Nora Rosier considered herself to be an entirely agreeable person. She got along well with her peers, was the darling teacher's pet of Hogwarts, and was easily her mother's favorite child (though to be fair, that was more of a curse than a blessing but sometimes, a win was a win). Yes, Nora smiled when she was supposed to, had perfectly polite manners, and won the hearts of everyone she met with ease.

Everyone except Mattheo fucking Riddle.

Nora Rosier hated Mattheo Riddle. Well, perhaps hated wasn't a strong enough word. Loathed for eternity? Wanted to put her hands around his neck and squeeze until he was strangled to death and she was choking on her own laughter? Hoped that his father would return to life so he could see what a dismal son Mattheo had come and kill him for her? Yeah, that seemed about right. Not hate. Hate wasn't enough to describe the boy who seemed to make it his mission to make her as miserable as possible.

Especially when it came to Quidditch.

Nora could admit that she had few shortcomings—her grades were stellar, her circle wide, her personality agreeable (for the most part)—but Quidditch was one of them. Her older brother was the daftest man she ever met but he played for the Holyhead Harpies. She couldn't possibly let Christopher—the biggest jerk on the planet besides Mattheo—beat her at anything so Nora was determined to not only play Quidditch professionally but to do it better than him as well.

She just had to make it on the team first.

Nora loved Quidditch. Perhaps loved wasn't a strong enough word. The feeling of being free up in the air while the wind blew in her hair and the excitement of the game rushed around her was enough adrenaline to last her a lifetime. There was a part of her, yes, that wanted to play Quidditch to be better than Christopher but there was a much larger part that just adored the way it was the only time she ever truly felt free from anything.

Her father was dead. Got himself killed by being a secret Death Eater when she was just a baby. Her brother was awful. He seemed to delight in cruelty when it was directed at his little sister and he was also a tremendous idiot, probably like her father. Somehow, her mother was worse. She had the delightful talent of looking at her daughter and seeing only a mirror of herself. Whatever shortcomings Nora had, Nova somehow had too (yes, she was very clearly named after her mother, who was probably too narcissistic to allow for anything but that). So Nora had to be perfect. She had to get the best grades because she would receive a howler if she didn't. She had to be agreeable with others because her mother would ground her for weeks if she wasn't. Yes, Nora was her mother's darling, the child of a woman who looked at another person only to see herself. A younger, prettier, smarter, better version. And Nova couldn't stand that.

Nora was no idiot. She would never have her mother's love. But she could have her approval. She could have respect. In her mind, that was enough. She could do without love. Why should she want something she would never get?

Love. Who needs it?

Freedom. That was what she wanted. And Nora only felt free doing one thing. Well, two things actually. Playing Quidditch and hating Mattheo Riddle.

For the past seven years, Nora had spent every Quidditch tryout falling off of her broom—if she ever managed to make it on, that is. But that wasn't her fault. If they wanted her to stay on the broom, why would they make them so damn small? Even her ass wasn't enough to cushion against the hard planes of the wood.

But this summer, she had been practicing. Nora spent every day outdoors playing with her brother's girlfriend, a chaser for the Harpies and someone whom Nora actually liked more than her own relations. Now, Nora could not only stay on the broom but she could fly it damn well too. Even Imani commented on Nora's skill, saying if the tryouts went as well as their practices, Nora had a shot of making the pro leagues. It would be an understatement to say she was ecstatic.

And the best part? Well, that would be wiping the smug little grin off of Mattheo's face when he saw how good she was.

They had already had one verbal sparring match today. Probably hit their quota on insults but today was tryouts day, which is where they would get out all of the remarks they missed during the summer. Yeah, they hated each other. Immensely.

The beaters were up next, which included Mattheo. His brown curls bounced as he walked with that stupid arrogant grin she hated so much. As he mounted his broom, Mattheo winked at her. "Don't worry, princess. You'll be mounted next."

Then, he took off before she could get the last word. Nora groaned. "Fuck you, Riddle!" She shouted into the air even though she was sure he wouldn't be able to hear her. But, surprisingly, a deep hearty laugh echoed around the pitch.

Damn this boy.

"Man, you really don't like him, do you?" one of the other chaser candidates asked with a laugh. He looked like a third-year, though she didn't usually pay attention to younger years enough to know who he was.

"That's an understatement," she grumbled. Fuck, he was good at Quidditch. It was like the bludgers went directly to his beater's stick before bouncing eloquently away. Mattheo somehow made Quidditch look like an art form, like a delicate dance of ballet.

It just made her hate him more.

"Why?"

Nora's gaze was torn from the field. "Why what?"

"Why do you hate him?"

She scoffed. What a stupid question. Why did she hate Mattheo Riddle? Why did hippogriffs fly? Why did toads sing? Why did Filch follow around that mangy cat like it was the goddess he worshipped?

Why did she hate Mattheo Riddle—with his chocolate eyes, matching curls, and cocky smirk? Why did she hate him?

The answer was simple really: because he hated her too.

asNora didn't speak to the other candidates for the rest of the tryouts. She didn't want to have to explain her relationship with Riddle. Everyone knew that Mattheo and Nora hated each other since they first walked the halls of Hogwarts at age eleven and that they would continue to hate each other until they died. Possibly even after that. Everyone knew that their fights worsened with each year. Their words became sharper, their digs meaner, their claws deeper. Eventually, one of them would probably kill the other. Strangling him was tempting most days, especially today as he walked off the field with a smug expression, knowing he easily made the team. Nora scowled and flipped him off.

"You wish, princess," he mouthed.

"In your dreams, Riddle," she mouthed back.

He smirked and walked up to her, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear before whispering, "If you wanted me to visit you at night, Rosier, all you had to do was ask."

She glared at him. "Don't. Fucking. Touch me."

If looks could kill, he would have been dead already. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. In her peripheral vision, she could see the younger students step back.

But Mattheo wouldn't back down. He hadn't when they were eleven, when they had their first sparring sessions only moments after she was sorted into Slytherin like the rest of her family. He hadn't backed down when they were fourteen and Nora set off an explosion suspiciously close to him during charms class. He hadn't backed down when they were sixteen and she had slipped Gregory Goyle a love potion that made him enamored with Mattheo for an entire day. No, Mattheo hadn't backed down.

And neither would she. No matter how much he teased or pranked or bullied, Nora wouldn't let those walls come down. She wouldn't shed a tear, wouldn't allow him to tear a hole in her armor. She would not let him win.

Nora Rosier had only let her guard down when it came to Mattheo Riddle once. And that was a mistake she would never make again.

The captain, Lorenzo Berkshire, walked over to the group of chasers with a grin. "Alright chasers. We have two spots. You ready?"

She smiled and eagerly followed him, though not before shooting daggers at Mattheo. Maybe, if all went well today, she would reward herself by finally allowing herself to put her hands around his neck and squeeze. Yes, strangling Mattheo Riddle would be quite the reward indeed. Then, perhaps, he would stop fucking talking, though if anyone could find a way to yap while they were dead, it was him.

At first, Nora was worried that Enzo's judgment would be hindered by the fact that he was Mattheo's friend. But the more she got to know the boy, the more she realized that his heart of gold wouldn't allow such bias. It was a wonder Enzo was in Slytherin and not Hufflepuff, though perhaps he could surprise him. Everyone had their secrets. Even Nora.

Enzo walked them out to the pitch. Nora thought that everyone else might have left by now but to her surprise, Mattheo stood at the edge of the stands with his arms crossed around his chest and a sly grin on his face. A group of girls fawned over him from not too far away. She rolled her eyes. It was no secret that Mattheo was quite possibly the biggest flirt to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts. He told practically everyone he met that he was their future husband. Well, everyone but Nora.

"Why don't you call me that?" she asked with a sarcastically sweet grin on her face while Mattheo introduced himself as (surprise) the future husband of the girl next to her.

Mattheo just smiled sweetly back. "Because, princess, we mustn't tell lies."

"Then you're lying to every woman you meet."

"Ah, ah, ah. For them, it could be true. For you, it never will be." She just glared at him and the conversation ended.

Shockingly, Mattheo wasn't conversing with the group of women, his fiery eyes just on the tryouts. Great. Her taunt about becoming co-captain must be getting to him more than she'd anticipated. That was great news. It meant she could bring it up again later.

"Alright. The rules for the tryout are simple. There are six of you so you'll be playing a mock match against our beater contenders while I watch from the sidelines. Any questions?"

Nora raised her hand. "How will we tell the teams apart?" They were all wearing Slytherin gear of some sort.

"Easy," a cocky voice from behind her drawled. Nora stiffened automatically. Where did he come from? Shouldn't he be flirting with girls or murdering puppies or something? "Shirts and skins. The three eighth years will be skins. The other three will be shirts."

"But Rosier can't be skins! She's a girl!" Yeah, the only girl at the tryout. But whoever shouted their interjection hadn't seemed to realize that telling Nora Rosier not to do something was the simplest way to ensure that she would be doing just that.

"You're right—" Enzo began but Nora interrupted him.

"I'm more than happy to be skins, captain," she replied with a low, smooth voice. And before anyone could say anything, Nora stepped back and slipped the green t-shirt off of her body. Her lacy, green bra was on full display—though it thankfully wasn't see-through—and they could all see the tight abs she had spent all summer working on. Nora smirked. Being admired felt damn good.

She turned her hazel eyes to Mattheo only to find that he was staring at her with open-mouthed shock. He clearly had expected her to put up a fight, probably his way of showing that she wasn't a team player because of something as simple as boobs. But he underestimated the fact that Nora wouldn't let his misogyny get in the way of her goals.

"Do you have something to say, Riddle?" she purred, a knowing glint in her eyes. "I'm just following orders."

He gulped. "N-no. All good, Rosier." Then, he turned around and stalked away, running his hands through his hair several times as the gaggle of girls followed him. And point for Nora, she thought smugly.

"What the hell are you looking at?" she snapped to the lingering chasers. It seemed like half of them were trying their damnedest to look everywhere but at her and the other half couldn't seem to look away. Nora didn't mind. She had a good body. Why hide it? "Never seen a pair of boobs before? Let's get these tryouts started."

That seemed to break whatever trance they were in. Enzo continued barking orders with a pink tint to his cheeks. Finally, it was time for the tryouts.

With Mattheo gone, Nora was able to focus with a few deep breaths before easily mounting her broom and taking off into the sky. It felt more natural than last year, something she would have to thank Imani for. Soon, the wind was in her hair. She hardly remembered that she was in nothing but a bra and athletic shorts. She was too focused on this. The rush.

The game began with the blow of a whistle and Nora was off, quickly grabbing the quaffle before half of her competitors even registered the noise. The other two eighth years flanked her as she soared through the sky and threw the little ball at the keep. The keeper dove but missed.

"And Nora scores the first point!" Enzo shouted. "Great job, Rosier."

His praise made her beam. This was what she wanted. She wanted to fly through the air, darting between the players as her adrenaline rose higher and higher and higher until she had to fall and catch herself again. This. This freedom. It was everything.

The rest of the match went exactly like the beginning. Nora's practices with Imani had improved her immensely. If anything, they just gave her the confidence to use her talents. Maybe she wasn't steady on the broom but she was fast and agile. Maybe she didn't have the strongest arm so she would get closer to the pitch. "Quidditch is about balance," Imani told her once. Today proved that.

By the end, Nora's smooth ponytail was riddled with knots from the hard breeze, and her cheeks were flushed from the exercise. But she felt alive.

Enzo gave her a nod that held a smidgeon of pride. "Well done, Nora," he said with half a smirk. "Keep playing like that and you'll have Mattheo ripping his hair out in no time."

All she could do was smile. This moment wasn't about Mattheo, though gloating about it to him later would be divine. No, this moment was about her. It was about what Nora could do. It was about what Nora could be.

The captain smiled at their group. "Alright. Looks like our team will be Bletchley at Keeper. Riddle and Crabbe at Beaters. And myself, Pucey, and Rosier as Chasers. Everyone else: thanks for coming out and good luck next year."

Nora's heart pounded against her chest. I made it. I finally made it! A dream that she had utterly failed at for seven long years was finally coming true. She was on the Quidditch team. She made it.

Mattheo walked out from behind the stands. "Well done, Rosier. You managed to stay on your broom this year."

Was that a compliment? No, surely not. Mattheo Riddle would rather cruciate himself than compliment her. But still, he was looking at her almost approvingly. What the hell? She just shook it off. It wouldn't be sensical. Why would he start being nice to her?

Unless...

Unless it was to get into her head. Make her think they were allies before striking her down even further. Yes, that must be it. That made far more sense than anything else.

So Nora smiled sweetly. "Thanks, Riddle. You know we're teammates now..."

"Yeah?" His face was flooded with confusion.

She stepped closer to him until their faces were practically touching. She could smell the hint of mint on his breath mixed with... something else. She couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Mattheo was tall but so was Nora. While he would have towered over anyone else, he was only about four inches taller than her. Perks of long legs. She could look her enemy in the eye while she whispered, "I'm going to make you wish you were dead." Yep. Strangling still on the table.

She expected anger, a sharp retort, something. What she did not expect was for Mattheo to look down at her like she was some little kitten not to be taken seriously before whispering, "Oh, princess, kill me all you like. Death at your hands would be my greatest pleasure."

His voice was low and sensual, probably the same tone he used to ensnare gullible young women. It certainly would not be the thing he used to ensnare her.

Still, she wasn't expecting him to get all flirty. Sure, he did sometimes but that was from a safe distance. Now, smelling his heady scent, feeling his warmth against her skin. Oh, fuck. She was practically naked in booty shorts—because when you're tall, all shorts are booty shorts—and a bra. What the hell was she thinking?

As if he remembered this at the same time she did, Mattheo's eyes went downward for a split second before widening. His cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. "See you on the pitch, Rosier," he mumbled before stalking away, leaving her to wonder what the hell just happened.

Yowzers, the sexual tension between these two, am I right? Also, why did I just say yowzers like I'm 65 years old and ready for my pension plan?

Anywaysssss let me know what you think so far, especially now that we've met our girl Nora! I always love to hear your early predictions and opinions because I'm sitting here like a little menace behind the keyboard waiting to type what's next. All my luv xx