Chapter Eight : House Gatherings
Slytherin. March 3, 2000
"Quidditch?" Adrian snorts as he watches Marcus post a try-out notice to the castle's stone wall. He stares at it for several seconds, noticing that the sheet called for only two Chasers. "I hope you know that I expect to be a Chaser, so you'll only need one more. And, someone close to you is going to expect to be a Beater."
Marcus shrugs, not caring that Adrian was one of the best during their Hogwarts days. There are thousands of other potential Chasers out there; there must be someone better than Adrian, if that is possible; Adrian's talents match Marcus's. "You can try out like the rest of them. Doesn't mean you'll be on the team; I'm looking for the best of the best. Must show Wood that Slytherin has always had the brawn, brains, skill, and brooms to kick their fucking pansy-asses. Either that, or I'll be shoving my broomstick so far up his arse so that Weasley won't be fucking him for months."
"That's an . . . image. A really fucking. scary. image." Adrian shakes his head, turning only to see that a line-up of old, young, and women has already formed behind them, filling the castle corridor with nearly thirty Slytherins. Pulling on the sleeve of Marcus' black robes, he cocks his head towards the many Death Eaters.
Marcus's lip curls as he bellows, "No one over forty; no one under eighteen; and," he scans the crowd, his eyes falling to the young lady he's close to, "no fucking women!" He leaves Adrian without a word of goodbye, hastily parting through the crowd towards the female. Rae jumps slightly as Marcus's hand grips her shoulder tightly, shaking her with furiousness. "What do you think you're doing here?"
"I thought I'd try out for the team," Rae states calmly, staring Marcus in the eyes.
"You thought? I don't recall giving you permission to think!" Marcus pulls her aside, away from all prying eyes. "I don't even remember telling you that you could stray from your chambers!" He speaks in a hushed tone, and from afar, Adrian watches with solemn eyes.
"So, besides being your property, I have to listen to what you say as well?"
"Yes!" Marcus replies, wondering how this could be so confusing to her.
"Like that'll ever happen," Rae mumbles beneath her breath.
* * *
Gryffindor. March 18, 2000
"And you're saying that Percy arranged all this?" Fred sits cross-legged on the dark scarlet rug of Building Theta, his head angled awkwardly towards Oliver Wood, who stands among the five sitting Weasleys.
"This is just a new way for them to kill us! How could you have agreed to this? What were you thinking!? Bloody hell, we'll be lucky if we can walk off of the bloody Pitch!" George glances at his other half, of who has fixed his gaze to the ground again. It seems to serve as a better entertainment source than the possibility of flying.
"It'll be safer than staying here. Even if it is for only a day," Oliver counters, knowing that they are less likely to be killed while flying than by a couple of Death Eaters who were serving their own amusement.
Fred snorts in agreement, pulling his cloak tighter.
"Listen, we'll get clobbered without my two best Beaters, and I'm looking for a great Seeker. Do you, ah, know one?" Oliver exhales sharply, glancing over in Charlie's general direction. The Weasleys never caught the sarcasm laced in his voice.
"Charlie used to be Seeker in his day," Ron suggests helpfully, flashing the broad Weasley trademark grin at his usefulness. "A damn good one, too!"
Oliver shakes his head, laughing. "That's what I was getting at!"
Charlie automatically glances up at the sound of his name. "What can I do for you, Oliver?" He stands, brushing the dust and crinkles from his robes that settled as he sat on the crude black sofa, the only piece of furniture decorating the scarce living room.
"Playing as Seeker in the game is what you can do for me, Charlie."
"What game?"
"Quidditch. Must have the best. Especially if we intend to win."
"Count me in. Who else do you have?"
"Katie Bell as one of the Chasers. I may have another Chaser lined up, Natalie McDonald, but she needs to get back to me." Oliver studies his paper. He has six weeks to find two other Chasers and get his team ready for the day.
* * *
Ravenclaw. April 6, 2000
"You can't be serious!"
"Why does everyone I come to ask me that?"
"Because you can't be serious, Penelope."
"I am, Cho. The game is in four weeks, and we desperately need a Seeker who can rival the skills of Charlie Weasley, Michael Corner, and Malfoy," Penelope spits the last name with a venomous distaste, crossing her arms over her chest briskly.
Cho stalls, biting her lower lip as her deep brown eyes dart around her small chambers. They fall upon artwork of Chinese exorcism masks, and she speaks without taking her eyes from the family heirloom. "I don't know . . . Draco's a Seeker. He may not be happy that I would be flying against him."
"Fuck Malfoy!"
"Already have."
"I really did not need to know that."
Cho ignores Penelope's words, and continues the thought with a blissful look about her. "Damn, he was a real fucking animal in bed. Now I know why he was named Draco. And believe me, Penelope, he has done more than he would ever need to do to earn that name."
"Cho! Fuck, that's disgusting! I don't tell you what Percy's like in bed!"
"Maybe you should."
"Miss Chang! Mind your thoughts. I'm sure Malfoy wouldn't be too happy if I broke your jaw! God only knows it is your best asset." Penelope narrows her eyes with disdain, sick at the thought of Draco and Cho together. It's not something a modest girl would ever gossip about. Cho's shoulders drop in disappointment, and Penelope continues. "I am here to discuss Quidditch, not sex. Are you on the team, or am I just wasting my time?"
Cho ponders on this thought for several minutes before she nods her head. "Draco doesn't keep me on a leash as Flint does Landon. Count me in!"
* * *
Hufflepuff. April 21, 2000
"Okay team. This is it. The big one!"
"I know this speech, you stole it from Wood!" Justin Finch-Fletchley scoffs, rolling his baby blue eyes. He sits among the six other players of the Hufflepuff team, awaiting their last practice before the game in just two weeks. Their locker room is a sickly yellow and a dark black; it hasn't been used in a couple years and the smell of dried blood from their fallen comrades at their last moments of freedom is quite nauseating.
"Point? I stole a lot of things from people older than meself!" Michael declares, patting himself twice on his chest proudly. For being so young, his ego has been inflated beyond of that of a twenty year old.
"Michael, I doubt you shagged that bit," another one of the Chasers voices.
"She told me she loved me! Mind you, she called me Adrian and fed me a potion . . . But that's not the point! I stole her from that Death Eater bastard, she just doesn't realise it yet. But, that's not the point either . . . This is it, team! The big one! The one we've all been waiting for!"
The Hufflepuff team broke out into a chorus of laughter that didn't end for hours.
* * *
Slytherin. May 11, 2000
"You need another Beater for Quidditch, Marcus."
"Leland Derrick is an excellent player. We can get by with only one." Marcus's hands land on Rae's shoulders, shoving her onto his bed with an extreme force. The mattress is firm, and silken army green sheets are spread chaotically across. Marcus's chambers are exceptionally different from the women's; silver shackles adorn the otherwise barren walls, and the place has a military air about it.
"Leland may be wonderful, but so am I!" Rae runs her slender fingers through Marcus' thick hair as his hands slip into her robes and rip the fabric in an attempt to remove them faster.
"The things you are great at have no place on the Quidditch field."
"How can you be so stubborn?" Rae rolls her eyes as Marcus pulls her on top of him. She moves slightly to the right in an attempt to get away, but his stubbornness is not wavering in any field. He holds her tightly, pressing his lips to hers before she pulls away.
"I don't want you to get hurt in a way that I'm not responsible for."
"Marcus, I am a great Beater! I learnt from the best!"
"Who's the best?" Marcus scoffs.
"Fred and George Weasley."
"Now I really won't let you onto my team."
At that rejection, Rae immediately removes herself from Marcus, much to his annoyance. "Fine. Two can play at this game. You won't let me onto your team; I won't have sex with you. Ever again." She crawls from the disordered bed, wrapping a thin sheet around her naked form. Glaring at Marcus, Rae watches as he just lies there, not believing that she's serious.
"You think I care if you consent to what you have coming to you?"
"That's rape," Rae states matter-of-factly.
"And you'd be the victim. Now get the fuck back here before you regret it."
"No. You don't seem to understand that I'm not your bloody sex slave. I don't listen to your every command. All I'm asking for is a chance to play Quidditch, like you never let me at Hogwarts." Rae stares at the ivory ceiling, letting the sheet drop slightly at her shoulders, revealing cleavage. She hears Marcus shift in the bed and groan, but she doesn't look his way.
"If I give the position to you, will you come back to bed?"
"Of course I will."
"Fine, you can be a Beater. But you owe me for this. And you better not bugger it up--I have a lot riding on this game." He rolls over effortlessly, falling from the bed in the process. Standing before her, he slowly starts to undo his robes and smirks. "Now. Get on your knees."
* * *
The Last Alliance. May 12, 2000
A large snowy owl glides through the air, landing elegantly upon the windowsill of a large French mansion. Tapping its beak three times on the glass, she flutters her wings and hoots loudly. Almost immediately, a wizard clad in jade robes stands to retrieve the parchment tied to the owl's claw. She gives a thankful nip on the wizard's ear, and he shoos the bird away, annoyed. Unwrapping the letter with careful ease, he silently reads it as the other five members of the Last Alliance, the only known wizards who were able to escape from Britain, look on in anticipation.
"Bloody hell, I don't believe it."
"What is it, Severus?"
"They're having a Quidditch match, Fleur. I went to a Quidditch game arranged by the Death Eaters when I was only eighteen years old and, dare I say it, less than wise. People are going to be slaughtered, they're going to make sure of it." Severus Snape glances at his allies, all colour washed from his face.
"Times 'ave changed, so 'ave ze Death Eaters," Fleur Delacour replies, flipping her silvery hair over her shoulders. She stops, noticing five pairs of eyes upon her and adds, "Zey follow Lucius Malfoy, not You-Know-Who."
"Don't be naïve, Fleur," a white haired wizard clad entirely in black scolds. "I was there. As much as I hate to say this, Severus is right. They'd be better off killing themselves than dealing with what those Death Eaters have planned."
"You don't 'ave faith in ze players?"
"I have too much faith in the Death Eaters, Miss Delacour. Or, are you forgetting that Severus and myself used to be a part of their inner circle. You would be wise to listen to us in matters such as these." The previous Death Eater crosses his arms, ignoring the glares from the two wizards who have remained silent. But one does lean forward to address his concerns.
"How do we tell him this?" He refers to the head of their alliance.
"We don't. He doesn't need this; he has enough problems with the Ministries."
Slytherin. March 3, 2000
"Quidditch?" Adrian snorts as he watches Marcus post a try-out notice to the castle's stone wall. He stares at it for several seconds, noticing that the sheet called for only two Chasers. "I hope you know that I expect to be a Chaser, so you'll only need one more. And, someone close to you is going to expect to be a Beater."
Marcus shrugs, not caring that Adrian was one of the best during their Hogwarts days. There are thousands of other potential Chasers out there; there must be someone better than Adrian, if that is possible; Adrian's talents match Marcus's. "You can try out like the rest of them. Doesn't mean you'll be on the team; I'm looking for the best of the best. Must show Wood that Slytherin has always had the brawn, brains, skill, and brooms to kick their fucking pansy-asses. Either that, or I'll be shoving my broomstick so far up his arse so that Weasley won't be fucking him for months."
"That's an . . . image. A really fucking. scary. image." Adrian shakes his head, turning only to see that a line-up of old, young, and women has already formed behind them, filling the castle corridor with nearly thirty Slytherins. Pulling on the sleeve of Marcus' black robes, he cocks his head towards the many Death Eaters.
Marcus's lip curls as he bellows, "No one over forty; no one under eighteen; and," he scans the crowd, his eyes falling to the young lady he's close to, "no fucking women!" He leaves Adrian without a word of goodbye, hastily parting through the crowd towards the female. Rae jumps slightly as Marcus's hand grips her shoulder tightly, shaking her with furiousness. "What do you think you're doing here?"
"I thought I'd try out for the team," Rae states calmly, staring Marcus in the eyes.
"You thought? I don't recall giving you permission to think!" Marcus pulls her aside, away from all prying eyes. "I don't even remember telling you that you could stray from your chambers!" He speaks in a hushed tone, and from afar, Adrian watches with solemn eyes.
"So, besides being your property, I have to listen to what you say as well?"
"Yes!" Marcus replies, wondering how this could be so confusing to her.
"Like that'll ever happen," Rae mumbles beneath her breath.
* * *
Gryffindor. March 18, 2000
"And you're saying that Percy arranged all this?" Fred sits cross-legged on the dark scarlet rug of Building Theta, his head angled awkwardly towards Oliver Wood, who stands among the five sitting Weasleys.
"This is just a new way for them to kill us! How could you have agreed to this? What were you thinking!? Bloody hell, we'll be lucky if we can walk off of the bloody Pitch!" George glances at his other half, of who has fixed his gaze to the ground again. It seems to serve as a better entertainment source than the possibility of flying.
"It'll be safer than staying here. Even if it is for only a day," Oliver counters, knowing that they are less likely to be killed while flying than by a couple of Death Eaters who were serving their own amusement.
Fred snorts in agreement, pulling his cloak tighter.
"Listen, we'll get clobbered without my two best Beaters, and I'm looking for a great Seeker. Do you, ah, know one?" Oliver exhales sharply, glancing over in Charlie's general direction. The Weasleys never caught the sarcasm laced in his voice.
"Charlie used to be Seeker in his day," Ron suggests helpfully, flashing the broad Weasley trademark grin at his usefulness. "A damn good one, too!"
Oliver shakes his head, laughing. "That's what I was getting at!"
Charlie automatically glances up at the sound of his name. "What can I do for you, Oliver?" He stands, brushing the dust and crinkles from his robes that settled as he sat on the crude black sofa, the only piece of furniture decorating the scarce living room.
"Playing as Seeker in the game is what you can do for me, Charlie."
"What game?"
"Quidditch. Must have the best. Especially if we intend to win."
"Count me in. Who else do you have?"
"Katie Bell as one of the Chasers. I may have another Chaser lined up, Natalie McDonald, but she needs to get back to me." Oliver studies his paper. He has six weeks to find two other Chasers and get his team ready for the day.
* * *
Ravenclaw. April 6, 2000
"You can't be serious!"
"Why does everyone I come to ask me that?"
"Because you can't be serious, Penelope."
"I am, Cho. The game is in four weeks, and we desperately need a Seeker who can rival the skills of Charlie Weasley, Michael Corner, and Malfoy," Penelope spits the last name with a venomous distaste, crossing her arms over her chest briskly.
Cho stalls, biting her lower lip as her deep brown eyes dart around her small chambers. They fall upon artwork of Chinese exorcism masks, and she speaks without taking her eyes from the family heirloom. "I don't know . . . Draco's a Seeker. He may not be happy that I would be flying against him."
"Fuck Malfoy!"
"Already have."
"I really did not need to know that."
Cho ignores Penelope's words, and continues the thought with a blissful look about her. "Damn, he was a real fucking animal in bed. Now I know why he was named Draco. And believe me, Penelope, he has done more than he would ever need to do to earn that name."
"Cho! Fuck, that's disgusting! I don't tell you what Percy's like in bed!"
"Maybe you should."
"Miss Chang! Mind your thoughts. I'm sure Malfoy wouldn't be too happy if I broke your jaw! God only knows it is your best asset." Penelope narrows her eyes with disdain, sick at the thought of Draco and Cho together. It's not something a modest girl would ever gossip about. Cho's shoulders drop in disappointment, and Penelope continues. "I am here to discuss Quidditch, not sex. Are you on the team, or am I just wasting my time?"
Cho ponders on this thought for several minutes before she nods her head. "Draco doesn't keep me on a leash as Flint does Landon. Count me in!"
* * *
Hufflepuff. April 21, 2000
"Okay team. This is it. The big one!"
"I know this speech, you stole it from Wood!" Justin Finch-Fletchley scoffs, rolling his baby blue eyes. He sits among the six other players of the Hufflepuff team, awaiting their last practice before the game in just two weeks. Their locker room is a sickly yellow and a dark black; it hasn't been used in a couple years and the smell of dried blood from their fallen comrades at their last moments of freedom is quite nauseating.
"Point? I stole a lot of things from people older than meself!" Michael declares, patting himself twice on his chest proudly. For being so young, his ego has been inflated beyond of that of a twenty year old.
"Michael, I doubt you shagged that bit," another one of the Chasers voices.
"She told me she loved me! Mind you, she called me Adrian and fed me a potion . . . But that's not the point! I stole her from that Death Eater bastard, she just doesn't realise it yet. But, that's not the point either . . . This is it, team! The big one! The one we've all been waiting for!"
The Hufflepuff team broke out into a chorus of laughter that didn't end for hours.
* * *
Slytherin. May 11, 2000
"You need another Beater for Quidditch, Marcus."
"Leland Derrick is an excellent player. We can get by with only one." Marcus's hands land on Rae's shoulders, shoving her onto his bed with an extreme force. The mattress is firm, and silken army green sheets are spread chaotically across. Marcus's chambers are exceptionally different from the women's; silver shackles adorn the otherwise barren walls, and the place has a military air about it.
"Leland may be wonderful, but so am I!" Rae runs her slender fingers through Marcus' thick hair as his hands slip into her robes and rip the fabric in an attempt to remove them faster.
"The things you are great at have no place on the Quidditch field."
"How can you be so stubborn?" Rae rolls her eyes as Marcus pulls her on top of him. She moves slightly to the right in an attempt to get away, but his stubbornness is not wavering in any field. He holds her tightly, pressing his lips to hers before she pulls away.
"I don't want you to get hurt in a way that I'm not responsible for."
"Marcus, I am a great Beater! I learnt from the best!"
"Who's the best?" Marcus scoffs.
"Fred and George Weasley."
"Now I really won't let you onto my team."
At that rejection, Rae immediately removes herself from Marcus, much to his annoyance. "Fine. Two can play at this game. You won't let me onto your team; I won't have sex with you. Ever again." She crawls from the disordered bed, wrapping a thin sheet around her naked form. Glaring at Marcus, Rae watches as he just lies there, not believing that she's serious.
"You think I care if you consent to what you have coming to you?"
"That's rape," Rae states matter-of-factly.
"And you'd be the victim. Now get the fuck back here before you regret it."
"No. You don't seem to understand that I'm not your bloody sex slave. I don't listen to your every command. All I'm asking for is a chance to play Quidditch, like you never let me at Hogwarts." Rae stares at the ivory ceiling, letting the sheet drop slightly at her shoulders, revealing cleavage. She hears Marcus shift in the bed and groan, but she doesn't look his way.
"If I give the position to you, will you come back to bed?"
"Of course I will."
"Fine, you can be a Beater. But you owe me for this. And you better not bugger it up--I have a lot riding on this game." He rolls over effortlessly, falling from the bed in the process. Standing before her, he slowly starts to undo his robes and smirks. "Now. Get on your knees."
* * *
The Last Alliance. May 12, 2000
A large snowy owl glides through the air, landing elegantly upon the windowsill of a large French mansion. Tapping its beak three times on the glass, she flutters her wings and hoots loudly. Almost immediately, a wizard clad in jade robes stands to retrieve the parchment tied to the owl's claw. She gives a thankful nip on the wizard's ear, and he shoos the bird away, annoyed. Unwrapping the letter with careful ease, he silently reads it as the other five members of the Last Alliance, the only known wizards who were able to escape from Britain, look on in anticipation.
"Bloody hell, I don't believe it."
"What is it, Severus?"
"They're having a Quidditch match, Fleur. I went to a Quidditch game arranged by the Death Eaters when I was only eighteen years old and, dare I say it, less than wise. People are going to be slaughtered, they're going to make sure of it." Severus Snape glances at his allies, all colour washed from his face.
"Times 'ave changed, so 'ave ze Death Eaters," Fleur Delacour replies, flipping her silvery hair over her shoulders. She stops, noticing five pairs of eyes upon her and adds, "Zey follow Lucius Malfoy, not You-Know-Who."
"Don't be naïve, Fleur," a white haired wizard clad entirely in black scolds. "I was there. As much as I hate to say this, Severus is right. They'd be better off killing themselves than dealing with what those Death Eaters have planned."
"You don't 'ave faith in ze players?"
"I have too much faith in the Death Eaters, Miss Delacour. Or, are you forgetting that Severus and myself used to be a part of their inner circle. You would be wise to listen to us in matters such as these." The previous Death Eater crosses his arms, ignoring the glares from the two wizards who have remained silent. But one does lean forward to address his concerns.
"How do we tell him this?" He refers to the head of their alliance.
"We don't. He doesn't need this; he has enough problems with the Ministries."
