Thanks again to Amretta :) Only one review guys? Did the last chapter suck that badly? Constructive criticism is definitely welcome... Anyway, I had a LOT of trouble with this chapter, like I'm talking several rewrites. Hope it isn't too bad. Read and REVIEW!
"You knew about it, didn't you?" Alicia hissed, as she made her way over to the back corner of the Advanced Arithmancy class where Cassius was seated, chair tilted against the wall, with a bored expression on his face.
It was all anyone had been talking about, Umbridge's Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four which had been posted that morning in all the common rooms and corridors, informing the students that all organizations had been banned if they weren't granted personal permission by Umbridge.
The Gryffindor team had woken up for their usual morning practice, only to be confronted by the terrible news, and Angelina's attempt at having their team reinstated had failed. She'd come storming into the Great Hall five minutes after the Slytherin team (late as usual themselves, hair still damp from their post-run showers), her face a twisted expression of rage and unhappiness. Umbridge had refused, for she said a "thorough background check on all team members" was required before a final decision could be made.
Alicia didn't like the idea of Umbridge delving around in her private life. She'd had enough as it is of the knowing smirks and the surprised glances of her fellow seventh years who were coming out with her. Nobody but the Slytherins had said anything to her face - they'd taken to calling her DeWitt, some of them - but for the most part, the matter did not seem to be as big a deal as Alicia had anticipated, for which she was thankful. As they'd practiced the waltz in an empty classroom, Carson had gloated about his correct assessment of the situation, for he'd predicted that most of the students wouldn't care about her parentage - they had bigger things to worry about, with a small percentage of them already associated with rumours of potential engagements. Engagements! Alicia had nearly thrown up at the word. Rumour had it that Adrian Pucey's parents were looking to shackle him up with one of Marcus Flint's half-sisters, due to a certain recent loss of fortune. In sum, Alicia was wary of the fact that everybody in the esteemed Circle Society seemed to know the who's and what's of all the other members and former members, that she was doubly worried about Umbridge taking an interest in her personal life (not the there was much to it). It wasn't fair that the Gryffindors had to undergo such a violation of their privacy, while the Slytherins, as Cassius was doing now, sat back with their hands locked behind their heads, looking bored with life.
And so, when Professor Vector ordered everybody to get into their groups and to pull out their work - a spot check, a bleeding spot check of all things! - Alicia stormed over to Cassius' little corner of the classroom, already irritated with life, and was only further provoked by his amused smirk in response to her question, thereby confirming her suspicions that the Slytherins had indeed been given a heads-up about Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four.
She sat next to him in silence, arms crossed over her chest as they waited for Professor Vector to make her way over to the back of the class. The tall, stern witch took her time with the groups, speaking in a clear voice to ensure that the others could hear how their classmates were progressing. Alicia and Cassius hadn't been alone together since the Bleacher Incident (Alicia had lost track of which Incident number they were now at), and thus hadn't progressed much beyond whatever Cassius had corrected before they handed in their summary report to Professor Babbling on Monday in Ancient Runes.
When Professor Vector finally arrived at their desks, Cassius pulled out a cream-coloured folder and removed several parchments that Alicia couldn't recollect having before seen. He leaned back again in his chair, though refrained from tilting it onto its back legs again, and waited for Professor Vector's comments. Alicia shot him a questioning glance, but he looked straight ahead. She frowned, and waited to hear the Professor's barrage of berates.
It never came. Instead, she hemmed and hawed, nodding her head as she read whatever it was that Cassius had given her. Finally, she slipped the parchments back into the folder and handed it back to Cassius with a small smile on her face.
"Excellent job as usual, Mr. Warrington - Miss Spinnet, I see you've benefited quite a bit from working with somebody outside of your usual hemisphere. If I may make one suggestion, however, it is that instead of trying to keep all three subject areas distinct, try combining them in a way that seems natural - history, is after all, imperative to the study of ancient runes, and I believe the connection between arithmancy and runes ought to be sufficiently clear to you both this far into your studies. There is a reason why you have all been given this project as a single entity, my dears. Now then, everybody, open your books to page one forty-seven - as you all seem to still be working on genealogy, with the exception of Mr. Warrington and Miss Spinnet here..."
"No Quidditch practice," said Angelina in hollow tones when Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the Common Room after dinner that night. Harry and Ron looked around, distress marring their faces, and were received with mirror expressions from the rest of the team.
"But I kept my temper!" said Harry, horrified. "I didn't say anything to her, Angelina, I swear, I-
"I know, I know," said Angelina miserably. "She just said she needed a bit of time to consider."
"Consider what?" said Ron angrily. "She's given the Slytherins permission, why not us?"
Why not us indeed, Alicia thought, equally upset. She could still picture Cassius' irritating smirk during Arithmancy. He'd only gotten more smug when Professor Vector had oh so subtly hinted at his skills, and Alicia's lack thereof. Which was nonsense, because Alicia was a bloody good student, and Cassius was just a bloody prick, and it wasn't her fault that Vector had a stick up her arse and -
"Alicia!"
"What?" She looked around. Katie dropped the arm she'd been waving in front of Alicia's face.
"We were saying - oh. What were we saying, again? Oh, never mind. It probably wasn't important anyway."
The girls were distracted again by the sound of projectile vomiting, followed by a tense silence, and then a deafening cheer. Fred and George had apparently finally managed to get one of their Skiving Snackboxes working, and hordes of lower year students were clamouring about, trying to get advance orders in.
"Bloody amazing, that," Alicia commented lazily. "Only wish they'd thought of it sooner, though."
"Oi, I'm Head Girl!" Angelina exclaimed. "You can't say things like that in front of me!"
Katie snorted.
"Well why don't you go do something about it then?"
"I can't," she said irritably, "They're not technically doing anything wrong..." She paused, then gave them a conspiratorial grin. "Besides, they might come in handy some day!"
Alicia smirked and punched her friend in the arm.
The next day was by far the gloomiest thus far; a torrential downpour complete with howling winds forced students to stay indoors. Even Mad Montague had apparently allowed his team to forgo their usual morning practice, which was a great surprise to them all, for they would have expected him to gloat about his team's immediate reinstatement in any way possible. Instead, when Alicia entered the Great Hall, the entire Slytherin team was already at their table, guffawing loudly and shovelling impossible amounts of food into their mouths in the most refined manner she'd ever seen. Bloody gits... clearly posh, even when wolfing down food.
Cassius saw Alicia glaring at him out of the corner of his eye, and he raised his glass of juice towards her in a mock cheers. She scowled and looked away. They hadn't spoken (big surprise) since Sunday night, with the exception of Vector's forced get-together in yesterday's Arithmancy class. She'd scurried past him in the corridors all week, skirting behind taller students whenever she caught his eye. It was almost... cute.
Cassius choked on his juice, and Pucey whacked him on the back while Montague barked out words of encouragement.
Cute.
He wanted to vomit.
"Oi!" Pucey complained suddenly, "You've ruined my bloody calendar, mate!" He held up the now sopping-wet 1996 Harpies Calendar that had just been released in time for the usual madness that was Yule season. The nearly nude and very sexy image of Caprice Lenvers, the Harpies' buxom beauty of a keeper, was now soaked in grape juice.
"Oh don't be such a twat," he snapped irritably. "Evanesco. You're a wizard, not a bloody infant."
Pucey sniffed, and delicately turned the page to February. They blinked in confusion.
"What the -
All three heads turned to glance back at the Gryffindor table, eyes zeroing in on one Katie Bell, before turning back to the calendar. Pucey held up the calendar to get a better comparison.
"It's her older sister, you imbeciles," said Tatiana Silverman, who was sitting next to Pucey. "She just got married. To what's his name... the one who retired from the Falcons last year..."
Montague looked like his eyes would pop out of his head.
"Keitch? That bitch is related to Geoffrey Keitch?" he exclaimed, glancing wildly between Bell, the calendar, and Tatiana. Sure enough, the name Beatrice Keitch was written in a neat cursive at the top right corner of the page next to the scantily clad image of the beautiful chaser who they'd mistaken for Katie Bell. Pucey let out a low whistle.
"Well if that's what Bell looks like under -
"Don't even think about it," Montague growled. "Game's not even three weeks away. Put this rubbish away, I don't want to see it until we win the match. Then you can go bloody wank off to Bell's sister all you want."
"Disgusting," Tatiana muttered, looking unimpressed before turning back to her friends.
Alicia sat glumly in Theory of Magic next to Carson, Peter and Roger, who were excitedly discussing Ravenclaw's Quidditch team. Umbridge had approved Roger's second request for reinstatement yesterday evening. Apparently she needed more than a day to decide for the Gryffindors - Angelina hadn't heard back from the old toad, and she didn't dare approach her again for fear of annoying her into refusal.
As if her mood wasn't already sour enough, Cassius was sitting behind her, periodically kicking at the back of her chair like a particularly annoying first year. She gritted her teeth and ignored him, silently listening to the Ravenclaw boys' gleeful conversation until Professor Rashid strolled into class.
The kicking continued.
They were allowed to remain inside over break due to the downpour outside. Alicia followed the general stream of students to the first floor after Theory of Magic, chatting with the Ravenclaws while Cassius skulked silently behind them, ignoring a couple of fifth year Slytherin girls who had latched onto him like leeches at some point between the sixth and fifth floors. The mass of students ended up in an unused classroom where it seemed most of the upper years had congregated to take shelter from the rain, along with Peeves, who was causing chaos as usual.
Angelina was already there, sitting with Fred and George, and all three looked positively gleeful.
"We're good!" she squealed. "I went to McGonagall, and you know McGonagall, could have been a bloody Slytherin, I swear... anyway, I think she might have gone to Dumbledore, and well, I guess Umbridge had to give in! So, practice tonight at - Katie! Katie, get your arse over here, we've got the team back! Practice at seven tonight -
"Looks like the Gryff's are back in the game," Montague noted, glancing at the Gryffindors who were positively over the moon in their back corner of the classroom. Bell was jumping about like an idiot, ink dripping from the side of her head, as she threw whatever was in reach in Peeves' direction, while the rest of the Gryffindor team beamed like morons.
"Mm, now imagine she was jumping about like that without her jumper on. Minus the ink, mind you -
Montague whacked Pucey over the head.
"What did I tell you? We've barely three weeks until the next match. Oi, you four, listen up, this concerns you too. Starting now, I want a terror campaign on those pricks. Nothing stupid, obviously - if any of you end up in the Hospital Wing or in detention, I promise you, I will put you in St. Mungo's myself. I just want them... rattled. Especially Weasley. If we can get enough by the baby Weasel during the game, even if Potter catches the snitch, we'll have a chance. That is, as long as you, Miles, keep your head out of your arse and block as many goals as possible. And you two, I want bludgers on Spinnet - but do not award her any penalty shots, so watch your fouls. I just want them to skim her. A lot. Make sure she takes a lot of hits - actually, this goes for all of you. That bitch has proper aim, and I want her weak - she'll be throwing all their penalties as usual, so make sure she's shaking. We'll discuss this more later. For now, like I said - terror campaign. I want them in and out of the hospital wing... minor things, obviously, but preferably enough to fuck with their training schedule. And watch out for the Twins... they've apparently perfected more of their bloody toys. Do not eat anything anybody offers you. Do not leave any of your food unattended..."
Cassius tuned out the rest of Montague's speech, and let his eyes drift over to the Gryffindors. Well, he thought miserably, this was going to be interesting. Bludgers on Spinnet indeed... He gritted his teeth. Well why should he be upset about that? This was his last year too... didn't he deserve to win a game, after all these years of putting up with Flint, and now Montague and their bollocks?
"... and no permanent injuries. I want their team operating in full on the day of the match. When we win this, we're going to win because we're the damned best, not because lucky fucking Potter falls off his broom after seeing a dementor or something stupid."
The next three weeks passed by in a blur of impromptu corridor duels, hospital wing visits, Quidditch practices at all hours, and not to mention, homework. With the exception of McGonagall and Snape, the other professors who had no affiliation with either Slytherin or Gryffindor, continued to pile on the work as they came closer and closer to midterms, which were usually held the week of the Gryffindor-Slytherin match, after the game in the first week of November.
Cassius and Alicia still met once a week to get their weekly progress reports done, though they were tense, hasty, private meetings at odd hours and under great duress, in order to accommodate both their vigorous, daily practice schedules on top of everything else they had to handle. She was so behind on school work at this point that it wasn't until the night before the game that she had more an hour to spare, for Angelina wanted her team fully rested before the big day. Apparently Montague was thinking along the same veins, for it was Cassius who had approached her briefly after Ancient Studies that afternoon, suggesting a meet-up. It'd become impossible for them to talk in public, even if it was about the assignment, for the animosity between the two teams had reached a peak. Adrian Pucey had discovered a newfound hatred for Alicia ever since the boils incident, and Miles Bletchley amped up his usual loathing of her by methods even she considered low for Slytherins. Just before dinner, she'd been in the library, going over her notes, when the stupid prick had hexed her from behind in front of fourteen witnesses, causing her eyebrows to grow in so fast and thick that they'd nearly choked her to death. Bloody Snape had accused her of misfiring her own spell, and Bletchley had gotten off scot-free.
Alicia stumbled into the music room, yawning with exhaustion after dinner. For a second, she thought she had the wrong room, for somebody was sitting at the piano, playing a haunting piece that didn't suit Alicia's adrenaline-fuelled mood at all.
"Shut the door."
Cassius.
He turned around on the bench, stretching his legs out before him. Alicia noticed with a start that he wasn't wearing his uniform under his robes, but rather a pair of dark jeans and a navy blue jumper.
"Why aren't you wearing your uniform?"
"They're in the wash, if you must know, I figured I'd have everything cleaned since I'm having my quidditch kit cleaned before tomorrow," he said irritably. "Anyway, it isn't against the rules to wear civilian clothes after classes."
"Hmph, well I never said it was, now did I? I don't think I even brought any... uniforms are just so much easier to be honest with you. Well, I don't suppose it really matters for you... but honestly, it's utter hell trying to decide what you want to wear for the day for us girls, when we haven't uniforms."
"Really? You're going to talk fashion now?" Cassius drawled.
Alicia sniffed.
"Alright, alright, here, back to business then. I've cross analyzed everything. Twice. You were right - oh, don't give me that smirk - I won't say it again. Anyway, they are combination curses, so we can add unbreakable to the list of characteristics. Although, I think, and hear me out, I think I know what that last curse is..."
Alicia rifled through her bag and pulled out a copy of Witch Weekly and Fairy Fifteen's latest issues. Cassius raised an eyebrow.
"First fashion, and now Fairy Fifteen? Really? And aren't you... seventeen?"
"Oh fuck off, I read them for gags. And you'll be thanking me after this. Pass me that book... what's it called, the one with all the nasty pictures in them."
Cassius pulled out a shrunken version of Great Wizarding Families and How they Stayed Great. Alicia enlarged it, and the miniature book suddenly transformed into a very heavy, very thick tome. She flipped through the pages until she came to the right place. A graphic sketch of a nude witch, limbs stretched out spread-eagle by ropes that were tied to nothing filled one half of the page. A robed figure stood next to her and raised its wand, and as he did so, a bloody brand which took the shape of a coat of arms appeared on the woman's back. When the drawing lowered its arm, the brand disappeared. Underneath it was another image, this time a replica of a Renaissance era painting of a man who stared triumphantly back at her, with a woman kneeling docilely at his feet, eyes downcast, though she would occasionally look up with a blank expression on her face. On the opposite page was another painting, by the same artist, of a woman looking into a mirror, in which a man's reflection could be seen. Alicia quickly read over the text beneath the image. Just as she thought. She smiled inwardly in triumph.
"It's an emotional attachment charm. Or curse, rather," she said excitedly, flipping through Witch Weekly until she found the right page. She passed it to Cassius as she sat down next to him on the bench. "They're really popular right now," she explained. "You know... well, no, I suppose you don't. Just read that bollocks though."
"Reading Your Wizard," Cassius read aloud, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "Does your man seem out of sorts? Is he cheating on you with that wily witch with a b from down the street? Do you think your wizard might be feeling down, but is too afraid to express himself in front of you? Well we've devised a way. With our newly patented emotional attachment charm, for a couple of hours, you can feel exactly how the wizard of your wildest dreams is feeling, like a reflection in the mirror (minus the sass, of course). Minus the sass... What the - does that even make any sense? What the hell does that mean?"
"We're not discussing rhetoric, Cassius. What they're trying to say is that you can feel exactly how the charmed person - in this case, the wizard of your wildest dreams - feels. The charm only lasts a couple of hours. This curse is the same thing... just... creepier. And more intense. Like... for life. Just think about it... Is he cheating on your with that wily witch - it had to have the same purpose. I mean, you can't get everything in with one curse. The first one was for branding, the second for protection, and the third for -
" - for making sure your wife wasn't a lying slag."
Alicia scowled at him.
"Oh, that's rich. She's a slag, while he can go off and shag whoever he bloody wants."
"That's the point," Cassius said smugly, "Men don't have children. Women do."
Alicia stood up and glared down at him.
"Of course. Can't have any bastards crawling around now, can we."
Cassius let out a groan.
"Relax, would you? You know I didn't mean it like that."
"Oh no? Then tell me, what would you do if - if I dunno, if some girl told you she was pregnant with your illegitimate child."
"Well that would never happen, because I'm a bloody wizard -
"Well what if? Accidents happen. What if she wasn't taking any potions, what if you were drunk and you made the contraceptive charm too weak, or you screwed it up? What if?"
"Then - then there's always St. Mungo's, isn't there?"
"Exactly my point. And anyhow, what if she doesn't want to go to St. Mungo's?"
Cassius crossed his arms and glared at her.
"Well that would never happen, and this is just stupid, because it would never happen!"
"Better watch out," said Alicia tauntingly, "As the muggles say, you've just jinxed yourself."
"Oh yeah?" said Cassius in a low voice. "Want to come here and see just how jinxed I am?"
"Go shag a banshee," Alicia replied curtly. Stupid Cassius. Warrington. Whatever. Prick. She was starting to suspect him of being bi-polar. Or two different people. Regardless of what it was, she didn't want to have anything to do with it. Then maybe you should start by calling him Warrington, a voice whispered mockingly in the back of her head. She scowled.
Cassius glared back at her. He could see the gears turning in her head by the changing expressions on her face. What was she thinking about? He hadn't meant to insult her. Not that he cared, of course. Right, of course, his inner voice repeated sarcastically. Maybe she's thinking about Bishop. He has a girlfriend. So? Not at this school, he doesn't. He probably has his hands all over her arse while they're 'dancing'. No, because Bishop's a fairy.
"Warrington!" Alicia barked for the second time.
Cassius looked up. Oh, back to Warrington now. Looks like she's moved on, mate. "Fuck off!"
Shit. Did he say that out loud? Judging by Alicia's stormy gaze, he could say it was safe to assume that yes, he had just yelled at her in a not so pleasant tone.
Her lips were pursed, eyes livid.
"Right," she said in a strained voice, looking like she was restraining herself from slapping him, "See you at the match, Warrington."
Cassius debated whether or not to explain himself, but decided it would be stupid. Instead, he sat in tense silence as he watched her quickly pack her belongings whilst throwing him dirty looks. Right then. It was over. Just like that, they were back to Warrington and Spinnet proper. So why did he feel so bloody angry with himself as he watched her leave, slamming the door shut behind her like the irate teenager that she was?
The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. Alicia awoke to the blinding light of the morning sun streaming in through the window by her bed. Angelina was already up, throwing on a red sweater dress and black leggings with a thin golden belt, barking at Alicia to hurry up and get dressed.
Again, Alicia was thankful for school uniforms. She was generally a late riser, and couldn't be bothered with the hassle of having civilian clothes to have to chose from on the weekends and after class hours, and so she'd packed light this year as always - just her books and uniform, as well as accessories for days like this. She decided to charm her skirt red to show some house spirit, then put on a golden grecian headband that shimmered against her dark hair. There. Done.
The Great Hall was jam packed with students sporting red and gold, green and silver. The three chasers received a huge welcome as they walked into the Hall, arms linked, looking beautiful and very Gryffindor. They hurried over to the Gryffindor table, where Harry and Ron were sitting with the twins as well as various other students. Luna Lovegood, who was in the D.A, was there too, sporting a large hat with a lion head that gave a realistic roar, scaring half the students of their wits.
The girls hurried over to join them, just as Luna drifted away.
"Nice eyebrows," said Fred, nodding at Alicia.
"Thanks," she said sheepishly.
"When you're ready," Angelina said, "We're going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions and change."
"We'll be there in a bit," Harry assured her. "Ron's just got to have some breakfast."
Alicia exchanged nervous glances with Katie from behind Angelina's back. Ron didn't look like he was capable of breathing normally, let alone getting in a piece of toast. The poor boy's face was pallid, bordering on green, his freckles standing out like polkadots. The girls sat down at the far end of the table to strategize while they quickly ate. Alicia barely tasted her food as Angelina talked. It hadn't quite occurred to her until that moment, but this was her first last game. After this, there was the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game in March, the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game in May, and then the finals if they - no, when they made it that far. She glanced over at the Slytherin table. The boys were guffawing loudly, surrounded by girls from all houses (with the exception of Gryffindor, naturally). Whatever it was they were laughing at definitely had their attention. Suddenly, Cassius - Warrington! - caught her eye, and Alicia frowned at him. He stared back at her coolly, before turning back to his friends, and then it was like they didn't even know each other again. Rivals.
Fine. That was fine with her. This was potentially the last time she would play the Slytherins again, those pricks who'd almost defined her as a Gryffindor and as a chaser over the years. She would give it her best, and goddammit, they were going to win. This was her year. She would not leave this school without her name engraved on the Cup. Not this year.
She dutifully, emotionlessly, followed Angelina and Katie to the Gryffindor locker room. Whether on purpose or by sheer coincidence, the Slytherin chasers, along with Miles Bletchley stood up simultaneously, and Alicia felt eyes watching them as the group of rival seventh years bumped into each other.
There was no scene, however. They walked out silently in single file, side by side, grim expressions on their faces, each of them contemplating what was potentially their last game with their rivals of seven years. As if the world didn't hate her enough, Alicia found herself behind Angelina and Katie, next to Cassius - Warrington! - and Bletchley. She flexed her fingers by her side.
When they finally stepped out into the corridor, they turned on each other.
"Get a chance to see our delightful badges, Johnson?" Montague asked silkily, his long tapered fingers gently stroking the silver crown-shaped badge on his forest-green jumper. Weasley is our king. Alicia stared at Cassius' badge and gritted her teeth.
"Do you have a staring problem, Spinnet?" he said suddenly, enunciating Spinnet in a mocking manner, and Alicia hated the little glint in his eye, the way he looked at her like he knew her. Bletchley chuckled by his side. Arsewipe.
"Did all that hair get into your eyes? No, wait, it's because you're a dirty injun bastard, aren't you?" he crowed, making squinty eyes at her by pulling on the corner of his eyes with his index fingers. Alicia made to lunge at him, but Katie, having heard the commotion, held her back.
"Fuck you, Bletchley," she hissed in disgust. "You watch yourself today, if I'm not mistaken I haven't lost a penalty shot against you since... hm, well, I guess never." She glanced over at Cassius, whose eyes betrayed nothing. Big surprise. She didn't even spare him a word, letting Katie and Angelina drag her away before they all got suspended before the match.
Cassius watched the girls walk down the corridor. They were headed in the same direction, so there was nowhere for them to go, but they kept a hurried pace, keeping as much distance between the two teams as possible. Fucking Miles. Are you sure you know which side you're on? Fuck off.
After changing, and the rest of the team arrived, Montague assembled them in the anteroom in a circle. Cassius stood next to him and waited for him to say something. The silence was unnerving. Montague was usually a shouter, the type of captain who liked to talk a lot, and talk quick. Real quick. The silence was deafening, louder than the stampede of students mounting the spectator stands outside.
"This is my last game against the Gryffindors," he said slowly, suddenly, staring at them evenly, his green eyes steady, "As it is for, well, most of us. We've trained hard, and you've worked hard. We deserve to win this because we're the best, and we deserve to win this right."
Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle looked stunned. Win this right? What in the hell did that mean? But Cassius knew better. Montague could be an arse, but when it came down to Quidditch, it was his life. This was six years in the making for him, having joined the team in his second year, the youngest, lithest player on a team of bulky upper years. Right meant with skill, Right meant with strategy. Right meant against a worthy opponent, and with the exception of the baby Weasel, the Gryffindors were it. Right meant winning the cup, and leaving behind a stunned next generation of students who could look back on this and not say they won because of a fluke, or because they were dirty, cheating bastards. They were violent, maybe, but so were the Gryffindors. They all knew how to give as good as they got. It was part of what made them worthy.
Meanwhile, in the Gryffindor locker room, Angelina was giving her own pep talk.
"OK, I've only just found out the final line-up for Slytherin," she said, consulting a piece of parchment. "Last year's beaters, Derrick and Bole have left, but it looks as though Montague's replaced them with the usual gorillas, rather than anyone who can actually fly particularly well. They're two blokes called Crabbe and Goyle, I don't know much about them - "
"We do," said Harry and Ron together.
"Well, they don't look bright enough to tell one end of the broom from the other," said Angelina, pocketing her parchment, "But then I was always surprised Derrick and Bole managed to find their way on to the pitch without signposts."
"Crabbe and Goyle are in the same mould," Harry assured her.
They could hear the crowd roaring outside and hundreds of students swarmed the stands. Alicia took a deep breath and glanced around her. This was it. The first of the last.
"It's time," said Angelina in a hushed voice, looking at her watch. "C'mon everyone... I don't need to waste words on telling you how great it's been playing with you all, and what an amazing time we'll have this year. Play your hardest, play your best. Do not stoop to their level. We're winners. Play like it. Good luck."
The team rose, shouldered their brooms and marched in single file out out of the changing room and into the dazzling sunlight. It was the first bright day in weeks. Alicia smiled. It was a sign.
The Slytherin team was waiting for them. Alicia stared at them, thinking how this was the last time she would go through these motions - games were never as hostile (nor, admittedly, as fun) with the other houses, who played clean and fair, but without as much... adrenaline. Nothing was more satisfying (nor more devastating) than winning (or losing) against an arch-rival.
Her eyes drifted down from one end of the Slytherin line-up to the other. Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, Bletchley, Pucey, Cassius (Warrington her inner voice shrieked in frustration), and Montague made for an imposing team, with their biggest players flanking the line. Crabbe and Goyle were short, solid masses with no neck and fat sausage-like fingers. They reminded Alicia of muggle bouncers at the clubs she and her friends would sneak into over the last summer with their fake IDs. Montague was nearly as wide as he was tall (alright, that was an exaggeration), but he was, as her father would say in a fake American drawl, "built like a linebacker", all height and thick muscle. Then there was Cassius, who was a little shorter and leaner, more sinewy than his best mate. Malfoy, Bletchley and Pucey were the smallest players on the team in terms of bulk, and therefore the fastest (though not necessarily an advantage for an idiot like Bletchley, who had, as of last year, still not managed to pull of any tight turns). Malfoy had shot up like a reed over the summer, Alicia noticed. With the exception of Crabbe and Goyle, who made up for their lack of height by their width, the Slytherins were a bunch of tall, hulking Neanderthals.
Alright, she admitted grudgingly to herself. They looked good, for the most part. But still. Neanderthals nevertheless. As if to prove her point, Montague was busy shaking hands with Angelina and it looked as though he were trying to crush her slim fingers between his own massive ones. She didn't bat an eye.
They kicked off into the air at Hooch's whistle, adrenaline pumping through their veins. This was it.
Alicia felt an icy rush of wind and the whip of a robe graze against her cheek as somebody sped past her towards the Slytherin side of the stadium. Around her, she caught a glimpse of Ron zipping to his goal posts, Harry flying around starting his hunt for the snitch, as Angelina and Katie entered into formation. Suddenly, Angelina made a dive and caught the quaffle as the students in the stadium roared with pleasure or disgust over the sound of Lee Jordan's usual entertaining commentaries. Angelina had made it past the Slytherins' defensive formation, ducking under Cassius and zipping past over Montague, when suddenly she pitched forward, dropping the quaffle after taking a bludger to her back. She dropped the quaffle straight into Montague's outstretched arms.
Alicia and Katie doubled back into their own defensive formation, when Montague took a bludger to the side of his head. Like Angelina had, he dropped the quaffle straight away, and Katie, the lightest and fastest of the three chasers, snatched it almost instantly.
Alicia dodged a bludger that had been meant for Katie, and reached out to grab the quaffle as Katie reverse-passed it to her.
"... and Spinnet's away!"
Indeed she was.
Cassius almost felt her coming before he saw her. She was considerably smaller than him and faster than him, and inwardly he was thankful that she managed to dodge what would have otherwise been a bruising hit to her ribs. He suddenly felt the whoosh of a bludger slide past his head, almost deafened by the wind that accompanied it, and he watched in horror as it nearly clipped Alicia in the back of the head. She ducked just in time.
"Close call, Alicia - and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?"
Cassius smirked. It was the lyrics to Malfoy's poorly penned song, Weasley Is Our King.
" - and Alicia passes back to Angelina!"
Cassius stared in horror as Johnson hurled the quaffle before he could get to her, but the girl had taken a calculated risk. She'd chosen to ditch the ball rather than attempt to speed away from him, and she lost the gamble. Bletchley had saved it. Cassius snatched the ball and sped off, dodging in between Bell and Alicia who were trying to pull the woollongong shimmy on him by zigzagging horizontally across the pitch in front of him, fully aware that it would be impossible to pry the ball out of his grip without the help of one of their beaters, who were nowhere in sight.
" - and its Warrington with the quaffle, Warrington heading for the goal, he's out of bludger range with just the keeper ahead -
A great swell of song arose from the Slytherin stands, fuelling Cassius' adrenaline.
The two chasers had given up on diverting him, and instead tried to act as secondary keepers to the baby Weasel, who was already flailing his arms like a beached flounder.
Weasley cannot save a thing,
He cannot block a single ring...
Cassius felt Alicia's eyes boring into his face, just daring him to take the hit. They all knew he had shit aim. He'd made it this far with his infamous sticky fingers, but she was screaming at him from in her head that this was as far as he would get. He had a split second to do it. It was now or never.
Cassius continued his drive forward, regardless of the fact that the two girls were bobbing in front of him trying to protect their precious keeper from the big bad Slytherin. Just before he was about to barrel into them, he yanked his broom up vertically, and he whipped the ball straight through Weasley's central hoop. Easy score.
The rest of the game followed a similar pattern. Easy score. Even Bletchley was doing his part by actually saving more goals than he let in. Maybe he was inspired by the Baby Weasel's failure.
The game lasted two hours. The Slytherins were up seventy points.
"Keep this up," Montague shouted, "And we'll win whether or not Potter catches the snitch!"
Another goal by Pucey. Slytherin one ten, Gryffindor thirty.
It was getting embarrassing.
Bell and Johnson scored another point each, and then Alicia threw in an easy penalty after Hooch blew the whistle on Bletchley for an obvious flocking attempt on Johnson's goal.
Cassius was leaving the hoops with the quaffle Bletchley had tossed him, when suddenly a flash of red and goal whipped past him.
Potter.
He swore. It was over. If St. Potter was flying like that, it only meant one thing. Stupid Bletchley was still singing Weasley is our king, oblivious to the chaos below him. Potter and Malfoy were almost neck to neck, diving towards the bottom of one of the Slytherin goalposts.
And Potter caught it. Big surprise there.
And Potter took a hit. He tumbled forward as Hooch blew the whistle.
He still had the snitch.
Montague and Pucey flew towards him, Montague tight-lipped, though he didn't look surprised by the turn of events. It was bound to happen. Bloody St. Potter.
Suddenly, a commotion roared up from beneath them, and the three of them looked down. Potter and one of the Weasel twins had piled up on top of Malfoy, judging by the flash of white-blond hair, while the Gryffindor girls shrieked obscenities, trying to keep their other animals off of Malfoy.
"Oh for fuck's sake!" Montague snarled. They dove down and landed on the pitch.
One of the Weasel twins and Potter were already skulking away, as the crowd shouted from the stands.
Crabbe and Goyle had already hauled Malfoy onto his feet. Cassius shook his head in disgust. The Gryffindor chasers were arguing with Professor McGonagall and Madame Hooch, but the two witches had already turned away, the girls' complaints falling on deaf years. McGonagall stormed towards the castle while Hooch checked up on Malfoy.
The bloody prat couldn't even take a hit like a man, let alone heal himself like a wizard. He was crying and sniffing, white faced except for the blood streaming out of his nose until Pucey fixed his nose, irritated by the sight. This didn't stop the howling that he would have caught snitch if it weren't for Potter, that he'd been attacked by the Gryffindor boys for no reason. Cassius resisted the urge to tell him that there wouldn't be a point to the game if there wasn't another seeker on the field.
He glimpsed Alicia out of the corner of his eye, but she didn't notice him, too busy cursing like a dragon trainer at the remaining Weasel twin while simultaneously comforting Johnson who looked like she was about to cry.
Back in the Slytherin locker room, Montague paced back and forth, too furious for words. Not only had they lost, they'd lost in disgrace. It had been the easiest match in the world. And now it had come down to this. Every few seconds he paused, glaring down at Malfoy, but then continued to pace, at a loss for words.
"You couldn't just shut your mouth," he said quietly, finally, stopping in front of Malfoy, drawing himself to his full height. "You couldn't have just shut your bloody mouth and walked away. You lost. You were the one who took ten bloody seconds to notice that Saint Fucking Potter was already in a nose dive. Bletchley could have caught the snitch faster than your snivelling arse if he hadn't been too busy doing his own bloody job!"
He stopped, and clenched his fists.
"You lost. You should have walked away."
"But what's the big deal? They'll probably get suspended now, or maybe have their team dismantled - " Malfoy whined, oblivious to the look of hatred the senior boys threw in his direction.
"The big deal?" Montague barked. "What the fuck did I say before the game? That we would win this right. Even if we didn't bloody win this game, we could have one the next. And the one after that. Properly. There were scouts here today, you fucking imbeciles, and do you know what they saw? They saw us playing a fucking great game until Crabbe here decided to whack a bludger at Potter after we lost. They saw Malfoy here antagonize the winners -
He turned away, jaw clenched, unable to speak another word.
" - and now. Well, you can be fucking sure that we won't have another chance to play a game like this again."
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his eyes shut in frustration.
"The rest of you. Well played. Apparently practice works wonders."
He stormed off without another word, undoubtedly headed for the prefect's bathroom for some peace and quiet.
The boys disappeared one by one, silently into the showers. Cassius flexed his fingers in irritation as he listened to Malfoy whine from his own stall, while Crabbe and Groyle grunted their support. Imbeciles. Utter fucking imbeciles.
So. There'd been scouts. Now wonder Montague had been so insistent on them playing right. Why hadn't he just told them? Or maybe he hadn't known. No, that wasn't it either. He would have had a hunch. That seemed more likely. He wouldn't have made them nervous by telling them scouts were in the stadium, but by telling them to play right... well, obviously that hadn't worked on the the three buffoons in the stalls next to him.
Cassius was the first out of the shower. He stepped out onto the heated marble, grateful for the warmth they provided for his feet. He grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his waist before slowly plodding over to towards the locker and changing area. He nearly slipped in surprise when he caught sight of none another than Marcus Flint, leaning against what had once been his locker during his years on the Slytherin team.
"Warrington," said the older boy - or man, rather, nodding curtly in his direction. "Nice show out there."
"Thank you," Cassius replied smoothly, getting over his shock. He walked over to his locker, tapped his wand against it and waited for it to swing open.
"You've improved," Flint commented loftily. Cassius could almost hear the smirk in the man's voice. "I can see Montague's had you lot running laps."
"Fat lot of good that did," Cassius grumbled. "Bloody Malfoy got pummelled." He pulled on a pair of boxer-briefs followed by dark jeans before turning to face his old captain.
"Where's Montague?"
"Drowning himself in the prefect's tub, I expect," he answered. "Are you supposed to be the scout then?"
Flint let out a barking laugh.
"No, I'm not the scout. But there are a few of them around... he asked me to pull a few strings so I did."
"Shit."
Just then, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle filed into the locker room. They all froze upon seeing Marcus Flint's towering figure. Flint crossed his arms and stared down at them with a cool expression, and Cassius laughed inwardly.
"Oi Adrian, do me a favour mate, I think I left my towel on the bench," shouted Bletchley from the showers, just as Pucey sauntered into the locker area.
Cassius glanced sharply at his friend, who balked at the Flint's presence. Cassius could practically see his friend chanting shit, shit, shit, shit, shit in his head.
"Pucey," said Flint in an unreadable voice. Then, he smirked. "Nothing personal, today, just business, I should think."
Is there a difference, Cassius asked himself, as his friend visibly relaxed.
"Are you the scout then?"
"Adrian! My towel, you bloody git!"
Pucey grabbed Bletchley's fluffy grey towel from the bench in front of his locker, clearly grateful for a distraction. He disappeared towards the showers without another word.
"Bit jumpy, that one," Flint commented sarcastically.
"I think that's just around you," Cassius replied, pulling his shirt over his head. He adjusted the sleeves, then turned around to face Flint, who was still leaning against his old locker.
"Now why would you think that?"
Cassius gave him the slightest eyebrow raise, and Flint burst out laughing. Cassius noticed that he'd had his teeth fixed since they'd last seen each other... no doubt under the influence of the Falcons' publicity manager... Flint had always been adamant about not giving a damn whether or not his teeth were crooked - he was always getting hit in the face with things anyhow, what was the point in having a pretty set to fix up over and over again anyway, he argued.
"On that note... I suppose I'll be seeing you lot at Yule. My sisters have led me to believe that you're going to be accompanying a certain Señorita Guerrero..."
Cassius quirked an eyebrow. Was he? Well, if Flint said so, then he probably was. The name struck a bell somewhere in the back of his mind. Flint let out another one of his barking laughs.
"Always the same, Warrington. Oi, Bletchley, Pucey - what are you two doing back there, getting it on?"
Suddenly, Flint froze and his eyes narrowed as he caught a glimpse of Crabbe's disorganized locker. Cassius followed his gaze and landed on the 1996 Harpies Calendar.
"You sure you haven't got your dates wrong, there?" said Flint coolly. "Last I checked, it was a bit of a travesty getting your joliles from someone who looks like a rival player... especially after losing your first game of the season to said rival."
Beatrice Keitch, quite unaware of Marcus Flint's dark expression, smiled brightly and seductively from the calendar on Crabbe's locker door, moving from one revealing position to another. It really was quite unnerving how much Bell resembled her older sister, despite the considerable age gap... although Cassius had a hard time imaging Bell flipping her hair, or even smiling in any sort of seductive manner at all... the younger girl emanated a sort of perky innocence like that of a hyperactive child that her other teammates lacked.
Malfoy ripped the calendar from Crabbe's locker, infuriated by the sight of anything that reminded him of yet another bitter loss to Saint Potter, including the near doppelgänger of their rival chaser and chucked it into the garbage bin.
"Speaking of rivals," Malfoy muttered angrily, "I can't believe that bloody bitch is the DeWitt bastard. Mother says it's absolutely abhorrent that she's being allowed into Society at all -
"Well," said Flint frostily, "I'll let my mother know that the granddaughter and potential heir of the people who run half the estates and businesses in the country will not be allowed into our home this Yule because Lady Malfoy would have a heart attack."
Malfoy glowered at Flint, and Cassius smirked inwardly.
"Malfoy," said Flint, "If I were you, I would learn to hold my tongue. She might be a half-blooded bastard, but one day, you might find her repossessing one of your homes -
" - Not if the Dark Lord -
" - Are you stupid?" Flint hissed, staring at Malfoy with a cutting look of loathing. "That is not something you talk about here."
Flint gave him a withering glance before turning back to the rest of the team, who were now fully dressed and ready to leave.
"I have to go now. I expect I'll be seeing you all soon enough. Don't do anything stupid, and don't say anything stupid. Tell Montague the scouts were definitely here, and I'll try my best to have them in again for your next match. In the meantime, keep up the good work." He paused by the doorway and glanced back. "And Pucey," he said with a slight smirk, "I think one of my sister's is expecting a letter from you."
Verdict?