Chapter 2 – September II

As the first muggleborn Slytherin quidditch captain in Hogwarts history, Nessa has a lot to prove. Will she have what it takes to win the house cup? OCxJames

AN: Hello, I've finally updated! It took a long time to get my shit together, but here we are. Yay!

Slytherin team as of September 1st:

Captain, Center Chaser—Nessa Starling (7th Year)

Left Wing Chaser—Adam Verity (5th Year)

Right Wing Chaser—TK

Beater—Susan Derrick (6th Year)

Beater—Blake Zambini (6th Year)

Keeper—TK

Seeker—TK

Tigerblood – Vistas

The feeling you get when you're hypnotized and the feeling you get looking in snake eyes. Tell me what you want and then tell me how to be it.

With dawn breaking overhead, Nessa jogged through the fog-laden Hogwarts grounds. A cloudburst overnight left the long grass stuck in clumps. She swore softly at the spotting of mud on the backs of her leggings, but a yawn muffled any continued words of protest.

She trotted down through the greenhouses and looped widely around the Whomping Willow. The path was slippery, but she managed to make her way toward the lake without falling. Just as she was about the tie her hair into a loose braid, she stumbled, barely catching herself as she took in the sight of James Potter stretching along the shoreline.

Nessa's lips pulled into a tight line, her eyes lifting to the rose colored sky. After a sleepless night spent mulling over Slughorn's words, could she not be rewarded with a moment of true peace?

"Morning, Starling," James said, blinking in the early morning light.

Nessa approached with careful steps and rested her water bottle beside a boulder that keenly resembled a troll. She tried to expel any annoyance from her posture as he peeked out at her from under his ridiculously long eyelashes.

"Good morning," she finally croaked in return, her voice weary with exhaustion. "Never pegged you as an early riser."

James mused his dark hair, turning to look out at the lake. He breathed in the crisp autumn air wafting off the gentle waves. "Mum got me started on training seriously over the holiday. It's a habit now, to rise with the sun."

"You're going pro," Nessa surmised. Not surprised at the admission.

James set his jaw and pulled at his Holyhead Harpies tee, mud and sweat stained the soft fabric. Nessa tried not to stare where it clung to his broad shoulders. He was definitely built like a professional beater—that was for sure.

"Aunt Angie says scouts start attending matches after Christmas. I need to be ready for them."

Nessa nodded, confident in the fact James would be more than ready by January. Being the son of both the youngest seeker in Hogwart's history and a Holyhead alum was one thing, but even she couldn't deny his skill with a beater's bat. Not that she'd ever admit it out loud.

"Are you?" James inclined his head, watching her form closely as she leaned into a stretch.

Nessa tried to keep the greed from her eyes. She was a muggleborn and a chaser. She had as good of a chance becoming a dragon tamer. "If they'll have me," she finally choked out.

He clicked his tongue. "Where's your Slytherin ambition?"

"As you know," Nessa answered, switching legs, "chasers aren't exactly hard to come by."

"If you could pick a team," James said, "any team, who would you fly for?"

Nessa's eyes once again trailed on the words branded across his chest, but then settled on her next best answer. "Puddlemere."

His lip tugged up at the corner. "Figures," he shrugged, teasing. "You being a Wood fanatic and all."

"I'm a loyal friend of the family, that's all," Nessa puffed.

James would probably laugh if he knew Ameila's dad had been the one to buy Nessa her first broom—a Cleansweep. She kept good care of it until her fifth year, when she saved up enough money to upgrade by taking shifts as Madam Pince's assistant in the library.

Nessa brushed back a few flyaway hairs behind her ear, shifting her gaze to survey the shoreline. A layer of silver clouds hung low over the lake. "Either way, they might not get a chance to see me fly." She frowned. "If Slughorn gets his way."

"What do you mean?" James asked, leaning himself against the troll boulder, arms crossed.

"It's nothing."

"Nessa," he murmured, voice low.

She huffed and tightened the knot at the end of her braid. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned it in the first place."

James paused before he laid down his trump card. "I could always ask Al."

"He wouldn't tell you anything," she retorted, wrapping her arms close to hug herself. If he found out—when he found out, she corrected herself (Hogwarts was known for its gossip)—Albus wouldn't betray his house in that way.

"He's family." James pointed out.

Nessa deflated and rubbed at her eyes, trying to wipe away any trace of fatigue. James had a point. If she ever had to make that choice, she'd choose her siblings over Slytherin any day. Not that it would be a difficult choice. Most of her fellow snakes held a general distain for her as a muggleborn. Some prejudices, Nessa had come to learn, were hard to break. Over the summer break she often wondered which of her housemates would prefer Flint as captain—even if he had been the one to break their lead in their final match against Hufflepuff last year by cursing her broom.

The words rushed out of her. "Slughorn said that if I didn't let Flint play I'd lose my captaincy."

James looked as though she had hit him with stupefy. "Is that what he told you when you left the feast?" He said, incredulous.

She nodded, trying not to read into why he may have noted her absence from dessert the night before.

James rubbed his temples. "So, he threatened you."

"Yes," she said plainly.

"He's a professor, that's just wrong." James squeezed his water bottle so tight his knuckles went white. "You can't let Flint play, not after—"

"I know," Nessa answered, letting her steely grey eyes meet his. "I'm hoping to come to a compromise."

James barked a laugh, though its source was clearly not humorous in nature. It made Nessa uneasy. She swallowed down the lump in her throat and said, "There's always a loophole. I'm clever enough to find one. Don't you think?"

Potter's face was unreadable, but he didn't move to deny her claim.

Figuring out her next move had kept her up all night. Nessa was determined to hold her rank and to give the Cup her best go. If that meant agreeing to Slughorn's terms, she would do her best to get something good out of it.

"Well," he sniffed, moving toward the path back to school. "If you've got your cleverness, I've got my aim." He swung his arm as though he were holding a beater's bat. "If that git steps a toe out of line, he'll be in the hospital wing before you can say quidditch."

"I appreciate the chivalry," she called after his retreating form. "But I think I can handle Flint."

James had the sense to look at least a little bashful, tucking his chin before taking another step. "I know."

Nessa took off on her run, blood pumping and heart set before the Gryffindor had rounded the bend. She had a plan. Nessa was Slytherin's quidditch captain, and she had a plan.

The Great Hall was bustling with students full of back-to-school jitters by the time Nessa arrived for breakfast with clean hair and fresh robes, smelling of lavender. She pulled herself on a bench across from Ira and downed a coffee before reaching for the nearest basket of toast.

"Sleep well, Ness?" Ira asked, peering over his morning edition of The Daily Prophet.

Smearing her bread with an obscene layer of jam, she said, "I'm looking forward to my first opportunity to nap."

Ira slid over her timetable. "I'm afraid that will have to wait for tomorrow."

Nessa peered apprehensively at the parchment, a sense of dread settling in her gut. She groaned, tucking back into her breakfast. "Remind me again why I signed up for more potions after OWLs?"

"Because the ministry has high standards for their applicants," Ira said, nursing his tea. "If quidditch doesn't work out, you'll need to fall back on something."

"The question was rhetorical," Nessa snapped lightly.

Ira sniffed and folded his paper neatly into the messenger bag at his side.

"Will you at least be there?" She asked, hope in her voice.

"I've got Herbology," Ira told her. Though he didn't sound much happier than her.

Nessa let her shoulders sink. "Good luck. I bet if you move quick you can land Jones as your partner."

"And listen to him tell me how to properly shovel dirt into a pot?" He rolled his eyes. "I'm not a masochist."

"He's the best in our year," Nessa said.

"I don't need a reminder of that," he answered pointedly, not meeting her eyes.

Ah, Nessa realized. Ira was still bitter he'd lost out on Head Boy. All August he wrote her, venting his frustrations. Most of it concerned McGonagall's prejudice toward their house, but, on that point, Nessa had little to argue. Slytherin was capable of cruelty. She had felt it first hand as a muggleborn. McGonagall surely had her reasons for bias.

"Either way, try to make the best of it," Nessa encouraged despite her own despair.

He chuckled at that and flashed her a quick grin. "Same to you."

Once Ira left for class Nessa stewed over another cup of coffee before rising with the other stragglers and heading out of the hall. She took her time stepping down into the dungeons, though. At least this would be her last first day of potions. The thought seemed to give her enough cheer to make it to class and slip inside unnoticed by Slughorn setting up his supplies at the front desk.

There was an open cauldron in the back and Nessa made a path toward it. She got settled, taking out her playbook to scribble down some plays before class began, but she had to hold in a shiver when the breath of her seatmate tickled her ear.

"You don't deserve it," Mason Flint said as he lowered himself down beside her.

Nessa slammed her notebook shut.

"Riley only picked you because he assumed I'd been expelled," he continued mildly.

Nessa turned to Flint, nostrils flared. "If that's the lie that helps you sleep at night, then that's fine. But keep away from me and my team, Flint," she warned, eyes narrowing into silver daggers. "And while you're at it, find yourself another cauldron. You've already tried pulling down our team, I don't need you dragging down my grades, too."

He let out a single puff of laughter, his dark eyes dancing. Obviously, something about her defensive anger amused him. But whatever words he was about to say died on his tongue as Slughorn cleared his throat to begin the lesson.

Nessa slid down the bench a few inches, hoping the space would give her some peace of mind.

It didn't.

Still, Nessa took studious notes even as her stomach twisted into knots. They were tasked with creating a love potion—sixth year material really, but Slughorn said it would be a good way to warm up the class. Due to the tricky nature of the potion, Nessa kept a trained eye on her partner. He volunteered the fetch the ingredients and she knew that was not a good sign. Flint was one of the worst Slytherin had to offer. Him being helpful was code for him being devious. Nessa would have to be careful.

Slughorn wandered the room, checking in on students with a running commentary on the state of their brew. When he wasn't looking, Nessa was sure Flint had run into her, rose thorns outstretched, on purpose. It was a nasty shock. Blood leaked from the small pricking wounds, but she didn't rise to the bait. Nessa couldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Sorry," he shrugged, a tricky smile painting his lips. "Won't happen again."

For your sake, she thought viciously, I hope so.

The only thing keeping her remotely sane was the scent of summer bonfires and mountain air wafting from the cauldron. Where had she smelt it before?

"When are tryouts?" Flint asked, as she stirred the last ingredient into their pot.

She breathed in deeply, the contents of their potion giving off a mild dizzying effect. Butterflies fluttering in her stomach, Nessa answered, "I'll post a date and time in the common room when I have a chance to reserve the pitch."

He hummed, leaning in close to take a sniff of the pearly mixture. He shook his head. Nessa figured a sense of wooziness must have been affecting him as well. "I heard you spoke with Old Sluggy last night," Flint said.

Nessa didn't answer. She instead gathered up their ingredients and shuffled them off to the storage closet. When she returned, of course, Flint picked up where he left off.

"My father went on to play for the Tornados, you know."

"I'm aware," she said, though not patiently.

"Slughorn is too," he whispered. "He also knows that my family has connections with the ministry. And," he added, "that I'm bloody good at quidditch."

Nessa straightened, her blood boiling. You have a plan, she reminded herself, resisting the urge to stomp on his polished loafers.

"So you better not get in my way."

Her eyes nearly rolled out of her head. "Or what? You'll knock me off my broom? Again?"

"There are worse things than falling off a broom," he said, standing to his full height, "mudblood."

"Give him your arm," Susan ordered Nessa, nodding to Blake.

She groaned, but did as instructed, pulling up the sleeve of her flannel. It had been hours since Flint had stung her with the rose thorns, but instead of tending to them with some basic healing charms (Nessa had never been quite up to snuff at those despite her many quidditch injuries) she plastered Disney princess Band-Aids on the bleeding bits. It was exceptionally muggle-esque and her team all seemed tempted to laughter at the sight of her exposed forearms.

"It's nothing," she told Blake, but he didn't seem to hear her protests, taking her arm and gently turning it to examine the array of scratches. His mouth pressed into a tight line.

"An attack on our captain is an attack on all of us," Susan said, spreading out a few posters across the library floor. A light hush from Madam Pince from beyond the tall shelves made Nessa flush, but Susan waved off the old librarian and leaned close, her voice softer. "Not matter how slight."

Nessa sucked in a breath as Blake's knitting magic worked its way across her skin, closing the small lesions with ease. He gave her hand a small squeeze when it was over.

"He just wants to unsettle us." Nessa said, deciding to omit the word choice Flint used to coincide with his other threat. She brushed her fingers over where the cuts used to be. "And take the captaincy away from me."

Adam fidgeted with a pack of markers. "He'd be a wretched captain. Hasn't got a patient bone in his troll-like body."

"But he will try out like the rest of the other hopefuls," Nessa assured them. "I promised Slughorn I'd give him a fair shot."

"Was that what you two were chatting about?" Adam asked with a furrowed brow, his light features shifting to something darker. "Because that's not fair. Flint nearly killed you last term."

"It's unlike Slughorn to oversee something like that," Susan said, tucking her hands into the pockets of her Appleby Arrows sweatshirt.

"I think Flint's dad wants him to follow in his footsteps. The only way to be scouted is to play," Nessa mused. "He must've had a word with Slughorn. Convinced Slug to give his son another go."

"Ugh," Susan shivered. "It's just disgusting," she said, turning to Nessa. "Please say I can give Flint a run for it during trials? I can't wait to give him a piece of my mind."

Nessa motioned to Adam for a marker. "What we need to be focusing on are our plans for tryouts," she said, drawing on a poster sheet with confident strokes. "I would like to hear any feedback you have, but when it comes to dealing with Flint…" she raised her steely eyes to her three teammates. "Leave it to me."

On her way back from the library, a couple of recruitment posters tucked under her arm, Nessa decided on a detour to the kitchens. It was well past curfew, but she couldn't resist. Two nights in a row of no dessert was not something she could manage. Especially with all the drama of the term so far, she needed her strength. How was it possible she had only been back at Hogwarts one day?

Noting the corridors prefects were assigned to patrol, she meandered her way to the pear portrait nearest the Hufflepuff common room, dodging the usual monitored routes. Nessa had picked up on the ticking pear trick a few years back, having trailed Fred and Roxanne Weasley after lessons and overhearing their plans to provide their cousin Dom with a cake for her birthday.

The discovery was a charming one, and lucky, too. It forged her habit of bringing coffee and tea and other sweets to early morning practices, which earned the appreciation of her teammates, and eventually, their loyalty. After all, one of her mother's favorite words of wisdom pertained to winning the love of others through their stomach. Turns out, it applied exceedingly well to athletes. Susan especially had come around to her after she'd made a habit of stocking up on dark chocolate croissants for an after-match treat. Her favorite.

But tonight, Nessa merely wanted to cradle a steaming mug of hot chocolate and sip it slow. Hopefully, by the time she made it back to her dorm, her roommates would be fast asleep. Even after six years of sharing a room, none of the four girls had taken a liking to Nessa. It saddened her when she allowed herself to dwell on it, but it was something she'd come to slowly accept. Even these days, well into a time of peace among witches and wizards, there was still prejudice among houses and students alike. As a muggleborn witch place in Slytherin House, Nessa had seen more than enough cruelty for a lifetime.

"Miss Starling, oh, Miss Starling," a house-elf by the name of Pinky greeted her at the portrait door. The little thing swung her arms open wide at the sight of Nessa and rushed forward. "Welcome back! What can Pinky do for you?"

Nessa knelt to return the hug as best she could while cradling posters under her arm. "Pinky, it's so nice to see you. Just a cup of hot chocolate, please."

She nodded, her bulging blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Right away, Miss Starling. Right away."

Nessa chuckled and gave her thanks, settling herself at her usual corner by the hearth. Resting her pack beside the fireplace, she rummaged inside for a pen and some loose parchment. She began smoothing out the paper as Pinky placed her mug of steaming, whip cream topped drink on the small wooden table beside her. She dropped a plate of apple pie in front of her as well. What an angel.

"For you, Miss," Pinky said. "Pinky hopes Miss Starling had a good first day of classes."

"It was a little tough," Nessa admitted, "but seeing you again is helping immensely." Nessa graced the little house-elf with a sincere smile. "And please, I've told you before, feel free to call me Nessa. All my friends do."

Pinky blushed at the suggestion of friendship and Nessa's heart swelled. She watched as the house-elf shuffled off to tend to the many dishes left over from dinner, sending them floating above the sink with a wave of her hand, bubbles and suds washing the plates in soothing circles.

Relaxing into the warmth of the kitchens, Nessa took a small sip of her sweet drink. It was warm and rich, just as she once asked Pinky to prepare it when she was homesick, craving her father's hot cocoa recipe during fifth year.

She peered back over her parchment, searching for the right words to ease the ache of homesickness and belonging warring inside her. Often, Nessa yearned for a way to share the magic of Hogwarts with her family. Letters, it seemed, was the best way of soothing that ache, so Nessa took in a measured breath and pressed her pen to the parchment.

Dear Mum,

I miss you already and it's only been a day. Typical, I know.

Classes have begun and they're looking as though they'll be as challenging as ever. I didn't realize how much I was taking on last year when NEWT-level classes began. Hopefully, NEWT testing won't be as rigorous as the OWLs, but at least these exams won't be quizzing my knowledge of algebra. Though the assessment is an abbreviation for Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test, so take that as you will.

I'm looking forward to quidditch, as always. Please note that you and dad are invited to attend a match in the spring. I'll be sending on the dates when Miss Bell announces them. They usually fall on weekends, so that should help with work and travel. Afterwards, I can get permission from the Headmistress to take you into Hogsmeade for a butterbeer. It'll be a treat, I swear.

Nessa paused, deciding to omit any mention of her troubles with Slughorn and Flint. Her mother worried enough about her day-to-day experience at Hogwarts, so she decided to share the more cheery tidings.

Being reunited with Ira and Amelia has been a relief, and I'm looking forward to spending late nights in the library poring over books and homework with them. Hope your trip to the States goes well. I know how you feel about planes, so I'll be magicking you all the luck for low turbulence. Please send on my love to dad, Nick, and Val. And give Mocha a treat for me, she's a lovely owl and flew many miles to find you.

Love you always,

Nessa