A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry about the long wait…I had this chapter half-written, but then I realized that it sucked so I had to re-do it. Then I started planning out things like Quidditch, which will come into play soon, and so I had to add a bunch of characters, which took ages. As of now, the character count is sixty-nine. And look, according to the hit count, over six hundred people have clicked on the story, and over four hundred are actually reading. I have nine reviews. Seriously, people, you're better than that.

Disclaimer: Don't sue me. I've got, like, seventy-three cents.

Chapter Five

Unchained Argument

James awoke that morning excited. This was the day that Ellen Brown, the Gryffindor team captain, would announce the results of the Quidditch tryouts, which had taken place over the weekend.

"Allow me to introduce last years' team, for those of you new to the pitch," said Ellen after all the aspiring Gryffindors had gathered around. James and MJ were among them. "For those of you who don't know me, I'm Ellen Brown, Seeker and captain," Ellen continued. She had a sort of aura of power and authority about her that James sensed immediately.

Ellen Brown was kind of a big deal. She was a sixth year with short, dark hair, gray eyes, and a bit of a temper. She was small but strong, and could have been a Beater as well as a Seeker. And she had already signed on with Puddlemere United.

Ellen Brown gestured to a girl standing beside her. She couldn't have been more than a fourth year. "This is Noor Emmerson, Lead Chaser. The rest of the Chasers graduated last year. And our Beaters, Jonathan Evans and Jamie White." Ellen pointed to a tall seventh year boy and a broad-shouldered girl. "As you are all probably aware, we are in need of a Keeper." MJ smirked and James; they would both be playing for the Keeper position.

Granted, they were first years, but MJ had Weasly talent and James had Potter talent. James's sister, fifteen-year-old Lily Evelinne, had been playing for Ravenclaw since her second year as a Chaser. Second year was respectable and all, but James was going to beat her. Bad.

"We're going to split into groups," Ellen Brown announced. "Chasers, over there with White and Evans. Keepers, that way." She pointed to opposite ends of the pitch. "I'm going to give you five minutes to warm up."

MJ smirked at James and kicked off the ground. James smirked to himself and followed her ascent.

"May as well give up now," said James. "Why don't you just give me the spot? It'll be easier for both of us."

"Oh, look at you, all confident and such," said MJ, unruffled. "We'll see whose laughing."

MJ sped off for a few laps around the pitch. James went in the other direction. He had a secret weapon—Evelinne's broom. Evelinne rode a Thunderbolt, a broom she had spent all her savings on just that summer. At first, their parents were furious, but then they figured out that their daughter was in possession of one of the best brooms money could buy and then they were all for it.

James HAD to make the team. It wasn't an option any more. His grandfather, James Potter—the first James Potter—had been one of the best Chasers Hogwarts had ever seen. His father was none other than Harry Potter, youngest Seeker in a century, who was married to Ginny Weasly, another notable Chaser. Then, of course, there was Lily Evelinne, who was a damn good Chaser—albeit a Ravenclaw, the first Ravenclaw Potter in years. Neville, James's oldest brother and a seventh year, did not play Quidditch. But he was Head Boy with twelve Outstanding OWL's.

Ellen Brown blew her whistle and James touched down next to MJ, who had not noticed he was on Evelinne's broom. There were only five other potential Keepers; word had spread fast about Ellen's intensive training. Three of them were sixth or seventh years, one a third year, and the other a fifth. They were all looking at James and MJ with varying degrees of pompousness.

"We're going to do this quickly," said Ellen. "One by one you're going to get up by the goal posts and Emmerson's going to shoot five times. Whoever performs best is on the team. Decisions are final, and all complainers will be hexed." She conjured a clipboard from air, and looked it over, sizing up the contenders. "Walker, you're up."

The fifth year mounted his broom and sped off into the air. Ellen Brown blew her whistle and Noor Emmerson, Quaffle under her arms, sped at him. He panicked and fell backwards off his broom.

One of the potential Chasers screamed.

"Oh, keep your pants on," James heard Jamie White scoff at the girl. "He's only fallen eight feet."

"Out," said Ellen Brown as Walker gingerly stood up. "Infirmary, now."

"Did I make it?" he asked weakly.

"Hell no," said Ellen. She turned back to the remaining Keepers, looking harassed. "If any of you are planning on falling off your brooms or doing something equally daft, then I suggest you get lost now and stop wasting our time."

"Well, she's a bit of a bitch," MJ whispered to James.

"Weasly!" Ellen said. "Have you got something to say?"

James stepped back away from MJ, not wanting to take part in this. MJ looked right at Ellen—she was nearly her height.

"Yeah, I reckon I do," said MJ. "I was just telling Potter here that I think you're a bit of a bitch."

Ellen Brown looked at MJ with a mixture of curiosity, surprise, and was it admiration?

"Fair enough. Weasly, you're up, then."

MJ mounted her broom and shot up into the air. Ellen Brown blew her whistle and Noor Emmerson shot at MJ. Unlike Walker, MJ didn't scream or fall—she stayed stationary in front of the middle post. Emmerson shot—and scored. Ellen Brown marked a note on her clipboard.

Emmerson shot again, but this time MJ was ready. She blocked it easily with the tail of her broom, and the next with her forehead. Emmerson looked mildly surprised, and Ellen had stopped making notes. Emmerson charged at MJ from half field and shot over MJ's head at such a strange angle it seemed impossible to block, but MJ caught the Quaffle easily and tossed it back. Emmerson shot once more—but MJ missed. She shot back to the ground.

"Mary Joan, is it?" inquired Ellen Brown.

"MJ, actually," said MJ.

"Got it. You'll be a first year, then?"

"It appears so."

"Why should I put you on this team?" asked Ellen. MJ stood straight and thought for a minute.

"Because you'll lose if you don't."

"Right, then," said Ellen. "You can go back, or you can stick around and watch."

"Okay." MJ walked off the pitch, and didn't look back.

"Sorenson," Ellen Brown called. The sixth year mounted his broom. He saved all five goals, hands down. Ellen marked nothing on the clipboard.

The other two seventh years saved four and five, respectively. The third year saved two. Ellen asked all of them questions, and then it was James's turn.

"Potter," Ellen said. "Evelinne from Ravenclaw's your sister, right?"

"Right," said James.

"Thought so. I expect this to be a damn good tryout, then."

James nodded, now feeling a little nauseous. The Chasers had finished the first bit of their tryouts, which, James knew, consisted of dodging Bludgers. He could tell that Ellen wanted to leave, and he needed to let her know that he was worth it.

Noor Emmerson sped at him, and James blocked the goal. He blocked the next, and the next, and the one after that, and even the one after that. He sped back down to the ground, where Ellen was making a note on the clipboard.

"Not bad, Potter," said Ellen. She didn't look approving or disapproving or anything. She had the world's best poker face. "That's Evelinne's broom, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"She might need that back."

"I know."

"Why do you want to play?" Ellen asked him. "What good'll putting you on this team do? Are you gonna improve?"

"I…uh…" James, though he had expected a questioning after his tryout, found himself at a loss for an answer. "I, well, I just really like Quidditch. And I suppose I'll improve….yeah, and I think you should put me on the team."

Ellen just looked at him for a while, as if trying to make him as uncomfortable as possible. When James felt like he was going to explode, Ellen Brown finally took mercy and dismissed him.

Though James had saved all five goals, he was nervous. That seventh year and a sixth year saved all five as well. He checked his clock. Six a.m. Sighing, James got up and went down to the common room, careful not to wake anyone else. He may as well sit in the common room and wait for Ellen Brown to put up the results.

He was not the only one. About a third of the other hopefuls were already up and waiting. Nobody was really talking, except for a few chatty potential Chasers in the corner, each lamenting their lacking tryout and wishing for a re-do. Most of the other potential Keepers were completely ignoring James, because they didn't see him as anything of a threat. He was only a first year, after all. The whole novelty of being a Potter seemed to have worn off. Neville, James's oldest brother and a current seventh-year, had been through it, as had Evelinne, though to a lesser degree. Not that James was sorry about it—he preferred going un-noticed anyways.

The girls' staircase creaked, and everyone in the common room jumped. They turned and watched Ellen Brown, dressed in her pajamas, descend the stairs with a scroll in her hand and a slight smirk on her face.

"Bit eager now, are we?" said Ellen, amused.

"Just post it already, Brown," said a potential Chaser.

Ellen strode over to the notice board and pinned up the scroll.

Everyone flocked towards it, and shouts of joy and agony speared the air. James squeezed in through the older students.

GRYFFINDOR QUIDDITCH TEAM 2014-2015 SEASON

CAPTAIN: BROWN

LEAD CHASER: EMMERSON

SWEEP CHASER A: MASSARO

SWEEP CHASER B: GRIFFITH

BEATER A: EVANS

BEATER B: WHITE

KEEPER: WEASLY

SEEKER: BROWN

James's heart sank. It had to be a mistake—MJ had only saved three goals. He had saved five. How had she beaten him? James read the list again. Ellen Brown's handwriting was hardly readable. Maybe he had read it wrong…but it seemed impossible to get "Potter" out of "Weasly," no matter how bad the penmanship was.

James wanted to complain, but he remembered Ellen's threat at the tryouts—all complainers will be hexed.

"Weasly?" said the seventh year that had saved five. "Which one was Weasly?"

"That first year girl," said the third year.

"Didn't she only save, like, two?" the seventh year exclaimed.

"Three," said the fifth year Keeper.

"What the hell is Ellen thinking?!" exclaimed the other seventh year. "If she let in two at tryouts, then imagine what she'll do in a real game!"

"What seems to be the problem over here?" asked Ellen Brown coolly, and all the Keepers fell silent. "Anybody? Marisol, you seemed put out. Have you got an issue with the team?"

Marisol, the second seventh year, looked uncomfortable; James could tell that Ellen intimidated her. However, she spoke in an unwavering tone.

"The Weasly girl only saved three. I saved four. Him and Potter and Andrew-" Marisol pointed to the sixth year-"saved five."

"So you want to know why Weasly's on instead of you all," Ellen said. "Fine. She's the only one of you with any confidence in herself whatsoever, she's creative in her blocks, she didn't get frustrated when she missed a shot, she flies decently, she's a first year, so she'll get seven years' experience, by which time she'll be unstoppable, she's smart, she thinks like a Chaser, she doesn't need the help of a top-of-the-line broom to get herself on the team, she wants this more than all of you put together, and she had the best tryout of all of you, even though she didn't save them all."

Ellen left the common room with no other words, most likely to keep herself from being bombarded with complaints from the Chasers. Just then, MJ walked down the steps of the girls' dormitory, checked the list, smirked at James, and followed Ellen out of the common room.

"I told you it was a bad idea, didn't I?" Eporem was saying. She was out of Merope's head again—the two of them were conversing in a broom closet while the rest of the school was at breakfast, discussing the events of the night before. "I told you, but did you listen? No. You just had to get all wrapped up into this whole bloody mess…you need to listen to me, Merope! You're gonna end up—are you listening to me?"

"No," Merope said. She was sitting on an upturned bucket, her head in her hands. "Can't you shut up for a minute and help me figure this out?"

"There's nothing to figure out," Eporem snapped. "You're gonna keep your mouth shut."

"Yeah, uh, Eporem, in case you haven't noticed, Voldemort's back," Merope told her testily. "Are you actually suggesting that we forget that we know?"

"Yes."

"Uh, WHY?"

"Don't shout. Someone'll hear us," hissed Eporem. "Think it through, Merope. How reliable are our sources, huh? We don't even know who Shaela Malfoy was talking to."

"Yeah, it was her dad."

"What do you know about her dad?" Eporem demanded. "Who is he, what's his job…you don't even know his name. What if they knew you were listening? What if this is a hoax?"

"Who the hell would pretend that Voldemort was back?" asked Merope incredulously. "That's the least funny joke ever."

"Shaela Malfoy's not that bright," Eporem reasoned.

"There were others with her," Merope pressed. "Her sisters, or something."

"You don't know that," said Eporem, sounding exasperated. "What if they were pretending? One of them could have been Mallory Ray or something."

"Eporem, we've gotta do something, regardless of whether this is true or not!" Merope exclaimed. "If you're right, and Voldemort's not back, then fine. No harm, no foul. But if I'm right, and Voldemort is back…"

"What are you planning on doing, exactly? Walking up to Voldemort and hexing him? You can't even levitate a feather—how the hell do you expect to K.O. the darkest wizard in a century?"

"I'm not the only one who can do something," said Merope, annoyed with Eporem's sarcasm. "I'll tell someone, someone who can actually do something."

"Who, then?"

"I dunno…Lupin, maybe?" said Merope. "He was in league with Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape and Harry Potter. That's worth something, isn't it?"

"He won't believe you," said Eporem flatly, crossing her translucent arms.

"Can't you stop being a prick for a minute and actually help me?" Merope snapped.

"I'm just puttin this in perspective for you," Eporem said defensively. "Look, think about it. Lupin has no idea who you are. If you just go waltzing on in there ranting about Lord Voldemort and Shaela Malfoy, he's gonna send you to St. Mungo's."

"Then what do you think we should do, if you're so smart?" asked Merope, who was getting more infuriated by the second.

"Nothing," said Eporem simply. "Not until we've got more proof."

"Maybe I should ask Nella," said Merope. "She might know what to—"

"Are you insane?" exclaimed Eporem.

"Stop asking that!" Merope yelled.

"Nella won't have any idea what to do, we both know that," said Eporem. "She's a twenty-five year old dropout working at Madame Malkin's. I hardly think she'll have any idea about anything Dark."

"This is giving me a headache," said Merope. "Let's go eat, and then we'll talk about this later."

"No. We've gotta finish this."

Merope resisted the urge to explode. She took a deep breath and tried to speak in an even tone.

"I am going down to breakfast. You can stay here if you want to, but I'm going to eat like a normal person."

"Good luck with that," smirked Eporem. Merope left the closet as nondescriptly as possible and walked down the hallway, her headache increasing in intensity with every step. She tried to ignore it as she walked further from the closet, but it only got worse and worse with every step. Crediting this sudden headache to too many late nights, Merope rubbed her temples and entered the Great Hall.

It was the oddest feeling she had ever had. Thoughts didn't dart across her mind as she looked around. She had to consciously think…that was the only way she could explain it to herself. She didn't have sudden bursts of ideas or crazy thoughts. It was oddly quiet. Just her and her memories.

Merope sat down at the Slytherin table beside Olivia Malenkiv and Calvin, because she knew that Shaela Malfoy wouldn't dare confront her in front of Olivia. She tried to distract herself from her splitting headache by eating. She could hear Olivia speaking to her, but she couldn't make out the words, responding with shrugs and nods that made her head pound even more.

Her eyes were drooping, and her head was spinning. The Great Hall was flashing before her eyes in a very disorienting way.

"Fallon?" Olivia Malenkiv nudged her shoulder. "Fallon, you still with us?"

Merope tried to nod, but instead she fell face-first into her eggs and went out cold.

A/N: Yeah, this was another short one. Not my favorite chapter, but it worked okay, I guess. Tell me what you thought, or something…unfortunate…might happen to Merope…

Kidding. Except for the review part.