Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, settings, concepts, etc. in this fic. JK Rowling owns everything.
Author's Note: This is the story of an unsung Hogwarts student. Her name is Amelaie Greengrass, and though she doesn't appear in the books at any time (to my knowledge) she is a real, JK made Character (for more info on that check out ). She's a muggle born, Slytherin, the same age as Harry, and her story starts in the second year. Muggle born Slytherin. Let me just let that sink in. And as we all know, year two is Chamber time. Story Possibilities? I think so. (It should be interesting to speculate on a character that might pop up in book six or seven)
So, without further ado:
- A -M U D B L O O D - A M O N G - T H E M -
CHAPTER ONE : ROUND ONE
The brisk night air whipped across Amelaie Greengrass's pallid, freckled face. She shivered.
"Cold?"
Amelaie looked up from the wet grass. Draco Malfoy was staring at her with what she imagined was the most sincere concern he'd ever feigned in his life.
"I'm fine," she said quickly, looking down and trying to keep her voice as polite as possible.
"Want my scarf?"
"No," she insisted, "I'm fine."
She was beautiful in that moment. She was always beautiful, but just in that instant, as her graying black hair whipped about her face and her porcelain cheeks flushed from the cold, she ceased to be a mortal woman and turned divine, marmoreal. Beside her luminous face, the moon paled.
Draco stared.
He'd known Amelaie for a year already, but she'd never seemed so feminine before. Maybe it was because she'd worn a boy's uniform through their whole first year simply because Madam Malkin's had switched her purchase with that of Neville Longbottom. Maybe it was because she didn't seem to know what the words "make-up" and "bra" meant. Maybe it was the fact that her parents were Muggles, and she had been insufferably ignorant about everything as a first year.
But now, she was a woman. Her long, white legs were exposed below the high hem of her skirt. He'd never seen her in a skirt before. Her robes were askew, and falling off her shoulder, and her blouse wasn't quite buttoned high enough to meet the school dress code. She still didn't seem to understand the purpose of make-up, or bras, but at the moment that wasn't posing any kind of a problem.
"D-do you think they'll be here soon?" Draco asked looking away, and rubbing the prickly hairs at the nape of his neck.
Amelaie stood silent for a moment, pondering on the question, and finally, decidedly said, "No."
"Why not?"
"Well," she said, choosing her words wisely, "I reckon they mean for us to suffer a great deal more than this before they start anything."
"Why's that?"
"Well. We're Second years... and we're trying for the Quidditch team. The answer's really in the question."
Draco didn't mention that she had less a chance than he at getting in. It didn't seem the proper way to begin a courtship.
Wait!
Courtship? No. Draco had no intention of courting this girl. What was he thinking?
"All right, all right! You've waited long enough," Marcus Flint was walking down the steps toward the hopefuls, followed by the rest of the Slytherin team. They looked rather impressive, broomsticks in hand, Green figures against the black sky. "Follow me," Flint led the group toward the pitch.
"Okay. You're both here tonight to try for the position of Seeker, and, like everyone else opting for the spot, you are undoubtedly wondering why you're being brought out for auditions in groups of two. Well, you are about to find out, but before I can tell you must take an oath of secrecy. The oath you are about to take is magically binding. You will never tell a soul of the secrets you will learn during your time with the Slytherin Quidditch team, short as it may be. Not even Veritaserum can break this oath.
"Now, you will each sign your names," Flint produced a blank sheaf of parchment and an acid red quill from inside his robes. He enchanted the page to stand in mid air. It fluttered gently in the wind as Draco and Amelaie signed. "Excellent. Warrington, the box."
Warrington handed Flint a large silver snuffbox on which was engraved the Slytherin crest.
"This," Flint said with a sadistic smile, "is the secret box. It belonged to Salazar Slytherin. When he left Hogwarts, he left this behind with his most trusted student, and it has been handed down from prefect to prefect for a thousand years. In it are all of Slytherin's secrets, great and small. Don't get excited, you're only second years, and are not about to be admitted into full knowledge of the secret box. Once we put your signatures into the box Lord Slytherin will bind you. Perhaps someday you will be admitted into the higher order of the Slytherin house...." his eyes rested on Amelaie's muggle face for just an instant, "Or perhaps not."
Flint gingerly snapped the parchment out of the air, and slid it into the box, careful not to open the lid to wide.
"You have been brought out in pairs of twos to honor a hundreds year old tradition among Slytherins, namely: survival of the fittest," The Sadistic smile returned to Flint's face, "How badly do you want to be the next Slytherin Seeker? A little? A lot? What would you do to be a member of this team?"
Amelaie didn't answer, neither did Draco.
"Well," Flint spoke after a moment, "I suppose we'll find out. We have taken great care to match your skills unevenly, as tradition demands, and now we shall see if we chose wisely in our matching of partners.
"All right. Hopefuls, mount your brooms."
They did so.
"The game is takedown. The object is to knock your opponent off their broom. Go."
Without another word Amelaie took to the sky, closely followed by Draco. He tailed her for sometime before his superior broom matched up with her. He didn't look particularly happy about having to fight with a girl, but rammed his shoulder against hers just the same. She hit back, then swerved away from him, around the goal posts. He followed, coming up behind her and grabbing onto the tail of her broom with both hands. She went into a barrel roll, nearly causing Draco to fall, but he let go at the last second, and managed to keep hold of his broom. He came up beside her, but this time she was ready for him. She flipped her leg over the handle of her broom so that she was sitting sidesaddle, facing Draco, and kicked him hard in the shoulder with both feet. He swung off his broom, barely holding on with one hand to the handle, dangling in the air. Without a moment's hesitation she started beating on his hand with her open fist. He was surprisingly resilient, holding on despite her blows. She stopped hitting for just a moment, shocked that Draco hadn't already hit the ground, and in that split second he swung himself back onto his broom, and knocked Amelaie clean off hers.
She hit the ground hard, and lay on her stomach, unmoving, her face smashed down into the wet grass.
The team howled with laughter.
Draco went into a dive, and was instantly standing beside Amelaie's unconscious body. He knelt beside her, and rolled her onto her back.
"Are you all right?!" he asked, gathering her up into his arms off the grass. She was so still she might have been dead. Draco put two fingers to Amelaie's jugular, checking for a pulse.
Suddenly, her eyes sprang open, and she punched him in the nose. He howled in pain, dropping her to the ground, and clutching his face. She sat up, cracked her neck, and proceeded to tuck her flyaway hair into a ponytail holder.
The team descended on them like vultures.
"Well done Malfoy," Flint said, patting him on the back, "Greengrass, you receive a penalty for attacking your fellow after the game had finished."
"My apologies, Captain," Amelaie said with a mild sneer.
"That won't be necessary. We'll now start the second round of the night."
At Flint's instructions Amelaie and Draco toed the centerline of the field, shoulder to shoulder, brooms in hand.
"Somewhere," Flint began, "in this arena I've hidden a single bronze knut. Find it."
In an instant Amelaie and Draco were in the air. Draco soared to the stands, while Amelaie flew across the field, a foot from the ground, bent flat on her broom, running her fingers through the grass.
This will take forever, Amelaie thought hopelessly.
She sat up, and pulled her broom up, leaping ten feet in the air, and flattening out. She circled the field, and pulled out her wand.
"Accio Knut!" Amelaie called. She looked about, unable to see it in the dark, feeling assured it was heading in her direction. "Lumos," she cried, and flooded the field with light. There it was! A glint of bronze, flying directly at her head. She put up her hand just in time, and caught the knut.
Very pleased with herself she zoomed to the ground, and landed beside Flint, handing him the knut. In a split second Draco was right beside her shouting, "it's not fair! If I had known we could use magic I would've done the same thing."
"The rounds over," Flint said, shaking his head slightly, "Amelaie wins.
"Well, since you all like using magic so much, we're going to up round three a bit. Instead of your scheduled mud wrestling, you'll be dueling. No seconds. You fight until one of you is unconscious. No killing. One of you dies; Snape'll be on my back like Filch on Peeves. Got it?"
The two hopefuls nodded.
"Wands out then," Flint then turned and moved several feet away from the two second years giving them room to duel, "shake hands."
They shook hands, and then drew wands.
Amelaie blinked. The world was a blur.
Where am I? She wondered.
"Amelaie?"
It was Draco's voice.
"Amelaie," he was saying, "are you all right?"
It was warm. Strange, she thought, last I remember I was.... in the cold and...
"Amelaie."
His face was slowly swimming into focus above her.
"Yes, Draco," she said in the most irritated voice she could muster, "I'm fine."
She tried to sit up, and found she didn't have the power.
"I put a stunning spell on you. It'll be a minute before you can move much. You've been unconscious for an half hour."
"Why thank you for the update."
"I only did what you would have done had you been fast enough."
"Thanks for that too."
"Drink this, it should help."
Draco opened Amelaie's mouth, and poured a warm bubbly liquid down her throat.
"Snape gave it to me."
Amelaie felt the blood rush back to her fingers and toes. Slowly, cautiously she sat up. She and Draco were in the Slytherin common room, alone.
"So?"
"So what?" Draco asked, with a repulsively false look of concern.
"So, you won didn't you?"
"Oh, actually they didn't decide anything."
"Sounds like Flint. He likes drawing it out."
"Yeh..."
"So, when will we know?"
"Actually there's another round to go."
"Did they postpone it because I was unconscious?"
"No. The next round is different. They wouldn't tell me much, and even if they had I couldn't tell you because of the secret box."
Amelaie nodded.
"Amelaie, do you—" Draco started.
"—I'm tired. I think I'll go to bed."
She stood and left him.
Stay tuned! More Amelaie based madness next week! R&R (Even if you've nothing to say)