The Slytherin Rose

Chapter III: The Gryffindor Seeker

There was another student that had caught the attention of the teachers. Rosaline Rosier was pointed out by Aurora Sinistra as being very focused in class, paying attention and appearing to be quite knowledgeable for her age. Filius praised her by saying that she was a delight to teach, if not a bit silent. Minerva seconded this, by saying that she had not noticed Rosaline at first because Hermione Granger had stolen the show, but that Rosaline was no less talented in her subject. Even Severus appeared quite taken with her as he gave her the biggest compliment, he would ever give a student. "She reminds me of Lily Evans."

Which seemed to shock quite a few teachers, Albus himself included because that was high praise indeed. But once the shock had passed, Filius had laughed and heartily agreed. "She looks like her too. The red hair and keen eyes made me do a double take the very first day."

Every other teacher seemed to agree with him on this. "She is certainly very similar. A quiet force of nature." Pomona piped in.

"Rolanda," Albus turned to the school's flying instructor and Quidditch referee. "They will be yours to take care of soon. Is your lesson plan ready?"

She nodded and proceeded to voice her excitement to find new potential.

"Merlin knows Gryffindor needs it." Minerva sighed. "We still haven't found ourselves a Seeker. Charlie Weasley is hard to replace."

The week thereafter, it was time for the first years' first flying class. Rosaline was about to kill the next person who mentioned having nearly died in some way or another by flying a broom. Malfoy was convinced he had had a close call with a Muggle helicopter, which would have been a great story: Malfoy heir dies by Muggle device.

Most students could not stop talking about Quidditch. Sometimes it appeared they were more passionate about the sport than the ability to perform magic at all. No proud student would allow themselves to be caught dead in the library, but they would gladly pay a month's wages on Quidditch magazines and supplies. Once again, Rosaline wished she had been roomed together with the never-speaking Daphne Greengrass over the ever-talking Pansy Parkinson. The pug-faced girl had not stopped talking about how Malfoy would show Potter on the Quidditch field what real talent was.

By the time, the day had been almost over, and they were heading down to the training grounds, Rosaline already had more than enough of flying and Quidditch. She had half a mind to just refuse to participate, claiming a phobia of heights, or a pounding headache to avoid a few hours of useless Quidditch talk. The headache would not be a lie. It was pounding and she swore it was a sign she had lost braincells today.

However, she was a Slytherin. And Slytherins were about as unlikely to give up on a challenge as Gryffindors were. One of the many attributes they secretly had in common. So here she was, watching as Ron Weasley got hit in the face with his broom and Hermione Granger full-on ordering her broom to do as she said. Malfoy silently fuming that Harry had gotten hold of his broom before he did.... Wait, this was actually quite a fascinating development. Malfoy had spent years perfecting his craft, yet this must've been the first time Harry even touched a magical broom. A bit of a young prodigy, it seemed. Oh, Malfoy was going to lose his mind over this.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch, their flying instructor, "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle...three – two –" but Neville, the kid with the worst luck in the world, had pushed off before the whistle had so much as touched the teacher's lips. "Come back, boy!" She shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle.

Neville's Gryffindor bravery failed him, as he started losing his grip in fear, the higher he went. He gasped, slid sideways off his broom, and landed on the ground with a nasty crack. Madam Hooch bent down over Neville and muttered something along the lines of, "Broken wrist," and then she urged Neville to get up and guided him towards the Hospital Wing. "None of you move." She warned the rest of the class before she went. "Or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say "Quidditch"."