Fourth year began with a reminder from the Headmaster Albus Dumbledore to stay united and strong in the face of difficulty. Judging from the way my sisters and their friends laughed and whispered throughout his speech without the slightest hint of shame, I did not think the message would be sinking in anytime soon.

I was glad to see Annabelle again. She brushed off my questions about France, apparently much more interested in what I had been up to.

"I heard about you and Leo," she whispered to me halfway through dinner. I froze, a forkful of shepherd's pie halfway to my mouth.

"Who told you?"

"Helena," said Annabelle, laughing at my no doubt sour expression. "What did you expect, that it would stay a secret? Come on Andy, surely you know us better than that by now?"

I scowled. I didn't know how Helena had found out, but I hated to think of her gossiping about Leo and me to the rest of the Slytherins. "Nothing happened," I mumbled, shoving the pie into my mouth and swallowing rather viciously.

"I heard he kissed you."

"On the cheek," I hissed. My eyes darted around to make sure nobody else was listening to us. Leo was some way up the other end of the table, chatting with Rabastan and Hadrian Flint. "Seriously, it was nothing, I didn't even – "

I broke off at Annabelle's laugh.

"Relax," she said. "Leo's a nice guy. I'm sure the two of you will be good together."

"How about you?" I asked, desperate to take the attention off myself for a while. "Is there anyone that you fancy?"

"No," said Annabelle, too quickly. I caught the flick of her eyes in the direction of the older Slytherins, and followed it, trying to figure out who she had inadvertently looked at. There was Will Selwyn, Orion Travers and Andreas Yaxley that I thought might have been a possibility.

"Is it Will?" I asked, picking the most handsome of them, and she slapped my arm.

"Shh, Andy."

I laughed. "You could have him if you wanted." It was true. With her long blonde hair, rosebud lips and big blue eyes, Annabelle could have any pureblood boy she wanted, even Will Selwyn, who was exceedingly good-looking, an only son, and widely considered to be a magnificent catch.

"I don't want him," she said firmly.

"No?" I asked, with a twinkle in my eye. "Are you sure about that?"

"Oh hush," said Annabelle.

Fourth year seemed to coincide with a significant surge in schoolwork. I had never felt so busy, and yet despite my consistently high results I was not satisfied. I wanted to achieve more, particularly in Potions, which had become substantially harder and more complicated than third year. But we had been once again partnered with the Gryffindors, and it was hard to concentrate when Professor Slughorn spent most of his time putting out the spot-fires that erupted almost weekly between Rabastan and Frank Longbottom, or Benjy Fenwick and Thorfinn Rowle. I was so tired of their petty squabbling, but there was little I could do to avoid it.

A spot as Chaser had opened up on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Try-outs were to be held in October. I wanted to compete more than anything, and I knew I was good enough. Leo was considered a star amongst the Slytherins, and I had out flown him more than once during the summer holidays.

I thought about asking Bella's opinion. She was, after all, supposed to be my closest confidant. Several times I came close. But I knew what she would say; that it was silly, and improper, and just not something a well-bred pureblood witch should do. It would have been nice to count on her support, but I wasn't so naïve to believe it was that easy anymore.

I could have asked Annabelle, but she had about as much interest in Quidditch as I had in ball-gowns. In the end I dressed in trousers beneath my school robes and snuck down to the pitch by myself the morning of the try-outs. I sat in the stands, alternating between determination to compete and terror at the very thought. The pitch filled up gradually, first with the existing players, then with all those eager to compete. I kept out of sight, fidgeting and biting my nails. Various images ran through my mind: of me, successfully completing a spectacular dive and emerging into a group of my cheering housemates; or failing to catch the Quaffle, of having it slip out of my hands and fall away, and the laughter of the crowd, Rabastan's sneer, my sister's angry face as I was forced to explain to her what in Salazar's name I thought I was doing…

The try-outs had begun. I could see several familiar faces, including Rabastan's, mount their broomsticks to begin throwing the Quaffle. My fingers twitched.

"Is this seat taken?"

I jumped almost a foot in the air, my head whipping around so fast I cricked my neck. Standing right beside me, as though he had emerged out of thin air, was the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. He was gesturing to the seat beside me, as empty as the other hundred around us.

The silence stretched. It was apparent he would not sit down without my permission. Mutely, I shook my head, and he smiled and folded himself down beside me, tucking his robe in around him. The end of his beard pooled in his lap like a grey scarf.

"I like to take an interest in the Quidditch," he said conversationally. "Fabulous game."

I could not think of a single thing to say. I tried to remember if I had ever spoken to the Headmaster before. He was a rather intimidating figure, and I did not like the way his bright blue gaze seemed to see right through me. I tended to avoid him.

"Do you enjoy it, Andromeda?"

I blinked. My upbringing made me naturally suspicious of his question, and I knew my family would advise me to be as circumspect as possible. But at the same time I thought he would know if I was lying. "Yes," I said simply.

Dumbledore did not seem surprised by my answer. "And yet, you are not down there with your housemates, attempting to secure a position on the team."

Despite the light tone of his voice, his words made me defensive. "Why do you care?" I demanded coldly. Amongst the Slytherins, Dumbledore did not have a good reputation; he was known as a kook, and even worse, a blood-traitor and Muggle-lover. I did not feel particularly obliged to be nice to him.

"Oh, I consider student welfare to be my highest priority," said Dumbledore mildly. "You are, after all, Hogwarts' most important asset."

In the air above us, Leo Avery threw the Quaffle to Quade Mulciber, a third year. He caught it deftly and tossed it to Rabastan, who fumbled the ball but managed to hold on by his fingertips.

"I would hope," Dumbledore continued in a gentle sort of voice. "That if any student of Hogwarts wished to take advantage of the many avenues of enjoyment and recreation this school has to offer, they would feel free to do so, without fear of others' disapproval."

He was subtle, but not subtle enough. I knew exactly what he was getting at. Nodding coolly, I fixed my gaze in front of me, hoping he would get the hint and leave me alone. It was too late to try out now, so why was he rubbing it in?

Professor Dumbledore remained where he was, twiddling his thumbs and humming softly under his breath.

"Slytherin will have a good team this year," he said after a while. "But not, I believe, good enough to win the Cup. I think that particular honour will go to Hufflepuff."

I looked at him aghast, and he smiled.

"I watched them train yesterday," he explained. "They have welcomed three new players to their team. I believe you know Edward Tonks."

The Mudblood. I bit my tongue. "He's in my year," I said.

"Indeed."

I waited for Dumbledore to say more, but he seemed content to sit in silence. Above us the players were all flying full-pelt, demonstrating their broom control at high speed. Leo was outstripping everyone.

"My door is always open, Andromeda," Professor Dumbledore said, his voice very soft. "Whether for a listening ear, or advice, or merely a chance at solitude, you are always welcome there."

I was torn between the natural deference for elders that had been hammered into me since I could walk, and the sense that this was a man my parents would not like inviting me for private chats. "Thank you," I said stiffly. "But I'm fine."

"Naturally," said Dumbledore. He got to his feet. "Now I will leave you in peace. I do believe Mr Lestrange may require a trip to the Hospital Wing."

I looked back to the pitch, and saw that he was right. Rabastan appeared to have been hit by a bludger. He was back on the ground, clutching his shoulder and grimacing in pain.

"I – " but Dumbledore was gone, as quickly and completely as he had first arrived.

Having watched the try-outs, I had expected Quade Mulciber to be given the position of third Chaser. He had, in my opinion, been the best performer on the day. So I was surprised when I heard that it was Rabastan, not Quade, who was to join the team. Despite Bletchley's insistence that the team had been selected on merit alone, I thought Romulus Lestrange's money and influence might have had something to do with it.

Whatever the reason, the consequence of this selection meant that Rabastan's already overblown ego swelled to near uncontrollable proportions; I began to like him even less than I already did.

"Father says I can have a new broom now that I'm in the team," he boasted later that week, coming over to invade the quiet corner I had set up for myself in the Slytherin common room. I looked up from the book I was reading, noticing with a vague sense of distaste that both Helena and Phylissa appeared to be following him around. "I think I'll ask for the latest Nimbus," he went on smugly once he had my attention. "Rodolphus says it's the best. What do you think, Andy?"

I shrugged. Of course the Nimbus was the best broom, Rabastan knew that as well as I did.

"I do hope you don't injure yourself," simpered Helena. "Quidditch is so very dangerous."

Rabastan smirked. "I dislocated my shoulder at try-outs," he said with exaggerated bravado, as though this was something to be proud of.

"Oh no," murmured Phylissa. "Was it painful?"

"Heaps," said Rabastan. "But that's Quidditch. You've got to take a hit sometimes."

"Only if you're not fast enough to dodge," I retorted without thinking.

The mood changed instantly. Rabastan scowled, whilst both Phylissa and Helena gaped at me with open mouths, as though they couldn't believe what I had said.

"How would you know," Rabastan shot back. "You didn't see it."

"You're right," I said, closing my book and standing up. I would go to the library to study; if I had to spend another minute listening to Rabastan's ego expand I might lose my mind.

I stalked past them to the common room door. When I reached it I glanced back to see Phylissa and Helena with their heads together, no doubt already running their mouths with gossip. Rabastan had twisted in his seat to watch me go. Ignoring his stare, I left.

I had barely made it to the top of the dungeon stairs when I heard someone call my name. Turning, I saw Rabastan hurrying after me. A quite unexpected jolt of alarm spiked through me, before I mentally shook my head at myself. It was only Rabastan. Sure he could be a bit of a prat, but he was still only a boy. I shouldn't be intimidated by him.

"What is it?" I asked, attempting to keep my tone polite.

Rabastan was huffing slightly, his cheeks a little pink from climbing the stairs. His normally flawless black hair was ruffled. "What is your problem?" he demanded roughly.

I stared at him, all notion of being polite fleeing from my mind. "Excuse me?"

"You don't have to be such a bitch all the time," he said flatly. "Why are you mad that I got onto the Quidditch team?"

My eyes narrowed to slits, and I answered coldly, "I'm not mad. I just don't think you deserved it. Mulciber's a better flier than you."

"How do you know? Were you at try-outs?"

I shrugged. I didn't particularly want him to know that I had been up in the stands by myself.

"Leo told me you played Quidditch with him all summer," Rabastan went on, in the tone of someone laying down a damning piece of evidence.

Apparently it was too much to ask that my personal life not be everybody else's business. "Once or twice," I said casually.

"So you fly around a bit over summer and suddenly you're an expert on Quidditch?" Rabastan sneered.

"Something like that."

"Obviously Bletchley disagrees with you."

This was too much. "The same Bletchley who's best friends with your older brother?" I scoffed. "The same Bletchley whose father works for your father?"

Rabastan took a step toward me, and I saw that he was almost quivering in anger. "Are you suggesting I bought my way onto the team?"

"I'm not suggesting anything," I retorted. This wasn't strictly true, but I was far too annoyed with him to care. "I'm just stating facts."

"I think you're jealous," declared Rabastan, his lips twitching with the ghost of a sneer. "Cause you want to be on the team."

This was a little too close to the truth for my liking. "Whatever," I said, turning and taking a few more steps up the stairs. I stopped when I felt his fingers close around my wrist.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

I gave him an icy stare. "Let go of me," I ordered, doing my best impersonation of Bella when she was at her scariest. There was a flash of alarm in Rabastan's eyes and he released me as though burned.

"I wasn't finished," he said.

"Well I'm finished listening," I snapped. "I'm going to the library."

"You're being stupid," he called after me as I stalked away. "As if they'd let a girl onto the team."

I stomped up the stairs, anger with Rabastan making my temple throb and my blood race. I was mad with myself for rising to his bait. I was mad with Leo for telling him about our private Quidditch sessions. I was mad with Helena for gossiping about me behind my back. And I was mad at my family, for no other reason than because I knew they would never support my desire to play Quidditch and would probably take Rabastan's side in an argument about it.

I strode out into the Entrance Hall, paying no attention to where I was going and completely oblivious to the group of people passing close-by. I heard a voice say "Watch out!" and a moment later I collided into a hard, masculine body. I stumbled, my feet slipping on the marble floor, and would have fallen had a hand not shot out to catch me, steadying me with a strong grip on my arm. I took a deep breath, my heart hammering in a combination of alarm and embarrassment.

It was Ted Tonks. He was dressed in the bright yellow Quidditch robes of Hufflepuff, a broomstick tucked casually under one arm. By his side were Frank Longbottom and Benjy Fenwick, wearing their scarlet Gryffindor robes, and a Hufflepuff girl whose name I had never bothered to learn. They were all looking at me as though I had just sprouted from the floor.

"Are you alright?" asked Ted. "You kinda walked straight into me."

I stepped away from him, shaking off his touch rather ungratefully. "I'm fine," I snapped. "Why don't you watch where you're going?"

Benjy Fenwick made a scornful noise, and the Hufflepuff girl rolled her eyes.

"Come on Ted," she said, putting her hand on his arm and giving me a scathing glare. "Let's go."

Ted was still watching me, a small frown creasing his features. I remembered what Dumbledore had said, about him being selected for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, and my eyes drifted to the broomstick he was carrying. It was a Nimbus. I scowled.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Ted asked again.

"She's fine," said Fenwick before I could answer. "Probably just had an argument with one of her little Death Eater buddies."

I felt all the anger and irritation I had been bottling up come pouring out of me like acid. "Eat dirt, Mudblood," I spat at Benjy, before pushing past them all and walking as quickly as I could towards the grand staircase.

"Bitch," I heard the Hufflepuff girl say behind me, loud enough for me to hear. I quickened my pace, practically flying up the stairs and through the doors to the first floor corridor. As soon as I was out of sight I stopped and dropped against the wall, my legs giving way until I sank into a crouch with my arms around my knees and the back of my head pressed to the cold stone wall. I squeezed my eyes shut and counted to ten as Bella had taught me to do when I was very small and suffered from nightmares. My whole body felt tense and uncomfortable, and the throbbing in my head that had begun with Rabastan had progressed into a merciless pounding. They were stupid, all of them. And yet, even though I'd never admit it out loud, all I really wanted to do right then was be out there on the Quidditch pitch with them.

Neither Rabastan nor I mentioned our fight again. It was generally accepted that Slytherins stuck together, and that meant acting united even if we didn't particularly like one another. Fights and disagreements were dealt with privately, never in the open, lest the rest of the school notice and try to exploit any weakness between us. That lesson had been drummed into us since childhood, and we did not forget it easily.

Nonetheless, while the rest of the school likely had no idea about our disagreement, within Slytherin itself it was something of an open secret. Both my sisters tried to question me about it, Cissy gently and Bella with the same rough bossiness she had taken to using on all the other students. Both of them got the same answer: silence. It was not that I didn't trust my sisters, or value their opinion. But I knew neither of them would understand. Cissy would think I was mad to care so much about Quidditch, and Bella would tell me I was being stupid fighting with Rabastan when he was the son of an important pureblood wizard. Neither approach was particularly helpful.

Shortly after the incident in the Entrance Hall, I was cornered by the same Hufflepuff girl that had insulted me. I had made a point of discovering that her name was Emily Howard, that she was a halfblood and an average student and had tried out for Chaser on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. She followed me into the girl's bathroom after our Defence class and stood there awkwardly, shifting her weight from foot to foot until she got my attention.

"Hi," she said when I finally glanced her way. Her expression was a strange combination of anxiety and defiance.

I said nothing, washing my hands and waiting for her to continue.

"Ted asked me to apologise," she said quickly, looking at a spot of grime on the floor rather than at my face. "About – you know – calling you a..."

I dried my hands with my wand and folded them across my chest. "A bitch?"

She had the grace to blush. "Yes, that. I mean, obviously you shouldn't have called Benjy a…a…"

"A Mudblood?"

She took a breath and puffed out her cheeks, looking distinctly uncomfortable. I didn't care. I was fuming. How dare that Tonks Mudblood order his girlfriend here to apologise, as though I cared what she thought, what any of them thought?

Emily seemed to realise her attempt at reconciliation had gotten off to a bad start. "Anyway, I'm sorry," she went on in a rush. "I shouldn't have reacted like I did. I don't even know you. I only know your family and – well, like Ted says, you shouldn't judge somebody based on their family."

"On the contrary," I said icily. "Family is exactly what you should judge somebody by." And I brushed past her without another glance.

I glared at Ted so fiercely the next day in Herbology that I'm sure he must have noticed. He looked troubled, and accidentally lopped the head off the venomous tentacula he was supposed to be pruning. After the spray he got from old Professor Beery I let up, deciding he had learnt his lesson and would leave me alone from that point on. It turned out I was wrong, because hardly a day later he too sought me out. I was walking along the corridor on the way to the library when he stepped out of an empty classroom right into my path.

"Andromeda," he said, startling me so much I nearly dropped the book I was carrying. I glared at him furiously, thanking Salazar that there was nobody else around. Still, I wasn't about to take any chances of being caught talking to a Mudblood; the memory of Sarah Hobbes was still too fresh in my mind. Glaring at him, I walked straight past into the classroom he had just left. He followed me in a moment later, looking confused.

"Er… I just wanted to make sure… did Emily say anything to you, cause I – "

"You didn't need to send her on some phony peace-keeping mission," I snapped at him.

He looked a little alarmed. "I didn't – "

"I don't care what she thinks of me," I continued before he could speak. "I don't care what any of you think. And I certainly don't need some fake, forced apology from your girlfriend."

He stared at me. "Em's not my girlfriend."

I swatted away this detail like a fly. "Whatever. Just leave me alone." I gave him my best glare, and was surprised to see his lips twitch in response. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You think I'm funny?"

"No," he said hurriedly. "Well, yes, sometimes, or at least – but only – " he broke off, looking as confused as I felt. "I mean, it's just…"

"Just what?" I demanded, wondering why I didn't simply walk out. I had made my point and wasn't really interested in anything he had to say.

He shrugged. "Just that I don't think you're really as stuck-up as you pretend to be. It's like – like you're afraid of what would happen if people figured out you're actually a half-decent chick."

I gaped at him. Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn't that. I hesitated, unsure how I wanted to react to his statement. Was I angry, offended, indifferent? Should I hex him, insult him, or simply walk out with my head held high and pretend like he hadn't spoken?

I was still trying to figure out my next move when Ted said "Alright, well, sorry for bothering you," and walked out of the room, leaving me standing there staring at the empty space and wondering if what he'd said was true.

.