shades lighter than Jack's though that was because she dyed it—was pulled back in a bun and her eyes were fixed on both of her sons. Her hand was also on her hip. That last part meant she was annoyed.
"Jack, what's this I hear about the Byrnes giving you trouble again?"
He found his cheeks beginning to feel warmer. Did everyone know? He couldn't even remember anyone being around this morning to see it happen. Had they all been hiding in the bloody bushes?
"I heard it from Mrs. Pearl." She was now staring at Jiffy now, "I thought you went and had words with them?"
"I did," Jiffy said, "but they're muppets. They don't listen to their own parents, you think they're going to listen to me?" He made a face. "Absolute terrors."
Their mother sighed and let her light eyes settle on her youngest son. This wasn't the first time she seemed frustrated by the story of the Byrnes harassing him, but it was the first time that week…
"I really feel I should speak to their parents—"
"No!" said Jack, shaking his head immediately. "No, you can't. They'll kill me."
"You're sentencing Jack to death," Jiffy agreed. "They'll destroy him. And as I just said, they don't listen to their parents anyway. You're wasting your time."
"I cannot sit back and let this continue," she said, again looking frustrated, but also sad now. She always looked really sad when the sorts of stories of Jack being pushed around came up. It was clear that she hated it; hated how he hated it and would always hide away as a means of self preservation. But outside of him suddenly becoming a lot more confident—and strong, and willing to somehow fight back against those arseholes—nothing was changing.
"Jif," said their mother, "You're his older brother. You're supposed to—"
"I do!" he said automatically, "The only thing I haven't done is beat the shit out of them, and if you want me to try and do that—"
"John Francis," his mother snapped, her face tightening. "Is your language really necessary? Honestly, every other word out of your mouth lately..."
Jiffy sighed, clearly frustrated with this entire conversation. He'd actually seemed frustrated with most of the things their parents said lately, which their father called, "The ugly side of adolescence." Jack knew that he would now either pick a fight or walk away.
He turned to walk away, having picked the flight response this time. Jack watched him go, now bracing himself for the impending conversation he was going to have with his mother about how he was "fine" and "it didn't bother him." He could already see the concern in her eyes itching to have this out, but that was before Jiffy had stopped suddenly across the room and said, "Is that an owl?"
All three of them turned to look. Sure enough, sitting on the other side of the front window, a brown, tawny owl sat on the sill. It looked as if it was staring at them with a purpose.
"Aren't owls nocturnal?" Jiffy asked, turning around. "Why's it out in the middle of the afternoon?"
"Oh, what if it's hurt?" said their mother. She was a tender heart for any and all animal causes. She would even squash spiders that got in the house; instead choosing to catch and release them.
Jiffy had walked closer to the window, and it was then that owl reached down to pick up something that had been resting near its feet. It immediately made Jiffy sound utterly confused. "It looks like it has a letter."
"Don't be ridiculous," said their mother. "What would an owl want with a letter?"
#2: Magic Tricks
"There are four houses," a girl on the train had told Jack, before explaining all about these strangely named houses that he kept hearing over and over again. "Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. You'll be sorted into one of them."
"How?" Jack had asked.
"The Sorting Hat, of course," she said rather obviously, as if that alone answered his question.
He hadn't pushed it. He'd actually sat rather silently for the rest of the train ride while all around him, people his age and older talked of things like Puking Pastilles and Quidditch. Someone had used their wand to levitate their luggage up into the racks, and someone else asked if anyone had change for a Galleon. One boy claimed to have a ghoul in the new house his family moved into over the summer, which made Jack's jaw drop. However, it had garnered a rather bored response from everyone else. Based on their reactions, it was almost as if the boy had told everyone he'd found a toilet in his house.
Weeks earlier, someone claiming to be a wizard had come to Jack's house to explain to him and his family that Jack was an apparently a wizard as well, and by receiving that letter the owl had brought him, he'd been invited to attend a specialized magical school called Hogwarts.
He was apparently what the older wizard called a "Muggleborn" which meant he did not come from a magical family—for which there were apparently many like him. It was an entire secret society; hundreds of witches and wizards who lived and worked among them. At the age of eleven, they were to begin their core magical education, which is why Jack was only now finding out about any of this.
The wizard had gone on and on, though Jack and his parents had sat there rather dumbstruck on the sofa in their sitting room. This seemed like a joke—a strange one—that someone like one of the Byrne brothers would have put together just to humiliate him. But then, who was this man? How had he trained an owl to bring post to houses? How did he turn his father's teacup into a mouse? How did he levitate the loveseat?
"So, it's a school where he'll learn to do magic tricks?" asked his father, a lean and lanky man, with his short kept dark hair and dark eyes—the latter of which were now narrowed on this strange man sitting on their sofa in green robes. He'd spoken for the first time since the man had really started talking.
"He'll learn to do magic," the wizard said with a smile. "They're not tricks. I assure you it's all quite real."
"But that's it?" asked his mother. "Only magic? No maths. No literature? No science?"
"Instead of saying 'that's it'," said the wizard, "we like to think more along the lines of, 'that's everything.'"
Jack could tell his father wasn't keen on the cryptic responses, while his mother wasn't fond with...any of it. His family—his mother specifically—were all very invested in the Catholic Church, and the talk of magic and spells wasn't something that was bound to go over well. Jack already assumed this man who'd come to call was wasting his time the moment he'd started speaking about an entire school devoted to something he'd called the "magical arts."
After three hours of talking, the wizard had left the house that day claiming he would give them some time to process all of this new information, but would return in a few days time for their response. In the meantime, they could call a specialized telephone number—it was only five digits—and ask any questions they may have. Specialized people were standing by to assist and answer any questions they may have.
"It explains a few things," Jack had overheard his father saying to his mother later that night, as he sat at the top of the stairs purposely listening in on their conversation. "A lot of the strange things he's done."
"None of this makes sense, John," she'd replied. She sounded more unnerved than Jack had ever heard her.
"Apparently, it makes perfect sense," he'd said. "Not to us, mind you. But to that bloke in the cloak who'd come by. He seemed to have an answer for everything."
"But Jack can't possibly be…? I mean, this is madness. Isn't it?"
Jack hadn't even got his hopes up. Magic was against every fiber of what he and his parents had grown up believing in. At the same time, Jack couldn't help but feel utterly connected to so much of what that wizard bloke had spoken about. That man hadn't seemed the least bit surprised to hear that Jack had been making strange things happen for years, claiming that was the untamed magic he had inside of him manifesting and reacting. He claimed it was typical for young and untrained wizards; that this school would help him learn to control that and learn to harness it. As bizarre as it all sounded, Jack wanted to know more. He wanted to see if there was anything to it.
He'd practically fallen out of his chair two days later when his parents had told him they were willing to let him try things out. He couldn't believe they'd actually considered it, let alone decided to let him go, but they apparently had their reasons. His father had been the one to deliver this news, while his mother sat quietly beside him looking as anxious as Jack had ever seen her. Still, she didn't object. She looked sad about it, but she didn't object.
"If it's all a load of tosh, you're coming straight home," his father had said at the end. "These magic tricks had better be fantastic."
And while he had no idea what he was getting himself into, as Jack stepped off of a boat that he'd just been forced to take across a great lake in order to approach a giant castle—a castle!—he truly didn't know what to expect. If this was a joke, someone had clearly gone through quite a bit of effort to make it believable.
"You need to get into Ravenclaw," he heard someone from the group of girls walking behind him say. When he turned to look, one with really long brown hair was explaining this to a very skinny girl with shorter, darker hair.
"My dad was in Gryffindor, though," said the skinny girl. "And he was the first one in his entire family to come to school here, so it's all I know. My mum is a Muggle, so…"
"You don't want Gryffindor," said another one of the girls, this one with blondish hair. "My dad says they're all ego. You'll want to be with us in Ravenclaw."
"How do you know for sure you'll be in Ravenclaw?" asked the skinny girl.
"Everyone in my family had been in Ravenclaw," said the long-haired girl.
"Mine too," said the blonde. A fourth member of their group, this one more mousy looking and who hadn't spoken yet also added, "Mine too."
"It's why the three of us know each other," said the blonde. "Our parents were all friends and now we are. You don't want Gryffindor. Trust me on that."
Jack looked away from the group of girls, wondering now if he didn't want Gryffindor either. Apparently, this Ravenclaw house was the place to be. Did they have a choice? He still didn't understand what this hat he'd been told about did.
"What's wrong with Gryffindor?" asked another voice, and when Jack turned to look in front of him, a girl with a very pretty face, very blonde hair, and very blue eyes was staring—rather harshly—back at the group of girls behind him. She was actually craning her neck around him to see them since he was directly in her line of sight. He immediately stepped to the side.
"Nothing," said the original blonde girl, not looking as if she wanted to have this conversation.
The blue-eyed girl narrowed those very eyes. "But you just said…"
"Nic, leave it," said a boy standing beside her in a dismissive sort of way. He had darker red hair, but also had very blue eyes. They seemed to know each other well enough that he was tugging on her robe sleeve to turn back around.
"No. She just said…" said the girl, though she eventually relented to the boy who was again throwing her a look to drop it.
Why did everyone seem to know everybody? Jack wondered. Everywhere he looked, people seemed to have already made friends, or apparently grown up together because their parents were all in the same house once some time ago. Was he the only person here who didn't know anyone?
"Gryffindor's the best," the very blonde girl said quickly over her shoulder to the group of girls, as if she needed to get the last word in. "Just so you know."
There wasn't an immediate response, and Jack assumed that was that; though after a minute he did hear one of the girls behind him very quietly whisper, "See? That's Gryffindor for you. All ego."
"You think you're getting Gryffindor, then?" asked a different, taller boy who was standing not far from the very blonde girl. He was speaking to her.
"Oh, I know we'll—" she pointed between her and the boy she seemed to know, "—get in. Weasleys always end up in Gryffindor."
"Are you a Weasley?" asked the tall boy, though a few other people turned to look now as well. "Really? I think I've got about ten Ron Weasley chocolate frog cards. Do you know him?"
The boy beside the blonde girl sighed, and the girl now seemed as if she were wishing she'd never brought it up. Luckily for her, a distraction came in the form of a man with brown hair and dark blue robes who'd entered the room they were all currently filling. He walked directly over to the group of them. He had a friendly face and was smiling at everyone.
"Good evening," he said, standing directly in front. His eyes seemed to scan the crowd, and they briefly settled on the loud girl and the boy in front of Jack. The man smiled quickly in acknowledgement, and the boy gave a small wave while the girl whispered to him, "Don't forget. We have to call him professor now."
Jack frowned. People here even knew the teachers?! Did everyone know everyone? Was he really that much of an outsider?
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said the man. "I am Professor Longbottom, and I am one of the many professors you'll meet here while acquiring your magical education. Specifically, I teach Herbology."
Herbol-o-what?
"We'll be getting better acquainted soon enough, but first things first, we need to get you Sorted into your houses. Now, there are four houses—Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. While you are here at Hogwarts, your houses will be like your family…"
This house thing seemed really important. Jack was getting that message loud and clear. You would live with them, take classes with them, essentially spend all of your time with these people for the next seven years. It seemed you really wanted a good house, but what house was the best? Everyone seemed to have so many different opinions.
"Follow me, please," the man called Longbottom finally said after he'd finished giving his little speech. He'd instructed them to queue themselves up, and it seemed now they were headed into another room—a vast, huge, massive sort of room that Jack could barely take in as they were marched down a center aisle between hundreds of other, older, seated students. The ceiling was...was that a projection of the outside sky? And there were floating candles everywhere. Was this actually real? He seriously still expected someone to jump out and claim this was all an elaborate hoax.
The Longbottom man stopped them near the front of the room, where the entire school's eyes were now on them. In front of them, a large table full of adults sat—teachers, he assumed—where a very pinched looking woman in a large, purple hat sitting dead center and watching the group carefully. A stool had been summoned from somewhere, and upon it was an old, tattered looking hat that clearly had seen better days. This must have been the famous Sorting Hat everyone spoke of. While Jack hadn't known what to expect, that hadn't been it.
Longbottom had presented a scroll of some sort and was now unraveling it. He scanned it's contents quickly before calling out the name, "Avery, Reginald."
No one directly around Jack moved. It was on the other side of the crowd a taller boy with jet black hair stepped forward. He grinned a little as he sat down on the stool, which only took maybe ten seconds to suddenly shout out, "Slytherin!"
Cheers and applause rang out from the table along the right side of the room. Reginald Avery seemed quite pleased with himself, so perhaps that was what he wanted. Maybe Slytherin wasn't so bad?
Jack watched then as Ansel Baileymoore became a Ravenclaw, which he seemed thrilled with. Eldra Boone then became a Hufflepuff. Eleanor Browning, who had been the mousy, quiet girl from earlier, had been called next, and Jack saw her friends give her encouraging smiles. She stepped up to the stool and sat. For whatever reason, this time it seemed to take forever.
Everyone else had been no longer than twenty seconds, but this one was already going on a minute. Jack looked around. Was there really a process to this? He'd just assumed the hat picked people at random.
"Gryffindor!" the hat finally shouted, which caused this Eleanor girl's face to completely drop off. There were cheers from the Gryffindor table, but it was clear she didn't hear them or even care to. She looked as if she were about to cry, and her friends looked absolutely horrified. All she could seem to do was stare rather blankly at them until Longbottom gently nudged her off the stool, saying something along the lines of being excited to welcome her to his house.
Well, if Gryffindor was enough to make people cry, Jack thought, maybe he really didn't want that one.
The Sorting continued, with "Chin, Lira" going to Ravenclaw; "Collins, Ellibit" going Hufflepuff; and then two Slytherins—"Coulson, Nicholas" and "Crawley, Diana." The Sortings were flying by now. Daniels to Ravenclaw, Ellison to Hufflepuff, Giggleswick to Ravenclaw, Gilmore to Ravenclaw, Hardwicke to Slytherin.
"Ians, Jack," called Longbottom suddenly, and it took Jack a moment to realize that was his name; he'd been called. People were looking around for someone to step forward, but he was that someone.
Slowly he moved forward, swallowing hard as Longbottom grinned at him as he approached. The room seemed so much larger now. Everyone was watching him. He hated when everyone watched him because that was when he tended to make weird stuff happen.
He sat and Longbottom placed the hat on his head. Suddenly, a voice started speaking to him.
"You seem confused. Well, yes, it can be overwhelming. Especially for Muggleborns. Luckily, I make the decision for you, and what I see here is a very hard-working nature. Very dedicated. Quite loyal, as well. You're very determined when you want to achieve something. That could be a very good fit for Hufflepuff. But there's something else here...a desire to prove yourself that may be better suited for...yes, I feel that's best. You should feel quite at home in— "Gryffindor!"
Cheers from the Gryffindor table, which had thus far been severely lacking in new members—minus the Eleanor girl who still had silent tears streaming down her cheeks.
Jack was greeted cordially by several of the members of the Gryffindor table. In those few moments, he already felt more welcome than he had been back at his old school. This Gryffindor didn't seem so bad so far. Perhaps this would be a good fit after all.
"Khan, Kiera"—the chatty, long-haired girl from earlier— got her wish to go to Ravenclaw, and shortly after, "Kirke, Sarah" joined Jack at the Gryffindor table. Unlike Eleanor, she seemed quite happy with her selection and immediately smiled at him in a very, "Looks like we're in this together" sort of way. She tried to do the same to Eleanor, but she was too busy sharing devastated looks with her friend Kiera at the table next door.
Gryffindor didn't get another member joining them until T came around, when "Taggart, Flynn" was announced. Sarah's face lit up excitedly and she clapped loudly, greeting him as he took the seat directly beside her and claimed he knew they'd get the same house. They, too, seemed to know each other, which was really starting to make Jack feel rather isolated.
He continued to watch the original group dwindle down to just a handful of more kids. The skinny girl from earlier—the one who the other girls had been trying to convince to join Ravenclaw; a taller, willowy looking girl; a bigger boy with very short hair; the really blonde, loud girl; and the boy she'd been talking to.
"Wallace, Upton" became a Hufflepuff, which seemed to be leading the charge of new students with about twelve now. Jack looked around the Gryffindor table and noticed it was just the four of them. They would have to pick up all four other people to even tie Slytherin. Ravenclaw already had nine.
"Weasley, Dominique," said Longbottom, smiling directly at the blonde girl.
There was a suddenly low whisper around the room at her name. Down the length of the table, several people were signaling to another pretty, blondish girl, who was nodding and saying, "Yeah, my sister." From across from him, Flynn was asking Sarah something that ended with, "Like from the joke shop…?"
The blonde girl took to the seat rather confidently, and in a quick turnaround of maybe ten seconds, the hat was already shouting, "Gryffindor." The table erupted in cheers as it did for the others. The blonde girl hopped off the stool, looking rather pleased with herself. She'd got her wish.
She'd come to sit at the table beside Jack, and he threw her a polite smile just as he had the others. She didn't even acknowledge him, instead searching for someone down the length of the table and grinning specifically at them. Maybe the one claiming to be her sister?
"Guess we'll be roommates," Sarah said pleasantly, clearly trying to engage her, but the girl—whose name Jack had already forgotten—didn't even pay her any attention. Her gaze was already raptly back on the front of the room as, "Weasley, Louis," was now called.
"Oh, another Weasley," said Flynn rather blankly, as if that was a mild surprise. Jack didn't understand why, but he barely had time to think about it because the hat just as quickly Sorted this one into Gryffindor as well.
The blonde girl beside him started clapping loudly before swinging back around forward in her seat. She smiled at no one in particular and almost looked to be talking to herself as she said, "Obviously."
The boy came to join them and plop down behind the blonde girl, both of them smiling and seemingly relieved to have that behind them. He seemed much more cordial than his counterpart, because he immediately smiled at everyone and introduced himself as Louis.
"Nice to meet you," he said, craning his head around the blonde girl after asking Jack his name. "Seems we've got the small group this year."
"There's still two more people," Sarah offered, just as "Young, Natalie"—the skinny girl—was called to the front. For the third time in a row, Gryffindor had scored another member; it seemed that the hat was saving all of the Gyffindors for the end. Jack had almost been convinced they'd get all four, but the last and final person, "Zabini, Zahara," ended up going to Slytherin.
They all greeted Natalie as she sat and, once she'd settled, Flynn had asked Louis and the blonde girl, "You two related? You've got the same last name."
"We're brother and sister," said the girl rather shortly. She made it seem like a dumb question, but Jack had actually been wondering the same thing.
"We're twins," Louis offered.
"Oh, cool," said Flynn. "Identical?"
Alright, that actually was a dumb question, and even Jack furrowed his brow at that. He could see Sarah seated beside Flynn shaking her head; from beside Jack, the blonde girl was staring at Flynn as if he were a complete moron. Louis at least attempted to answer that question without laughing.
"Um, no," he said, smiling a little. "We're definitely not identical, seeing as I'm a boy and she's a girl..."
"Are you thick or something?" the girl asked, still staring at Flynn as if he were an idiot.
"Leave it," Louis told his sister, and he smiled back at the others. "Believe it or not, you're not the first person to ask us that."
"Right, and they were thick, too…" she said.
In 'things that he never would have ever imagined happening to him three months ago' news, Jack watched as actual, translucent ghosts began entering the Great Hall, floating above the tables and chatting and greeting students as they went. He'd been so distracted watching them that he hadn't noticed the empty table from moments ago was now completely covered with food. A massive feast had just appeared out of nowhere.
He blinked and looked around, noticing that the older students didn't seem fazed by this, but his fellow first-years seemed rather awestruck. Flynn had actually said, "Woah," and even the blonde girl from beside him was laughing a little—the first genuine laugh he'd heard out of her since she'd sat. Apparently, a giant feast appearing out of nowhere still wasn't normal enough to not trigger reactions out of these wizard kids.
Over dinner, Jack found out quickly he was the only Muggleborn among them. Flynn's parents were wizards, but his mum had died when he was seven in some sort of spell accident. Sarah's parents and siblings were all wizards and Gryffindors. Louis and Dominique—he'd finally learned her name—came from generations of wizards and Gryffindors, which apparently surprised none of the others. Jack was clearly missing something when it came to them, and was starting to think they must be from a well-known family or have famous parents.
Natalie repeated her story about her father having been in Gryffindor, though her mother was a Muggle. She'd mentioned her dad had been Muggleborn, and that she was only the second magical person born into their family. That seemed to be as close as Jack was getting to a prior non-magical connection.
Eleanor, when asked about herself, just managed to squeak something about Ravenclaw before sulkily returning to the potatoes she wasn't eating.
"You got the better house," Dominique told her, seemingly tired of her glum mood. "I don't see why you care so much? You can't change it now, so you may as well deal with it."
Eleanor had started to sniffle and wipe her eyes again, causing everyone to throw Dominique rather pointed looks. Clearly the girl was upset and needed some time to cope with being separated from her friends and the house she wanted.
"Please, as if you wouldn't be bawling your eyes out if they'd gone and stuck you in any other house," Louis said to her. "You'd be crying harder than her and probably be up there begging McGonagall to change you. You'd be petitioning Shacklebolt himself."
Dominique shrugged, though was now mumbling something subject changing about her potatoes being too lumpy to eat. She then looked around at the lot of them. "Does anyone play Quidditch?"
Everyone shook their heads. That Quidditch word kept coming up, Jack noticed. He could remember a shop on that wizarding shopping street that was dedicated to it, though he hadn't gotten a chance to really investigate it. He figured it was a sport of some kind, but given that no one sitting here other than Dominique seemed particularly interested, he wondered how popular it was.
"Does anyone follow Quidditch?" Dominique asked, looking from face to face. The girls all shook their heads, though Flynn offered a lame sounding, "A bit."
She looked annoyed to hear that, as if she was clearly stuck with a bunch of people she now found rather undesirable. It was then that she turned and looked at Jack. "What about you?"
He inhaled slowly. There was something very intimidating about her that made him think there was a right answer to this question, even if he didn't know what it was. "I don't...I don't know what that is."
Her eyes went wide. She blinked once or twice before muttering, "Alright, well you're completely useless."
"He's a Muggleborn," Louis protested. "He just got here. What do you expect?" He once again glanced around his sister to Jack, this time looking apologetic. "Don't mind her. No manners and takes Quidditch far too seriously."
"You can't take it too seriously," she said, throwing her brother a look. "And sorry, but I have no patience for people who don't even know what it is."
"Why not offer to explain it to him instead of writing him off?"
She shook her head. "It's not my job to bring Muggleborns up to speed." She threw Jack a look that he could almost have taken as apologetic for a brief second. "That's on you."
#3: Paper Towels
"Mr. Weasley. Mr. Ians. Is something funny?"
They both immediately shook their heads, though were doing their best to hide the giggles they'd been trying to suppress after Madam Hooch had introduced herself during their first flying lesson. They knew it was coming; they knew her name, but for whatever the reason, both he and Louis caught each other's eyes and seemingly found something hilarious about this introduction. Their shared smile had quickly turned into silent giggles, which had turned into Jack biting his lip to keep himself from laughing outright. He'd been turning rather red when Hooch had stopped them.
"Because if you'd rather not learn how to fly…?"
Jack quickly shook his head; he was very interested in learning how to fly. It had been something he'd been looking forward to since the moment he'd read the bulletin posted in the common room telling them that first-years would have their first flying lesson today. Louis, however, didn't seem to care one way or the other; he'd already admitted to Jack that he was rubbish on a broom. It had been surprising to hear, considering Louis seemed to be good at everything else, but he clearly had already tried—and failed—to fly before. He was only here because he had to be.
"Sorry, maam," said Jack, straightening up immediately. From beside him, Louis continued to grin once Hooch had passed. Across from them—where Hooch had lined up another row of students—Dominique was glaring at the pair of them. Unlike her brother who didn't care much for flying, Jack had discovered she took it extremely seriously. Louis had mentioned she was really good; she seemed more than keen to show off in front of everyone.
In the weeks they'd been at school, he and Louis had instantly hit it off. From the night they'd met, there had just been a very friendly sort of draw toward Louis Weasley. He was funny, he was cool, he was wicked clever, and most of all he was patient—which Jack appreciated above all rest because he had questions. So many questions.
"Wait, what's a Squib and why were those fourth-years saying Filch was one?" Jack asked as he leaned against the sink basin in the boy's loo; charming balled up paper towels to levitate over the stall that Louis was currently occupying in the hopes of hitting him. They'd learned levitation charms days earlier and they were proving to be Jack's favorite piece of new knowledge at the moment. He and Louis would frequently send objects, quills, paper towels, and snacks at each other as part of some bizarre game they'd created.
"They're like Muggleborns, but in reverse," Louis said through the closed door as one of Jack's paper towels came soaring back over toward him, missing him by a foot. "They're born into magical families, but they aren't magic."
Jack stopped levitating then, his curiosity piqued. "So, what do they do?"
There was the flush of a toilet and Louis suddenly appeared. He walked over to the sink to wash up and inspect himself in the mirror. "They mostly become Muggles."
"Then why is Filch here?"
Louis shrugged. "No idea. I sort of wonder why he'd want to be. Most of his duties could be solved with a few charms and spells, but he does them by hand." He started to dry his hands. "I don't get it, but a lot of people are ashamed to be Squibs."
"Why?"
"Well, for some families it's not a big deal because they've got ties to both world's anyway—like you do," he said as he proceeded to toss his paper towel at Jack for good measure and to continue their game. "But for some—like these old school pureblood families—they wouldn't even know what to do with a Squib. They can get treated pretty poorly."
Jack seemed to think about that. "And when you say pureblood family, you mean like your family?"
Louis laughed a little. "Not exactly. I mean, yes to the pureblood part, but there are different kinds of pureblood families."
Louis had grown up in the wizarding world and was something like a hundredth-generation wizard. He was always good to explain the distinction between people—purebloods, half bloods, Muggleborns, Squibs—and how even just a few short years ago that had mattered a lot to some people. He'd told Jack all about the huge war that had happened in this very school, where his parents had fought and had been awarded medals of distinction, and that—and this explained why everyone recognized his last name—he had some uncles and aunts that were particularly involved in the downfall of some awful sounding nutter who was trying to rule the world. His one uncle was apparently the most famous wizard alive at the moment, though he claimed you'd never know it if you met the guy.
Louis answered all of Jack's questions—from big stuff about how giants, and werewolves, and trolls, and unicorns were suddenly real; to small stuff about what wizarding sweets were worth eating and what weren't. And when he wasn't helping Jack learn about his new surroundings, he was genuinely interested in asking how things worked in the Muggle world. He was a laugh, he was a good guy, and Jack was really happy to have met him on day one.
Back on the grounds of flying lessons, Louis whispered to Jack, "This will not end well," he said as he observed his broom. "I cannot tell you how rubbish I am at this."
Jack stared down at his own broom. He'd seen all the notices for Quidditch tryouts and that the first match was coming up soon, but he still didn't have much of a clue what any of it meant. He just wanted to be able to fly. Louis had given him the impression that some people were just naturals at it, while others had to really perfect their skills.
"Now," said Madam Hooch, who was walking up and down the row of students and brooms. "On my command, you will put your hand over your broom and say the word, 'Up.' Is that understood?"
A chorus of, "Yes, Madam Hooch," echoed back at her. Jack noticed across the way that Dominique already had her hand over her broom and seemed to be waiting rather eagerly for the command.
"On the count of three. One, two, three—"
Jack glanced over at Louis, who hadn't even raised his hand up to try. When he caught his eye, he said, "I already know it's not going to do it."
Jack laughed, seeing that most people were struggling to get the broom to come up. A few were making it wiggle, and a few had made it spring right up. Dominique was already holding her broom comfortably in her hand, almost like a trophy. A few spaces down, Griffin Giggleswick was as well. They seemed to be the only two at the moment.
"Up," Louis said to his broom in a mocking sort of way. "Up. Up. Up. Up. Up, you piece of rubbish." Nothing had happened. He shrugged and looked back at Jack. "Somethings never change."
Jack grinned, putting his hand over his own broom. It was worth a shot. "Up."
The handle of the broom came screaming into his hand; thwacking loudly against his palm. He blinked, genuinely feeling startled.
"Look at you," Louis said with a laugh. "Show off."
He'd wanted to ask if that was a good thing, but Hooch was already instructing them to mount their brooms and prepared to hover several feet above the ground. Half the class was bending over to pick up their brooms while the other half was either mounting awkward or already standing there in position and waiting for instruction.
Jack did as he was told as Hooch instructed them to kick off and see if they could get the broom off the ground. Several people, including Dominique, were doing this the second Hooch had finished speaking, though Jack was entirely sure what he was supposed to do. Did he just jump up? Did he tell the broom to do something?
"Put both hands there," Louis told him, pointing to a spot on the handle after having abandoned his own broom. "Then kick up. That's what Nic always does."
He did as he was told and immediately went up into the air, as if he were lighter than a feather. He gripped the broom for dear life, but he immediately felt as if this were the absolute greatest feeling the world. He was only maybe ten feet off the ground, but it felt like miles. He smiled and looked around. Down below, Louis was throwing him a thumbs up.
"If you've managed to get up there, you may now try and carefully push your broom forward," said Hooch. "Accelerate to a level you feel comfortable."
Immediately, three or four people took off with a bang—including Dominique. She was now flying circles around everyone, while others were simply trying to figure their brooms out. Jack pointed his broom down and was surprised at how quickly it pushed forward. It was quick, but not uncomfortably so; he could handle it.
After five minutes, he felt confident he could do a few circles. After ten, he was pushing his speeds and letting the wind move through his air. This was incredible. This was the single greatest feeling he'd ever felt in his life. He felt like the king of the world, high above it, speeding happily back and forth. He wanted to do this forever. He wanted to fly.
"Pretty good for a first try," said a voice, and when he turned he saw that Dominique had pulled up near him.
Dominique didn't talk to him much. If anything, she always seemed annoyed with him since she was clearly close with her brother, but since Louis and he were now friends and hanging out. Jack got the distinct impression she felt as if he was imposing on them. Louis always shrugged it off as his sister just being the way she was and not to worry about her. Jack had tried to engage her; he wanted to make friends in this strange new world, but she was never having it. Eye rolls and snippy comments were all he ever got out of her. This comment here was the first semi-nice thing she'd ever said to him.
"This is amazing," he said, turning a bit to face her since he wasn't quite sure how to stop like she was. "This is the best feeling in the world."
"It is," she agreed, showing a rare smile. "And it gets better if you keep at it. You should consider working on it. You could be good."
And with that, she flew away. Much faster, and much more in control that Jack could even dream of trying to be at the moment.
Second Year
#4: Burn Eternally
"I can't believe you want a bloody broom for Christmas," Jiffy muttered as he adjusted the tie that was tucked underneath his jumper. "We've got about three in the cupboard right now. Help yourself."
Jack rolled his eyes. "I've told you about a hundred times they're not the same thing." He glanced over at the clock, which read ten-thirty in the evening. "And I'm actually asking for money so I can buy a broom. I don't expect any of you to know how to buy a proper one."
"'Any of you'," his brother mimicked. "Us non magic people, you mean? What's the word you use for us?"
"Muggles."
He started to laugh. "I'm starting to think someone's putting you on. You carry a stick around in your pocket. You consider a broom to be some sort of coveted object. You can't even show us a magic trick."
"They're not tricks," Jack muttered. "You sound like dad. And I don't carry my wand around at home because I'm not allowed magic outside of school until I'm of age."
"But you're allowed to fly around on a broom?"
"If I can get my hands on one, yeah," Jack said. He'd made his brother laugh just as their father came bustling into the room, also dressed up just as the boys were. He seemed to be in a hurry despite the fact that they had plenty of time. The church was only three streets over.
"Coats on, boys," said their father, still brushing his hair as he walked. "You know your mam likes to get to Mass early."
"Can't we skip midnight Mass just once," Jiffy asked, and Jack immediately knew that was a stupid question. Their mother would never, ever let that happen. His father's expression immediately said the same thing before he realized he'd forgotten his socks upstairs and disappeared to retrieve them.
"You'd think they would have reevaluated their views once they found out we had a bloody wizard in the family," Jiffy muttered as he pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and immediately began texting someone.
Jack smirked. Back at home, wizard or not, it was right back to the standard routines of going to church every Sunday and attending Mass on Christmas Eve. He'd still to this day found himself surprised that his parents had let him go to wizarding school, all things considered. As Jiffy had pointed out, it did go against so much of what they believed in.
Magic and religion weren't exactly something that went hand in hand, but he assumed it had roots in the fact that they felt he was miserable at his school and wanted to have him try something new. They'd prioritized his happiness and well-being over their core beliefs, which he was grateful for. He did feel as though he belonged at Hogwarts, as if a large piece of the puzzle had been missing from his life until he'd gotten there. Had they refused, who knew where he'd be today? A lot less happier.
It was why he never complained when they forced him back to church when he was home, despite it not being something he much wanted to do. Jiffy felt similarly about not wanting to go, though he still lived at home and thus was forced far more often than Jack was. He was much more vocal about his lack of interest in all things church lately.
"I'm only saying that I'm sixteen now, and I should get a say whether I want to spend my Christmas Eve here or listening to Father Patrick drone on with the exact same Mass he's been giving since I was five," Jiffy argued once their father returned into the room.
"He's actually been giving it longer than that," said their father with a smirk, "you can only remember that far back."
Jiffy shook his head. "Jack gets to miss an entire nine months while he's at school and I can't miss one bloody night?"
"You cannot," said their father, his smile now turning more challenging. He looked to be daring Jiffy to push this further. "Drop it, Jif." He gestured to Jack. "Your brother doesn't mind."
"Because he only had to do this a few times a year!" he argued, also gesturing to Jack before rounding back on his father. "Aren't you the least bit concerned that according to everything you believe in, your youngest son is going to burn eternally in hell for being mixed up with the devil?"
Jack made a face. He felt he did a really good job separating his magic life from his Muggle life, but when you put it like that...
"And I mean, I'm not without sin myself," Jiffy continued, his mobile buzzing again and causing him to look down at it. "Just last weekend, I was doing things I really should be waiting for marriage for according to Father Patrick, so…"
"Well then, good, Jack will have company when he's burning eternally," joked their father, having grabbed coats for the lot of them and now shoving them against their chests to take. "You know how much this means to your mother. You're going to Mass. Drop it."
Jiffy groaned, but Jack grinned. Had their mother heard any of them saying this, they'd all be getting an earful right now about how that wasn't funny and that Hell should never be joked about. But his father wasn't nearly as religious as his mother. He was, however, routine. He'd grown up in the church system and he'd keep on as long as it was the norm; as long as someone was making him do it.
"Coats on," his father said, more firmly this time as they heard their mother coming down the stairs.
Both boys did as they were told, though as they clamored to pull their coats on, Jack whispered, "Who were you doing these premarital things with last weekend, then?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," Jiffy said with a funny sort of grin as he tousled and messed up Jack's neatly brushed hair. "But you're still just a babe. Too young to be hearing the details of that sort of thing."
"No, I'm not. I'm thirteen now."
"Right," he said obviously. "You're still practically in nappies. You haven't even kissed a girl yet."
"How would you know?"
"Have you?"
He didn't say anything, which caused his brother to throw him a rather knowing look. He smacked him lightly on the cheek. "You'll get there one day, mate."
Jack wriggled away had been about to tell him where to go when his father suddenly called over, "And Jack, your magical stick thing—"
He sighed. "It's a wand."
"Yes, that. It had better be put away upstairs."
"It is," he said as he zipped up his coat, just as Jiffy added, "They're afraid it'll catch fire when you cross the threshold into the church. Send the whole of us into eternal damnation."
"Jif!" said their mother rather sternly as she emerged from upstairs in a Christmas dress she was sure to have bought just for the evening. Outside of the now cross look on her face aimed in Jiffy's direction, she really did look rather lovely.
"You look nice, Mam," Jack offered with a smile, causing Jif to look up from his mobile for a brief moment and offer a meager head nod in agreement.
"Thank you, sweetheart," she said, smiling at him before inspecting both boys. "Jack, dear, did you brush your hair? And Jif, the mobile better be switched off during Mass. It's not as if everyone you know won't be there."
"Can I sit with them?" he asked.
"No, it's Christmas Eve and that's meant for family," she said, throwing him a tired look. "You can put the phone away for a few hours."
Jack laughed. "I don't think he can."
"Don't be smart," Jiffy muttered, reaching down to put his phone into the pocket of his coat. He stopped suddenly when he realized there was something inside, and pulled out the small, stuffed, yellow duck. He held it up to Jack, who was already grinning rather happily, having hidden it there hours ago. He snatched it from his brother's hand, though immediately lobbed it straight back at Jiffy's face. It bounced off his nose and fell to the floor.
"Duck," he said.
"You're an eejit."
Jack grinned. "Happy Christmas."
#5: Left-Handed
"I'm still not so sure about this," Jack had said as Louis walked him toward the wooded area near his house. There was apparently a clearing nearby that was ideal to fly in and practice Quidditch. Louis obviously never used it, but he'd talked it up to Jack as a place he could work on his ever growing flying skills. The problem was that Dominique had claimed it as her own, and had apparently given Louis a lot of grief for daring to think he could bring his friend to her spot.
Flying had become Jack's absolute favorite thing to do. He'd spent his entire first year going to every Open Pitch opportunity at school and practicing how to turn, and speed up, and stop. He wanted to get as good as some of the older kids he saw zooming around the pitch; he wanted to do what they were doing. He wanted to learn how to play Quidditch so that he could one day join the house team.
On top of flying, he'd become rather obsessed with Quidditch too; not only at Hogwarts, but also at the professional level. He'd thrown himself wholeheartedly behind his new favorite Quidditch team, the Ballycastle Bats, which were the closest to a hometown team that he was getting; he had hopes of seeing them in person one day hopefully soon. He wanted to learn everything about it; he wanted to learn how to play a position properly now that he had a broom that could actually allow him to stand a chance.
Because as of two days ago, that's what he now had. His very own broom. He'd taken the small amount of savings he'd put away, then done some extra chores around the house once he'd come home for the summer, and he had managed after a few weeks to pull together just enough money to get him a second-hand broom—an older Firebolt 350. It wasn't anything near the top of the line, but it was better than the beat up, old school brooms that had some serious wear and tear. He was thrilled with his new purchase...he just hadn't had a chance to use it yet.
"Do you want to fly or don't you?" Louis asked as they stepped into the woods. Jack noticed a well worn path in the ground below, presumably leading somewhere.
"I do," he muttered. "I just…" He lowered his voice, "...don't want to deal with…"
"She'll get over it," Louis said, referring to Dominique. "She has to, my parents said so. I have a right to use that clearing as much as she does, and you need a space to fly. I've talked to her about it. She'll be cool."
Being cool was not something Jack thought Dominique Weasley was capable of being. Being annoyed. Being dismissive. Being judgy...those were all things he could see her being. But not cool. She'd never shown signs of being cool with anything that didn't go exactly her way.
He wasn't necessarily looking to be friends with Dominique—she certainly showed no interest in being friends with him—but he had assumed that when he'd started showing more of an interest in flying and Quidditch, she would have warmed up to him a bit and, maybe, been a bit nicer. No one else in Gryffindor in their year cared much; she barely talked to anyone in the other houses and years, choosing instead to usually be off on her own when she wasn't talking to Louis. Jack had hoped she could help him with some tips and questions he had, but she apparently saw his lack of experience and inquisitive nature annoying. She claimed not to have the time to teach him; as far as Jack could tell, she had loads of time.
He would have never dreamed of asking to use her flying spot to work on his skills, but Louis had it in his head that she would come around if forced to deal with it head on. "She can't ignore helping you if you're right there," he'd told Jack after suggesting it, and "She knows everything there is to know about Quidditch. She'll be able to help you."
Jack had learned over the last few months that Louis was a problem solver. If there were answers to be found—which for him were usually in books—he would simply go and find them there. In this case, the answers were apparently inside of his sister's head. He was going to get them out of her in order to help him, Jack, if it killed him. It didn't seem to bother him that Jack was the one feeling extremely awkward in this situation.
They'd reached the clearing then, which was larger than Jack had expected it to be—about the third the size of the Quidditch arena. Someone had evidently come in and chopped some trees down and helped expand it in size, though all Jack could now focus on was the sight of a small girl with her blonde hair piled messily on top of her head suddenly landing about thirty yards away. He could already tell her expression was annoyed.
"What position do you even want to play?" she asked, having started marching toward the pair of them, though her eyes were on him.
"Not Seeker," Louis said quickly. "I've already told him he cannot be a Seeker or you'll murder him. Doesn't want to be a Seeker."
Jack immediately nodded. Louis had told him, at length, that if he even dreamed of being a Seeker—even looked slightly interested in being a Seeker—then there was nothing he could do to help him. Dominique had wanted to be the Seeker for Gryffindor for as long as he could remember. She'd always wanted to be a Seeker, and it was apparently some sort of family tradition since her uncles had been Seekers for Gryffindor. If she thought Jack was some sort of competition, he could kiss using the clearing, and any sort of help or guidance, goodbye.
Jack had agreed, mostly because he didn't know what he wanted to be, so ruling out Seeker from the start seemed easy enough. Even if he didn't want to use their flying space, he wasn't sure he'd feel comfortable coming up against Dominique when she wanted something. She was kind of scary.
"So, what position?" she asked impatiently, now staring at him.
"I…" He shrugged. "I'm not really sure. I know them all, but I don't really fancy one more than the others." He paused before adding. "Not Seeker, though."
"Not Seeker." Louis smirked.
She was staring at him now rather intently, as if examining him. He threw Louis a sideways glance, though Louis did nothing more shrug. He was starting to feel weird with all the silent staring.
"If I were you," she said. "I'd keep toward Keeper or Beater. You look like you'd fit those. Especially if you get some height on you one day. Are your parents tall? How tall is your father?"
What...? What did that have to do with anything?
"She takes this all very seriously," Louis said. "But she knows her stuff." He looked back at Dominique. "They're average, I'd say. His dad's not tall, but he's not short either."
She was nodding then, and Jack still didn't understand what the hell his father's height had to do with what Quidditch position he should be playing. She, however, seemed to have a plan now cooked up.
"Definitely one of those two, then. But the problem with being a Keeper is that Gryffindor picked up a Keeper this year. That Adams bloke. And he's only just going into his fourth-year, so that means you've got a few years before that spot's open. You could challenge him for the spot, but that's not particularly cool. That means you wouldn't be able to try out until…" She stopped to think.
"Sixth-year," Louis offered.
Jack shook his head. He wanted to try out sooner than that. "No, that's too long. What spots are opening up soon?"
"Nothing this year," she said. "No one's graduated and they probably won't even hold tryouts. I don't even think they need alternates. But the year after—our third year—they're going to need a Seeker, a Beater, and a Chaser. Almost half the team will be gone."
"And you think I should try to be a Beater over a Chaser?"
"Can you swing a bat while flying?"
He shrugged. "I've never tried."
Her face turned very obvious. "Then we need to answer that question first."
It turned out that Dominique was a bit of a hoarder when it came to Quidditch junk. He specifically avoided the world 'supplies' since a lot of the stuff that she had inside of this old wooden chest was rubbish. Broken bits and bobs, deflated Quaffles, rusted bristle scissors. It was by no means state of the art equipment, but she had managed to pull out a set of old Beater bats that apparently had belonged to some of her uncles who had been Beaters. Apparently, unlike the uncles who had been Seekers, she didn't want to chase their old position. That was one that was fully up for grabs.
She handed him the bat and he took it, swinging it around a little because he wasn't sure what else to do with it. He'd watched Beaters during the school matches, and they flew one-handed. He'd have to figure out how to swing and fly at the same time if he was going to try and be a—
"Are you left-handed?" she asked
He was...was that a bad thing? He looked down at his left hand as it gripped the bat, now feeling self-conscious. Maybe you had to be right-handed to be a proper be a Beater? Though, if you did, that wasn't a deal breaker. He'd spent his entire life having to learn to use his right-hand because he could rarely find left-handed equipment. Outside of writing and eating, he could teach himself to do anything with his right hand.
He started to nod. "But if it matters, I can still use my right hand well enough. I use both for almost everything else." He switched hands and suddenly started swinging it around with his right hand. It felt comfortable enough. "Which one is better?"
She grinned at him before looking over at Louis. He was grinning back at her, though Jack didn't have the slightest idea why they were both so smiley. Was this a good thing?
"Both is better," she said finally, looking rather excited.
"It really is," Louis said. "Even I know that."
"Some of the best Beaters to ever play the game could use both hands," Dominique said as she approached him now. He'd never seen her so...engaged. She was now running through the names of Beaters who she knew—off the top of her head—were ambidextrous and how well they'd done for their teams. She was a walking stat book for Quidditch, and she was immediately now attempting to show him how he should properly grip the bat.
"Beating is probably my weakest area," she said, causing Jack to blink seeing as she sounded pretty bloody knowledgeable in the last five minutes she'd been talking. "But I can help you work out the basics. If you get any good, you'll need a better bat."
He looked down at the older bat in his hand. He'd just spent all of his money on his new broom. He couldn't afford something else right now.
"But that one's fine for now," she added, seemingly reading his mind. "Keep it. I have no use for it."
"Really?" he asked. Minutes ago she barely spoke to him and now she was giving him a bat to keep.
She nodded at him as if it were no big deal. "Now, get on your broom and let's see what you can do."
As it turned out, Beating came rather naturally to him. He wasn't so used to flying that he could switch his habits up to learn how to do it one-handed, and he apparently could hit the tennis balls they threw at him much harder than Dominique thought he would. He needed to work on his aim, but everything else seemed to fall mostly into place.
He apparently had a year to get everything in place now that the next trials wouldn't be until the start of their third-year, which meant he had time if he dedicated his free time to trying to hit moving targets while flying on a broom himself. That was pretty much exactly what he did all that summer—come to the Weasleys, visit the clearing, fly around for a few hours with Dominique correcting his form and attempting to trip him up, and working tirelessly to become good enough to make the team as soon as he could.
By the end of that summer, Jack had not only gotten better in all ways Quidditch and flying, but he'd also at least risen a few rungs on Dominique's ladder of annoyance. If everyone other than Louis was at the bottom, Jack felt he'd at least climbed a rung or two upwards. They weren't friends—they still rarely spoke outside of that clearing or about anything that wasn't Quidditch related—but she definitely didn't completely dismiss him like she once did.
As he overheard her telling Louis after a week of their flying, "He's alright. At least you've brought around one with some use."
#6: Non-Favorite
Jack flipped over onto his stomach inside of the sleeping bad he was currently tucked into. In the bed beside him, Louis, was snoring rhythmically as the early August morning sunlight started creeping across the room through the window. Louis would probably be out for at least another couple of hours—he always slept in, which he claimed had to do with some potion he took before bed to prevent nightmares. He apparently had really bad ones.
The problem was, Jack never slept late. He was usually up around six of seven—maybe eight if he was having a lie in. His entire family had always been earlier risers, and seeing as the house was never quiet enough to sleep through the noise, he'd just gotten used to it over time. But Louis did not rise early, which often made the mornings after Jack would sleepover feel rather endless.
He'd already read through two Quidditch magazines he had the good sense to ask Dominique to borrow the night before, knowing he'd be in this predicament. He'd even brought Quidditch Through the Ages over in order to continue to immerse himself in the sport he was quickly growing more and more obsessed with by the day. He'd already read it cover to cover over the course of his first and second year at Hogwarts, but it was summer now and he'd felt it was probably worth a third reread since he was now heavily invested in getting good enough to tryout for the Gryffindor house team in the fall.
He let his head rest face down on the pillow for a moment, wondering when the rest of the house would get up. Or perhaps not the rest of the house, but from one particular person. He picked up his head and looked over at Louis' partially opened bedroom door, which was just within arm's reach of him. He always set up his sleeping bag here—just far enough away from the door to avoid getting hit in the event someone swung it open, but also close enough that he could…
He pulled himself up onto his elbows and reached out to the door, pulling it open more to make the small crack become more of a large gap. It was here he had a perfect view of the hallway, where the bathroom resided to the left of Louis' room, Dominique's room stood just beyond on the right, and their older sister, Victoire's, room was on the opposite end of the hallway.
He sighed and wrapped his arms around his pillow; resting his chin then on top of it. Now he played the waiting game.
Every creak of the house, every noise downstairs of Louis' parents clearly starting their day, everything that wasn't Louis snoring made him take notice. Ten minutes ticked by. Fifteen. Twenty. It was a quarter after nine now and he'd rolled onto his back, about to reread the same Quidditch magazine again when the sound he'd been actually waiting for finally occurred. He immediately looked backwards, his head upside down on his pillow, into the hallways and saw Dominique had emerged from her room looking sleepy and walking with a purpose toward the bathroom.
She spotted him at once and stopped to stare at him.
"Morning," he said with an awkward, upside down smile.
She laughed a little to herself. "How long have you been waiting this time?"
"Couple of hours. Finished both of those magazines you let me borrow." He flipped back around on his stomach to look at her properly. "So...?"
She was shaking her head in a half amused sort of way. She already knew what was coming. They'd had this exchange almost every time he slept over.
"...you want to go and fly?"
She pointed to the bathroom. "Can I have a wee first?"
He shrugged and nodded. That seemed only fair. She'd gone into the bathroom and he pulled himself out of the sleeping bag to go about changing into actual clothes. He'd just managed to pull his trainers on when she emerged to find him standing there ready to go.
"You're eager."
"I'm just really keen to get on my broom. It's been a few days."
"You know you don't have to wait for me to go out to the clearing," she said as she walked back to her room. "You can just go."
He shrugged as she disappeared into her room. He actually didn't know that. It felt rather weird to be out there without her or Louis there. When she emerged dressed and ready a few minutes later, she gestured toward the stairs and he proceeded to follow her down. Her mother was in the kitchen reading the newspaper, and glanced up at the two of them standing in the foyer. Dominique was already half obscured in a nearby closet, pulling Jack's broom out for him. He'd started leaving it here during the summer since it really had no place back at home.
"Morning," said her mother, Fleur. "Up early to fly?"
Jack smiled and nodded at her, though Dominique mumbled something along the lines of, "Obviously, Mum. What else would we be doing with brooms in our hands?"
Jack inhaled a little slowly as her mother's eyes had narrowed on her. "I'm not a fan of your attitude lately, Dominique. I suggest you fix it before your flying time becomes increasingly limited." She smiled at Jack. "You should probably eat something before you—"
"We'll eat when we get back," Dominique protested, despite the fact that Jack actually would have been happy to have gotten something in his stomach. He smiled a little apologetically at Fleur as Dominique suddenly turned and opened the front door, taking off out the front.
Jack wasn't entirely sure what to do, since he felt rude just following after her—especially given the exhausted look on her mother's face—but standing here exchanging looks with Dominique's mother also didn't seem normal. He finally offered a polite sounding, "See you," to her before trekking off after Dominique.
Once he'd caught up to her—she hadn't waited for him—she was already launching into a bit of a tirade. "She's been so annoying lately. Harping on my," she made her voice sound snarky, "'attitude' and asking so many bloody questions."
Jack didn't say anything. He hadn't thought any of the questions Fleur had asked were that bad. In fact, he thought Dominique was overreacting, but he wasn't about to tell her that. It would be a very long hour of flying around if he told her that.
"I wish she'd leave me alone," Dominique muttered as they walked toward the woods. "Are your parents annoying, too?"
This very well may have been the very first non-Quidditch, Louis, or schoolwork question she'd ever asked him. He simply shrugged. "Um, they can be, but I get on really well with my folks. My brother has more issues with them than I do, but he's a bit of a rebel. Cuts school, stays out too late, gets into a bit of trouble. I...don't do any of that."
"Yeah, you're clearly the good one," Dominique muttered. "Just like Louis and Vic. Polite, nice, does everything you're supposed to. You're probably the favorite."
"I wouldn't say that," he said, having never really thought about that before. His parents had always treated him and Jiffy the same growing up, but things had changed slightly. He did get a lot of attention when he was home now, but he'd assumed that was because he spent most of the year away and so his parents were making up for lost time. They'd never had favorites between the two of them, though given the way Jif was acting out lately, maybe that had shifted.
"I bet your brother would," Dominique said. "Take it from one non-favorite to another."
He was shaking his head, not at all sure where any of this was coming from, especially considering the source. "My parents don't have favorites. They treat me and Jiffy the same."
Dominique threw him a look. "Wait, what do you call your brother?"
"Jiffy...Jif," he said, immediately realizing how strange it sounded to people who didn't know him. Then again, the Wizarding World had its fair share of awkward names, so he wasn't entirely sure why that one had caught her attention.
She suddenly laughed as if that was very funny for some reason. "Is that his actual name?"
"Not his real one, no," Jack said. "His actual name is John—John Francis—like my dad. They have the same name. When he was little, everyone started calling him J.F. His initials. When you say J.F. fast it sounds like Jif. That's what stuck and that's what he goes by, though I always called him Jiffy. No one else does."
She was still smirking at him as if that was all very humorous. "Do you have some strange nickname that Muggles call you that we don't know about?"
He shook his head. "I've always just been Jack."
She laughed as she breezed past him now, apparently ready to commence with the flying and leave her annoyance with her mother behind. "Shame. That would have made you more interesting."