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.·:*¨༺𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚛❷⇻𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛②④༻¨*:·.
𝙼𝚌𝙶𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚕𝚕'𝚜 𝚂𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚜 & 𝚂𝚕𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗'𝚜 𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝚂𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚎𝚛
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➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶
✯¸.•'*¨'*•✿ ✿•*'¨*'•.¸✯✯¸.•'*¨'*•✿ ✿•*'¨*'•.¸✯
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❝𝙸𝚏 𝙸 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜, 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚕 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗,❞
╚⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤╝
Harry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor, while Gilderoy did the same to me.
I, on the other hand, was hiding from the first-year Colin Creevey, who seemed to have memorised my timetable. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say,
"All right, Y/n?" six or seven times a day and hear,
"Hullo, Colin," back, however exasperated I sounded when I said it.
Hedwig was still angry with Harry about the disastrous car journey but Zeus on the other hand, was never even mad at me and instead angrily hooted at both Harry and Ron whenever he saw them and Ron's wand was still malfunctioning.
"Great. Every owl around seems to hate us," Harry sighed,
"Speak for yourself, mate," I said, feeding little Hedwig a piece of blackberry from my snack bowl, as it munched away happily.
"At least you've got a working wand," said Ron, waving his wand around like a madman.
Ron's wand continued to bring disaster with it, surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron's hand in Charms and hitting tiny old Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck.
So, with one thing and another, I was quite glad to reach the weekend. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning.
I, however, was shaken awake several hours earlier than I would have liked by Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
"Morning, beautiful!"
"Whassamatter?" I said groggily, ¾ asleep.
"Quidditch practice!" said Wood. "Come on!"
I squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink and gold sky. Now I was awake, I couldn't understand how I could have slept through the racket the birds were making.
I turned to Oliver Wood, he was a tall and burly sixth-year and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a mad enthusiasm.
"Oliver," I said, processing everything around me, "Oliver," I repeated, almost as if trying to remember who I was speaking to.
"Oliver...?" I was slowly connecting the dots.
"OLIVER!?"
"Love that enthusiasm, Y/n!"
"Fuck that, what're you doing in the girls' dorms?! How did you get in??" I shouted, gathering the blanket around me and covering myself up with it.
"Can't say who let me in, or I might lose my one ticket," he said,
"Okay, I'm going to ignore how fucking creepy that sounds" I turned to the window, "Oliver," I croaked, "it's the crack of dawn."
"Exactly," said Wood. "It's part of our new training programme. Come on, grab your broom and let's go," said Wood heartily. "None of the other teams have started training yet, we're going to be first off the mark this year ..." Yawning and shivering slightly, I climbed out of bed and tried to find my Quidditch robes.
"Good girl," said Wood. "Meet you on the pitch in fifteen minutes."
When I'd found my scarlet team robes and pulled on my cloak for warmth, I scribbled a note to Hermione explaining where I'd gone and went down the spiral staircase to the common room, my Nimbus Two Thousand on my shoulder.
By the time I had arrived, the rest of the Gryffindor team was already in the changing room. Wood was the only person who looked truly awake.
Fred and George Weasley were sitting, puffy-eyed and tousle-haired, next to fourth-year Alicia Spinnet, who seemed to be nodding off against the wall behind her. Her fellow Chasers, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson were yawning, side by side, opposite them.
"There you are, Y/n, what kept you?" said Wood briskly.
"Morning Fred," I said to the almost-dead Weasley,
"Morning, Love," he said back, his voice sounding just as tired as he looked,
"Morning George," I said to the other twin, as his chin slipped from his palm,
"Morning Darling," He said, going back to his mini nap.
"Alicia, Katie, Angelina," I greeted the beautiful women,
"Morning, Y/n,"
"Yup, everyone's basically dead," I said to wood, placing my broom down, and stretching a little.
"Don't be silly, Y/n, everyone's as energetic as usual, and if not then more!" Wood said loudly pointing at the sleeping members of the team.
"You're the most delusional person I have ever met, buddy," I said, patting Wood on his shoulder,
"What was that?" Said wood.
"I said, you're doing great, sweetie," I said, smiling warmly, mocking the tone of a lovely middle-aged woman. Wood smiled like a happy dog, clearly from pride, missing the sarcasm in my voice.
"Now, I wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the pitch, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training programme, which I really think will make all the difference ..."
Wood was holding up a large diagram of a Quidditch pitch, on which were drawn many lines, arrows and crosses in different-coloured inks.
He took out his wand, tapped the board and the arrows began to wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars.
As Wood launched into a speech about his new tactics, Fred Weasley's head drooped right onto my shoulder and he began to snore.
"Oh you poor, sleepy thing," I said, tutting, shaking my head miserably while patting the side of the young boy's head.
The first board took nearly twenty minutes to explain, but there was another board under that, and a third under that one. I sank into a stupor as Wood droned on and on.
"So," said Wood, at long last, jerking me from a wistful fantasy about what I could be eating for breakfast at this very moment up at the castle with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, "is that clear? Any questions?"
"I've got a question, Oliver," said George, who had woken with a start. "Why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?" Wood wasn't pleased.
"Now, listen here, you lot," he said, glowering at us all, "we should have won the Quidditch Cup last year. We're easily the best team. But unfortunately, owing to circumstances beyond our control ..."
I shifted guiltily in my seat. I had been unconscious in the hospital wing for the final match of the previous year, meaning that Gryffindor had been a player short and had suffered our worst defeat in three hundred years.
Wood took a moment to regain control of himself. The last defeat was clearly still torturing him.
"So, this year, we train harder than ever before ... OK, let's go and put our new theories into practice!" Wood shouted, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the changing rooms. Stiff-legged and still yawning, the team followed.
We had been in the changing room so long that the sun was up properly now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the stadium.
As I walked onto the pitch, I saw Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Collin Creevy sitting in the stands, Collin's face lighting up when he saw me.
"Aren't you finished yet?" called Ron incredulously.
"Haven't even started," I said, looking jealously at the toast and marmalade Ron, Harry, and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall. "Wood's been teaching us new moves." I mounted my broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air.
The cool morning air whipped my face, waking me far more effectively than Wood's long talk. It felt wonderful to be back on the Quidditch pitch. I soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Fred and George.
"What's that funny clicking noise?" called Fred, as we hurtled around the corner. I looked into the stands. Colin was sitting in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.
"Look this way, Y/n! This way!" he cried shrilly.
"Who's that?" said Fred.
"No idea," I lied, putting on a spurt of speed that took me as far away as possible from Colin.
"What's going on?" said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air towards us. "Why's that first-year taking pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training programme."
"He's in Gryffindor," I said quickly.
"And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," said George.
"What makes you say that?" said Wood testily.
"Because they're here in person," I said, pointing, squinting my eyes at the little green blobs of what could only be the Slytherin team.
"That's right," said George, patting me on the back.
Several people in green robes were walking onto the pitch, broomsticks in their hands.
"What the... I don't believe it!" Wood hissed in outrage. "I booked the pitch for Gryffindor today! We'll see about this!" Wood shot towards the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Fred, George, and I followed.
"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin captain. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!" Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied,
"Plenty of room for all of us, Wood." Alicia said,
"But we booked the pitch!" I said, positively spitting with rage. "We booked it!"
"Easy, Wood, Darlington," said Flint, "I've got a note," Flint waved a piece of parchment in front of Wood's face and I instantly snatched it, just as angry as Wood.
"'I, Professor Severus Snape, do hereby give the Slytherin team permission to practise today, owing to the need to train their new Seeker.'" I and Wood read out together,
"New seeker?" I said, distracted,
"You've got a new Seeker?" Wood said,
"Who?" I asked.
And from behind the six large figures before us came a seventh, skinny boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face.
Draco Malfoy, you little bitch.
"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.
"You?" I asked, confusion all over my face,
"Hi, Y/n," He said, a sickly sweet tone to his voice that made me want to stab myself.
"Ew," Said George quietly, eying Malfoy with a weird look on his face.
"You're the new seeker?" I asked,
"That's right," said Draco, as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "That's not all that's new this year" All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words
"Nimbus Two Thousand and One" gleamed under the Gryffindors' noses in the early morning sun. "Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount." He glanced at my broom in a degrading manner and I clenched my fist, ready to punch his troll nose, "As for the old Cleansweeps," he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives, "sweeps the board with them."
None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment, but my knuckles were getting really itchy and Malfoy's face looked like a really good scratching board.
Malfoy was smirking so broadly that his cold eyes were reduced to slits.
"Oh look," said Flint. "A pitch invasion."
Ron, Harry, and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.
"What's happening?" Harry asked me.
"Why aren't you playing?" Hermione asked,
"And what's he doing here?" Ron said, he was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.
"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," said Malfoy, smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team." Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him. "Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy smoothly.
"Those are Nimbus two-thousand and ones...!" Ron said, astounded.
"That's right, Weasley. You see, unlike some, my father can afford the best." The Slytherin team howled with laughter.
"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said Hermione sharply. "They got in on pure talent." The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered. He approached Hermione carefully, taking short slow steps towards her, squinting his eyes dangerously.
"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.
I knew at once that Malfoy had said something really bad because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George from jumping on him, Alicia shrieked,
"How dare you!" Ron plunged his hand into his robes and pulled out his wand, yelling,
"You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoy's face.
A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backwards onto the grass.
"Ron!" squealed Hermione,
"Ron! Are you all right?" I shouted.
Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.
The Slytherin team were paralysed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging on to his new broomstick for support.
Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. The Gryffindors were gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.
"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," I said to Hermione and Harry, who nodded bravely, and the pair of them pulled Ron up by the arms.
I went to help Ron as well, but I turned back sharply and walked to Malfoy who was still howling with laughter.
I approached the young boy with caution.
"Draco," I spoke softly. Oddly soft, which seemed to confuse everyone around me. I smiled at him. The Slytherins began 'ooh'-ing and cheering Draco as I helped Draco up by his hand, smiling softly at him.
The Slytherins cheered for him as someone pushed him forward, Draco had that cocky look on his face as he smirked getting close to me. I smiled kindly at the boy in front of me and looked into his eyes.
The Gryffindors were silent, from confusion and more confusion. Fred and George were rapidly rubbing their eyes to see if what they were seeing was real or one of their sleepy time illusions.
"Y/n," Draco said, just as soft as me.
"Draco," I said softly, getting my face close to his,
"Y/n," he said, staring into my eyes.
"I wanted to give you something," I said, quietly, and sweetly. Draco began growing slightly red as the Slytherins got louder and cheekier.
"Oh? What is it?" Draco asked.
I simply smiled at him and took a short step back. I looked up at him again and in a flash of lighting my fist collided with his nose as my fist flew through the air.
There was a moment of pure silence as the boy fell back onto the cool grass as the Slytherins moved away at once.
Once everyone processed what had happened, the Gryffindors grew wild. Draco staggered up and was blinded for a second, clutching his most likely broken nose, which was bleeding.
I jumped on Malfoy when he got up and wrapped my legs around his torso as he turned around in circles in confusion while I kept punching him and pulling his hair and spitting death threats his way.
Fred and George were the loudest both in laughter and cheers, while Wood seemed to have gone temporarily blind at the sight of me beating up the Slytherin seeker, or he was too busy watching the grass grow to stop me.
I wanted to keep beating the shit out of Malfoy, but I didn't want to waste time there when I could have been helping Ron. Draco was out clean on the grass as the Slytherins were confused and glancing between me and Draco and the others in the Gryffindor team.
"Atta girl!" Yelled Fred,
"That's my Y/n!" Said George,
"Good girl!" Shouted Wood from behind as Alicia, Katie, and Angelina blew kisses my way, which I grabbed and returned at once while running back to help Hermione and Harry.
"What happened, Y/n? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?" Colin had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside us as we left the pitch. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front.
"That was a - BLECH - good punch, Y/n," Ron said, weakly.
"Thanks, Ron," I gave him a little smile.
"Oooh," said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. "Can you hold him still, Y/n?"
"No Colin! Get out of the way!" said Harry angrily.
Harry, Hermione, and I supported Ron out of the stadium and across the grounds towards the edge of the Forest.
"Nearly there, Ron," I said, as the gamekeeper's cabin came into view. "You'll be all right in a minute ... almost there, love ..." We were within twenty feet of Hagrid's house.
We knocked urgently. Hagrid appeared at once, looking very tired, but his expression brightened when he saw who it was.
"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me - come in, come in."
Harry, Hermione, and I supported Ron over the threshold, into the one-roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, and a fire crackling merrily in another.
Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which I hastily explained as I gently lowered Ron into a chair.
"This requires specialist equipment," he said cheerfully, plonking a large copper basin in front of him. "Better out than in."
"I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop," said Hermione as I gulped, anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin.
"So tell me," said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron, "who was Ron tryin' ter curse?"
"Malfoy," I said bitterly,
"He called Hermione, well..." Harry began, unsure whether to finish his sentence or not as he didn't know how bad the word was.
"He-" Hermione walked away, hesitating to say it, "He called me a mudblood," Hagrid looked outraged.
"He did not!" he growled at Hermione.
"He did," she said.
"But I don't know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course ..." Said Harry,
"It's about the most insulting thing he could think of," gasped Ron, coming back up.
"It means dirty blood. Mudblood's a pretty rude name for someone who's Muggle-born - someone like me who has both Muggle parents... It's not a word that usually gets passed around in sophisticated conversation..."
"Yeh see, Harry, Y/n, there are some wizards - like Malfoy's family - who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call 'pure blood'" Hagrid told Harry and me.
"That's horrible-!" Said Harry,
"That's bloody sick, is what it is!" I said,
"It's disgusting..." Said Ron, coughing up another slug, with a sour look on his face. I couldn't tell whether it was from the slugs or Malfoy calling Hermione a mudblood.
"An' it's codswallop ter boot. Dirty blood. There's 'ardly a wizard today that's not half-blood or less. Besides," Hagrid turned to Hermione, who was staring at the wall, perhaps trying to hide tears, "they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can't do..." said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of red. Hagrid gently took Hermione's hand into his and gently caressed it,
"Don' you think on it, Hermione. Don' you think on it fer a minute," Hagrid said. Hermione smiled and Hagrid turned to Ron.
"How's your sister Ron?" Hagrid said suddenly to Ron, whose face was now green,
"Doing okay I - BLECH - hope,"
"I seen her a lot around here. Said she was jus' lookin' round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin' she might run inter someone else at my house." He winked at me. "If yeh ask me, she wouldn' say no ter a signed -"
"Oh, shut up," said Harry.
"What's got your wand in a knot," I asked, Harry, who rolled his eyes and ignored me, "Petty, much," I added.
Ron snorted with laughter and the ground was sprayed with slugs.
It was nearly lunchtime. We said goodbye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle. We had barely set foot in the cool Entrance Hall when a voice rang out.
"There you are, Potter, Y/n, Weasley." Professor McGonagall was walking towards us, looking stern. "You three will do your detentions this evening."
"What are we doing, Professor?" said Ron, nervously suppressing a burp.
"You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr Filch," said Professor McGonagall. "And no magic, Weasley - elbow grease." Ron gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every student in the school.
"Potter, you will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail," said Professor McGonagall.
"Oh no - can't I go and do the trophy room, too?" said Harry desperately.
"Certainly not," said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. "Professor Lockhart requested you particularly." Finally, she turned to me,
"Y/n, you will arrive at my office to help me organise my bookshelf. Eight o'clock sharp, all three of you." Harry, Ron, and I slouched into the Great Hall in states of deepest gloom, Hermione behind us, wearing a well-you-did-break-school-rules sort of expression.
"I can't believe she gave you detention too?!" Said Hermione to me when we sat down at our usual seats.
"Well, I asked for it," I said, looking down,
"No you didn't," Said Hermione,
"No, I quite literally asked her to give me detention with Ron and Harry since I was also in the wrong," I said, gloomily.
"Well, at least you have it with McGonagall," Said Hermione,
"So?"
"So-" Hermione put her book down, "You won't have to work as hard, Y/n,"
"What?"
"What do you mean 'What?', Y/n, she favours you above every student at school!" She said, quietly shouting.
"Pfft, not she doesn't," I said, waving Hermione off,
"Think about it, Y/n. Why would she be insistent on not giving you detention if she didn't favour you?"
"Fair point," Yes, why did McGonagall not want to give me detention, I thought.
Both Harry and Ron felt they'd got the worse deal, but I was somewhat excited about my detention, as weird as it may sound.
"Filch'll have me there all night," said Ron heavily. "No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I'm no good at Muggle cleaning."
"I'd swap any time," said Harry hollowly. "I've had loads of practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart's fan mail ... he'll be a nightmare ..."
"Oh, you poor, poor, boys," I tutted, shaking my head slightly.
Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed like no time, it was five minutes to eight, and I was dragging my feet along the second-floor corridor to McGonagall's office.
I gritted my teeth and knocked, my nervousness starting to return. The door flew open at once, most likely through magic.
"Come in, Y/n." Came the voice of McGonagall who was seated at her desk, her glasses hanging low with a sharp quill in her hand as she stared at the paper in front of her, most likely making papers.
"Evening, Professor," I said, casually walking in, "So what do you want me to do?"
"Start taking the books out from each shelf, one row at a time, and once that's done, organise them alphabetically," She said, pointing the end of her quill towards a large section of bookshelves that were about as tall as a full-grown mountain troll, each.
"Right," I said, dragging my feet over to the first shelf which was closest to McGonnagall's desk.
One by one, I began taking the books out, and placing them on a large wooden table McGonagall had set up for me. The books were thick and heavy and made a loud thud sound when I dropped a book on the desk.
Around ten minutes into the detention I came across an especially heavy book from the shelf. The weight, I thought, was most likely from the fact that it was a photo album with many thick pictures inside.
I rolled up my sleeves with a determined expression on my face. The spide of the book alone was as big as my palm. I pulled the book out slowly, the weight putting immense pressure on my fingers.
When the book was on the very edge, the weight was too much, and I lost my balance, accidentally dropping the heavy book. It landed with a massive thud as pictures spilled out of the book.
Hundreds of pictures, most of them being black and white and some rare ones being coloured. Some were moving and some looked like normal muggle pictures. I gasped, clapping my hand to my mouth at the fuck up.
"Oh no!" I quickly got down the ladder and raced to pick up the pictures. Hearing the sound, McGonagall tilted her head to face me.
Noticing the pictures, her eyes widened and she dropped her quill on the paper as she instantly got to her feet and raced towards me. I picked up a picture and took a look at one.
It was a moving photograph. In the photo was a young woman, assumably in her late teen years, 15-16, standing next to a woman who- looked like me? Could this be my grandmother, I thought, staring into the pictures.
"Just like me..." I commented on the young woman who had the same hair, face, and body as me. It can't be my grandmother, it just couldn't have been, I looked too alike her!
Before I could do anything else, McGonagall snatched the picture from me and hurriedly picked up the others. There were more, so many pictures with the same women, McGonagall used her wand to pick up the rest of the pictures in a hurry and shoved them into her drawer.
"Professor-"
"Y/n, I know what you're going to ask, and all I can say is I can't tell you now, I'm sorry." What?
"What? Please, professor, tell me, who was that in the photo, and why did she look just like me?" McGonagall didn't say another word and sat back down in her seat.
🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌘
A/n: I love violent Y/n who stands for justice.
SLAP THAT BITCH, GIRLBOSS