Dark Reserve

Your Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Professor Quirrell was extra awkward. Sitting a few feet away from a man you suspected of attempting to **** another Hogwarts student made you very nervous. To his credit, Professor Quirrell was really playing up his nerves from lunch as he, no doubt, tried to throw off any suspicion toward him. In your opinion, his fake stutter almost seemed to be over the top but everyone else bought it like usual.

Although, Daphne and Tracey chose seats directly behind you so you weren’t sure how those two were handling things. But they already knew of his murderous intent from back in early November and hadn’t been silenced so they were likely below his notice. The extra-stuttery professor suggested the calm activity of silently reading chapters from your textbook The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection then slumped back in his desk chair and nearly fainted again.

What really turned the lesson around was when Millicent - who was seated on your left side and had seemingly taken Gemma’s instructions to keep an eye on you to heart - reached over and grabbed your hand.

“I knew you didn’t do it,” your best friend whispered as she gave your hand a soft squeeze, “I never suspected you for one second. Anyone with any kind of sense or who knows the first thing about you would know that McGonagall was completely in the wrong there. You’d never do something so underhanded.”

“Thanks, Millie,” you responded as you squeezed her hand back, “You really are one-in-a-million.” The support meant the world to you on a day when you saw how quickly the rest of the school would turn on you if you got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Millicent didn’t seem to be in a hurry to take her hand back so you left it there and continued to hold hands while you did your reading. You were right handed so you were able to turn pages without problems. Millicent was also right handed but she wasn’t turning pages as frequently as you were. In fact, she seemed to be staring at her book as opposed to reading it. There was also a faint flush on her cheeks but you were a nice enough person to not draw excess attention to your friend’s embarrassment.

All that being said, it actually wasn’t your worst Defense class.

And then there was History of Magic…

You hadn’t even made it three steps into the room before Daphne grabbed you by the hand and all but dragged you to a table in the back right corner. She then quickly constructed a wall out of open textbooks and pulled you down into a seat behind it.

The oblivious and boring ‘Professor’ Binns didn’t even notice when he entered the classroom through the blackboard. He probably wouldn’t have even noticed if none of you turned up for the lesson and would have given his dry and tediously dull lecture to an empty classroom.

Crabbe and Goyle were the only ones paying attention to the ghost professor so you could focus your undivided attention on the poisonous plot you found yourself caught in the dead center of.

“So… obviously… you think it was Professor Quirrell,” Daphne prompted.

“I think he might’ve been trying to give me some proper extra credit,” you whispered. “You weren’t there when I turned in my essay. He said ‘best of luck in the match on Saturday’. Like he already knew I would be playing. He gave me a cryptic stutter-free warning before he tried to **** Potter too. ‘Let us hope that everyone playing today remains healthy.’ And we both saw that he was capable of casting a Hurling Jinx on a top-of-the-line broomstick from all the way down in the stands… casting a Switching Spell from across a crowded room with no one noticing would be dreadfully simple by comparison.”

“Doesn’t that seem too obvious, though?” Daphne quietly countered. “In a proper mystery it’s never the first person you suspect. That first suspect is called a 'red herring’ and they’re meant to lead you away from the true culprit.”

“Then you clearly weren’t paying attention in the Great Hall,” you said, “Because I was the first person everyone suspected.”

“I meant anyone with a hope of actually solving the mystery,” she replied. “Like it or not, you’re the one caught in the middle of the thing… so you’re the one with the best perspective to figure it\ out. You’re the one who’s privy to the quiet subtle details like those secret conversations with Quirrell.”

“You think there’s someone ELSE in this school who would **** a Quidditch player?” you questioned.

“I think… that if you cling to your first impression like a stubborn Gryffindor… then you’re intentionally limiting yourself. In a proper mystery its never the simple solution. You’re looking at it from the perspective that it’s two incidents committed by the same assassin. That’s the simple solution. But just for a second… stop and consider that it might be two completely separate culprits.”

Half the reason you were having this discussion was so you could look at things from someone else’s perspective. And if you knew absolutely nothing else about Daphne Greeengrass… it was that she loved a good mystery.

“Okay… I’m listening,” you said. “So what if there IS another murderer in the castle?”

“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it?” Daphne retorted, “If their goal was to kill Miles Bletchley… then they failed. But… if their goal was to ensure that you’d be playing Keeper on Saturday… then I’d say they succeeded.”

“...” You stared silently at the textbook wall in front of you. That was definitely a new way to look at the assailant. Not a murderer but someone merely looking to get Bletchley out of the way.

“So the question you should be asking yourself is: who wants you on the Quidditch team bad enough to poison someone in order to make that happen?”

You continued to stare silently at the textbook as you thought it over. Maybe Flint finally realised you were a better Keeper than Bletchley? Your violent and brutish captain seemed ambitious and underhanded enough to seriously injure someone in order to win a Quidditch match. Especially if it meant getting his team out of last place.

But poisoning? No. That was way too subtle for Flint. He was notoriously UN-subtle with his rule violations. If he wanted Bletchley out of the way… he would’ve pushed him down the stairs or ‘accidentally’ injured him during Wednesday’s practice.

Professor Snape? He figured everything out very quickly. Poison and potions went hand-in-hand. He also knew full well that you regularly kept a bezoar handy… so with that foreknowledge… Bletchley was never in danger of dying. There was clearly no love lost between him and Professor McGonagall when it came to the Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch rivalry. Perhaps he heard you were performing better than Bletchley at practice and was looking to help Slytherin field a stronger team?

You shook your head. Also no. For all his biased bullying of students from other houses… Professor Snape did his best to protect students from lethal situations… he didn’t cause them. And the fact that he was likely Potter, Granger, Weasley, and Longbottom’s chief suspect made you automatically assume they were wrong.

Unfortunately, you suddenly realised that if it WASN’T Quirrell… then your mental warning to your mind-reading Head of House now had him looking in the wrong direction. Which meant it was up to YOU to discover the identity of the true culprit.

You looked over at Daphne, “Do you have someone in mind?”

“I have an idea,” she admitted, “But you’re not gonna like it.”

Your eyes narrowed. “It’s not me, is it?”

“No,” she replied but then leaned even closer so her lips brushed against your ear and sent a shiver running down your spine as she whispered, “But you, me, and Tracey all know that you could have made that happen. Fortunately, Professor Snape doesn’t seem to know how persuasive you can be.”

Almost to prove her point… she kissed you on the cheek.

You heard a giggle on our other side and turned to see Pansy Parkinson watching with a sly smirk on her face from the next table over. She was too far away to overhear your low whispers but the fact that her chair was turned sideways so she was directly facing your table showed that she wasn’t even pretending to pay attention to the boring ghost’s lecture and instead found watching you and Daphne have a secret discussion huddled together behind a wall of books much more entertaining. In her defense, everything was more entertaining than Binns. But the gleam in the gossipy girl’s dark eyes told you that she thought her decision to spend the lesson watching you had just borne some extra juicy fruit.

Parkinson silently mouthed, “I… saw… that…”

You heard Daphne huff and looked back over at her only to see her cast a glance forward at Millicent and Tracey who were seated at the table in front of you… facing the correct direction. You idly noted that this meant the four Slytherin first year girls had you surrounded. But since you and Daphne were in the back corner and Pansy had taken the seat on your other side… that meant she was the only one in a position to see around your book wall.

Which also meant Pansy was the only one who saw the defiant glare Daphne shot her before she grabbed your face and kissed you again. This time on the lips.

Your eyes flew open in surprise at the bold display and all thoughts of mysterious assassins vanished from your mind. She really laid one on you too. For a solid five seconds. She cast a smirk over your shoulder when she pulled away. You turned and saw Pansy gaping like a fish.

A cursory glance around the room showed that only Pansy noticed. Crabbe and Goyle were the only ones paying attention to Binns but everyone else was either napping or reading.

You looked back at Daphne for an explanation.

“I didn’t want her to think that was something she could hold over me,” she quietly admitted, “And she clearly wanted a show… so I gave her one. Besides… you know how I am about mysteries. Like it or not, you’ve presented me with another interesting one.”

“Right… circling back to that then… if it’s not me… then who do you think did it?” you inquired. “Because I can’t really think of anyone who would be vicious enough to sink that low.”

“Can’t… or won’t?” Daphne responded.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she deflected. The girl who just boldly kissed you in the middle of a lesson stared nervously down at the table in front of her.

“Seriously… who?” you pressed her.

“I’d rather not say…” she responded. “Like I said… it’s only an idea… and you’re not gonna like it. So I’d prefer if I have more concrete evidence before I start flinging accusations. But I will say that, much like with Quirrell, you are in the best position to spot that extra evidence so you’d best keep your eyes open. You’ll be better off figuring it out for yourself instead of hearing it from me.“

With the conversation seemingly over, Daphne fished into her school bag and pulled out a scrap of parchment and a quill then proceeded to draw a familiar noose and a series of empty lines below it. .

You quickly recognised the game - Hangman.

Daphne’s puzzle was four words. Six letters, four letters, three letters, then five. Likely a phrase.

_ _ _ _ _ _ / _ _ _ _ / _ _ _ / _ _ _ _ _

You pulled out your own quill and wrote an ‘E’ and got one in the first word.

_ _ _ _ E _ / _ _ _ _ / _ _ _ / _ _ _ _ _

You correctly guessed all the other vowels: ‘A’, ‘I’, ‘O’, and even a ‘U’ based on the position of the second ‘O’.

_ _ O _ E _ / _ _ A _ / _ O U / _ _ I _ _

You finished off the third word with a ‘Y’ and scored again with an ‘R’ to go with the ‘E’.

_ _ O _ E R / _ _ A _ / Y O U / _ _ I _ _

Common letters like ‘S’ and ‘T’ were also successful. And it was only logical to include an ‘H’ after the two Ts.

_ _ O S E R / T H A _ / Y O U / T H I _ _

From there it was a simple matter of finishing the fourth word with a ‘N’ and a ‘K’ before deducing the beginning of the first word to reveal the full phrase.

C L O S E R / T H A N / Y O U / T H I N K

It was an easy puzzle. You hadn’t gotten a single letter wrong. But then you realised it wasn’t a puzzle at all… but a cryptic warning.

You looked over at Daphne and got a nervous nod in response. There were ten first years and a useless ghost in the classroom. Professor Snape’s public defense of you proved that the **** method used was beyond the abilities of a first year so she obviously didn’t mean it literally. But the cryptic warning paired with her earlier advice to keep your eyes open made you nervous.

Things would’ve been much simpler if Quirrell was still your only suspect. As unsettling as the two-faced professor was… he was at least a known entity. You already had a good idea of what his motivations were. Or at least you thought you did. So there was a degree of comfort in that. You proved you could keep a secret and helped him with something important… and he helped you in return. But Daphne said that in a proper mystery it was never the simple solution. You WISHED it was but mysteries were her area of expertise and you had an unsettling feeling that she was right.

The new perspective Daphne gave you opened a dangerous can of worms. If it WASN’T Quirrell… then there was a second potentially lethal assassin that you had to worry about. And like Quirrell, this one also had an unhealthy interest in you since the end result of their attack meant you would be playing Keeper on Saturday. But UNLIKE Quirrell… you didn’t know what their goal was OR how you factored into their plans. And based on Daphne’s suspicions… they were someone close to you which made you all kinds of nervous.

Those nerves were at the forefront of your mind when you returned to the Slytherin common room after classes ended for the day. You let out a yelp when you found Marcus Flint lurking right inside the door.

“Gaunt… come with me.”

The over six foot tall sixth year pushed his way through your fellow first years and out the common room door before it could fully close. You handed your school bag off to Goyle who was the tallest of the first years but was still over three inches shorter than Flint. “Could you follow Draco to our room and put that away for me, please?” He nodded and you left your fellow first years behind as you turned to follow Flint out of the common room.

It didn’t take you long to realise your Quidditch Captain was leading you toward the Potions classroom… which was where your Head of House’s office was.

“Pomfrey’s not gonna clear Bletchley to play on Saturday,” Flint stated. “She won’t release him ‘til the poison’s fully outta his system. That means you’re gonna be playing Keeper on Saturday. So we’ve gotta talk to Snape about getting you a decent broom.”

“I have a decent broom,” you informed him. Flint stopped in his tracks and gave you a hard stare so you hastily explained. “I impulsively purchased a Nimbus Two Thousand during the summer when I was doing my school shopping in Diagon Alley. I couldn’t help myself. I told myself I’d figure out a way around the rule that bars first years from having their own brooms when I got to school. The broom has been sitting in the store for months, already paid for, and they’re just waiting for an owl from me to have it delivered.”

“And you’re just telling me now!?” Flint demanded.

“You’re the one who told me and Draco back at tryouts in September that Professor Snape wasn’t willing to break the first year rule like Professor McGonagall did with Potter. I decided to use this as an opportunity to show that I could be a decent Keeper without a fancy broomstick. I’m telling you now because now I’m actually going to be playing. And if there was ever going to be a chance that Professor Snape might change his mind… it would be now. Because he wouldn’t want to see Slytherin embarrassed by having me compete on a Shooting Star.”

Flint’s eyes narrowed. Even he must’ve realised how suspicious it was for you to have a quality broom already waiting. “I’m gonna ask you this once… and you’d better tell the truth… did you put Bletchley in the Hospital Wing?”

“No!” you exclaimed. “And after you left Professor Snape proved that I couldn’t have done it!”

“DON’T BULLSHIT ME!” Flint roared. “I didn’t ask if you poisoned him! I asked if you put him there! You coulda bribed someone else to do it so you could keep your hands clean!”

That sounded like something Malfoy would do.

“No!” you insisted, “Whoever did it might want me to play Keeper but I swear to Salazar Slytherin that I had nothing to do with it!”

“Hmph, too bad,” Flint grunted with a shrug.

“Wait… WHAT!?”

“Anyone underhanded enough to have someone poisoned so they could make the starting lineup is someone I want on my side,” he said. “‘Cause if that’s what they do to a teammate that’s in their way… I wanna see what they do to the other teams.”

You stared up at Flint in wide-eyed, open-mouthed shock. You knew he was underhanded… but he would’ve preferred if you orchestrated a housemate’s near-****?

That was Slytherin Quidditch for you.

You thought about telling him that the true culprit actually was on his side. Professor Quirrell was decidedly anti-Harry Potter and pro-Marvolo Gaunt. But, after your discussion with Daphne, you were no longer certain that it actually was Quirrell.

“Either way,” the bloody-thirsty Captain Flint resolved, “Let’s see if Snape is willing to change his mind about that broom.”

It turned out… he wasn’t.

“Absolutely not,” your Head of House refused.

“Sir… he can’t play the match on a school broom!” Flint argued.

“I told you… just as I told Professor McGonagall back in September that I will not stoop to her level and break the first year broom rule. I will not show that kind of favoritism in my house.”

“Oh, sure, now you choose not to play favorites!” Flint complained. “The runt’s got a Nimbus Two Thousand just waiting to be delivered!”

You’d think after five and a half years at Hogwarts with Professor Snape as his Head of House that Marcus Flint would be better at interpreting ‘Snape-speak’. Unlike Flint, you understood the hidden meaning in your Head of House’s words. He ‘told’ Professor McGonagall back in September that he wouldn’t stoop to her level… but given his blatant hatred for the first year she broke the rule for… he’d likely been rubbing her face in her misconduct all year. He couldn’t do the same thing for you without eating a ton of crow. And that was something he refused to do.

“It is stated very clearly in the Hogwarts acceptance letter that first years are not allowed their own broom,” Professor Snape stated while giving you a harsh glare that silently demanded an explanation for your impulse purchase. If Flint noticed how suspicious it was that you had a top quality broomstick conveniently waiting for you to use this Saturday then, of course, the shrewd Potions professor would catch onto that too. Fortunately, he already knew you were innocent from his dive into your mind back in the Great Hall.

“I couldn’t resist,” you explained with a self-conscious shrug. “I was surprised there was money in the Gaunt vault when I went to Diagon Alley. I’ve been listening to Quidditch matches on the Wizarding Wireless for years. I live in a muggle village so I knew my only chance to fly would be at Hogwarts. I didn’t even know if I’d be good at it. But I’m also the last member of a nearly extinct Sacred family line… so I knew I needed to do something to make a proper impression. Even if I wasn’t good at flying, a top-of-the-line Nimbus Two Thousand would help me look better. I resolved that I’d find some way to get the broom to Hogwarts anyway. The broom’s been sitting there in Quality Quidditch Supplies for months just waiting to be delivered.”

You were thirteen at the time. You were allowed to have bouts of boyish impulsiveness.

“Also, professor, while we’re here,” you continued, “I never properly thanked you for defending me back in the Great Hall… so thank you. I’m aware that with my position as your so-called favorite…” you cast a quick side glance at Flint as you said that, “that more… intuitive… students might jump to conclusions and suspect that you had something to do with it.” You briefly suspected your Head of House before you quickly ruled him out. “But any true Slytherin knows that you’d never do something like that - to a member of your own house or otherwise.”

Professor Snape gave a brief curt nod. “You’ll find that being a Slytherin in a high profile position will make you a natural target for suspicion. That’s why it's important that you keep yourself as far from these kinds of incidents as possible.”

You nodded and remembered how Professor Snape yelled at you for climbing on the table. Standing there drew everyone’s attention toward you. Especially Professor McGonagall’s.

Your Head of House turned his attention to your Quidditch Captain. “If it’s so important that he is properly equipped for the match then I’m sure there are several older Slytherin students with their own broom who would loan him theirs. Bletchley, in particular, has a broom that he obviously won’t be using this weekend.”

Flint looked like he was considering it but that’s where you drew the line.

“With all due respect, professor,” you said, “I know the whole point of being a reserve is for me to take over when Bletchley can’t compete. But if I take his spot and his broom… then I’d just be adding insult to injury.”

You were able to make out Flint grumbling under his breath, “Of course, he didn’t have the guts to poison him and take his spot… won’t even take his damn broom.”

Well, if he didn’t believe you before, that probably convinced him that you weren’t a murderer.

“Let me make myself perfectly, one hundred percent clear, Gaunt,” Professor Snape resolved. “It doesn’t matter what top-of-the-line broomstick you impulsively purchased over the summer. First years are not allowed their own brooms.”

You blinked as you interpreted the Head Slytherin’s hidden meaning. You were not allowed to have a Nimbus Two Thousand. But… based on his previous suggestion… you could borrow one from an older student.

And there was only one older Slytherin student that you trusted enough to hold onto an expensive top-of-the-line broomstick for you so you could use it for the match on Saturday.

A wide grin spread across your face, “Understood, professor. If you’ll excuse me… I have to go ask an older student if she’ll let me borrow her broom.”

You raced out of the office without waiting for permission to leave and ran all the way back to the common room. You hissed at the wall and ran inside then quickly scanned the common room. There she was… sitting with her friends… she told you she’d check up on you when you got back from class but Flint caught you first.

“Gemma!” you called out as you threw yourself down in the surprised fifth year’s lap. “Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite prefect?”

Evanora Rowle spoke up first which was an oddity for the quietest member of the trio, “You don’t have to. You make it extremely obvious. After all, I don’t see you throwing yourself down in Perriss’s lap.”

“As a prefect… I’m not supposed to have a favorite,” Gemma remarked as her arm snaked around your waist, “But at this point it’s pretty obvious that you're my favorite first year so I won’t bother denying it.” She paused for a beat then asked, “How’re you holding up?”

“He’s looking awfully chipper for a first year who was just accused of attempted **** a few hours ago,” Lysandra Yaxley noted with a toothy grin.

“Didn’t you storm out?” you questioned. “How do you know what happened?”

The dark-haired girl rolled her eyes, “Because whether or not you poisoned Bletchley has been what the entire school’s been talking about since lunch.”

Gemma patted your back, “You’re a Slytherin. Being a target for suspicion comes with the territory.”

“That’s basically what Professor Snape told me a moment ago,” you mused. “Next time there’s an incident… I’m supposed to steer clear of it so I don’t get blamed for it again.”

“The leading theory is that you bribed someone to do it for you,” the short blonde-haired Evanora supplied as she leaned closer and cupped a hand under her chin then gave you and Gemma a very blatant once over. “Any truth to that one?”

“No,” you insisted. “But that was Flint’s theory too but I’ve got a different one. Maybe if I had the Malfoy name and fortune… I could solve my problems by throwing money at them. But I’m a Gaunt. That name and reputation used to mean something great… but they’re in a definite slump now… which means I have to prove myself with proper talent and ingenuity.” You paused for a beat then turned your attention to the auburn-haired girl upon whose lap you were sitting, “Speaking of… Gemma, as your favorite first year and my favorite prefect, I have a huge favor to ask you…”

“Oh? What’s that?” she questioned.

“Well, as you’ve likely already figured out… Madam Pomfrey isn’t going to clear Bletchley for the match against Ravenclaw on Saturday. Which means… as Reserve Keeper… I’ll be the one playing on Saturday. If I show up for the match riding one of the Shooting Stars… I’ll be a laughingstock and even worse… we might lose. But first years aren’t allowed their own brooms. Professor Snape made it perfectly, one hundred percent clear that he is unwilling to break that rule on my account. BUT… what I can do is BORROW a broom from an older student.”

“You want to borrow my Cleansweep?” Gemma briefly clarified before she agreed to your unasked request. “Of course.”

“Yes and no,” you replied, “You see… I do have my own broomstick.” You began to recap the story you’d told both Flint and Professor Snape. “Before I made the Quidditch team, before I found out I was a decent flier, before I was sorted into Slytherin… I was a die hard Quidditch fan and I was determined to fly when I finally got to Hogwarts. So when I went into Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley… I couldn’t help myself… and I ended up buying a Nimbus Two Thousand. I live in a muggle village and I’m basically a ward of the Ministry so I knew I was never going to be allowed to fly it at home which is why I didn’t take it from the store. I told myself I’d find a way around the first year rule once I got to school. It’s been sitting there all this time just waiting to be delivered.”

“I wish I had the money to spend on a Nimbus that I couldn’t actually fly,” Gemma grumbled. “I had to save up to buy my Cleansweep Seven when it came out four years ago.”

“Well… now you do have one and you can fly it,” you told her. “Because I’m giving it to you. Consider it a gift for all the help and advice you’ve given me since I got here.”

Her sapphire eyes went wide in a shock and a pretty pink flush colored her cheeks.

Haha! Score one for Marvolo Gaunt!

And then Lysandra and Evanora started giggling. Or in Lysandra’s case it was more like cackling accompanied by a teasing comment.

“Oooo! Gigi! Your little boytoy wants you to ride his broomstick!”

Your first thought was, “Gigi?” And then your mind caught up to the crude comment and you and Gemma were suddenly sporting matching beet red blushes.

Score one for Lysandra Yaxley…

“Time to go!” Gemma quickly announced. She likely realised that there was going to be a ton of teasing coming your way if you didn’t immediately vacate the area. You slipped off her lap and she made a point to grab a quill and parchment off of a nearby end table so you could write your letter then the two of you bolted for the common room door.

You raced up from the dungeon and hurried to the entrance hall. It wasn’t until you exited the castle - and ran right into a wall of cold courtesy of the Scottish highlands in February - that you realised you both forgot your cloaks.

“Bloody cold…” Gemma complained as she tried to suppress a shiver. You idly noted that she was wearing the long shin-length skirt and dark shin-height socks that most of the girls opted to wear during the extra cold months. She extended her arm toward you, “C’mere, Snuggles.”

At least you didn’t have to worry about your face being cold. The brightly burning blush that arose from a combination of the recent innuendo, the embarrassing nickname based on your snake pajamas, and being pressed flush against the curvy fifth year’s side as she wrapped her arm around your shoulders ensured that there was plenty of heat in your face.

Gemma drew her wand with her other hand and tapped you on the shoulders as she cast a Warming Charm on your school robes. You immediately felt a wave of warmth run down your back as Gemma cast the same charm on her own robes.

“That’s only a temporary Warming Charm,” the Perfect Prefect warned you. “It’ll wear off in about thirty minutes. The ones woven into articles of clothing when they’re made - like that Irish uniform you’ve been wearing for practice - are not necessarily permanent but they’ll last at least a few years before they eventually start to fade.”

Gemma pulled her arm away but not before stopping briefly to flick your ear.

“I would’ve thought you’d know by now to be careful with what you say around Slytherin girls,” she scolded you as the two of you crossed the Clocktower Courtyard and headed for the Owlery. “‘Sandra and ‘Nora are the type of witches who will spend the rest of the year making comments about me riding your broomstick.”

“Yeah… sorry about that…” you apologised. “I figured if I was open about us circumventing the first year broom rule… then less people would consider it cheating. You’re the only older student I trust enough to give a Nimbus Two Thousand to who would still allow me to use it for practice and matches.” You paused for a beat and considered the ‘riding your broomstick’ bit. “I guess the fact that we ran out together isn’t really going to help matters either…”

“Oh, no, they’ll take the mickey to my face… but they know I wouldn’t actually do anything.”

“No?” you questioned as you attempted to mask your disappointment.

Gemma winced, “Look, you’re cute… but you do realise that a fifth year dating a first year here at school would be akin to social suicide, right? While we’re in school the three years between us might as well be three decades. And when I turn eighteen at the end of May… it’ll be four years. In our society I’m not ‘of age’ until I’m nineteen but it would still draw a ton of derision and comments about me robbing the cradle. Your friend Bulstrode was quick to point that out back at the last Quidditch match. Maybe if I was from one of those Sacred pureblood lines and there was a betrothal hanging over us… people might look the other way… but I’m not and there isn’t. So the only way you and I can ever work out is by playing the long game.”

“Long game?” you repeated.

“Seven years from now… when you’re twenty-one and I’m twenty-four… you’ll have graduated and I’ll have a few years under my belt working at the Ministry. Then I’d definitely give you a shot and people will barely notice the three year age difference. But that’s the only way you and I have a future together… IN the future… post-Hogwarts. Long game.”

It wasn’t a flat out rejection… but rather a realistic postponement of a potential relationship.

“Obviously, I don’t expect you to wait for me or anything,” Gemma continued, “A lot can happen in seven years. Dating is an essential part of the Hogwarts experience. I’ve done it… and I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your chance to do that yourself.” She gave you a pointed grin, “You and Greengrass certainly seem to be getting on better. You should’ve seen the look on her face when you jumped in my lap. And Bulstrode looked so torn between holding her back and letting her go.”

“Oh…” you said as you were granted a mental image of Millie attempting to physically restrain a jealous Daphne, who you knew full well to be extremely dogged and tenacious.

The truth was… you hadn’t been thinking of Millicent or Daphne at that moment… even though one held your hand all through Defense and the other spent History of Magic giving you some valuable insight on your perilously poisonous plot. Gemma was the solution to your broom problem so the second you spotted her you focused on her with tunnel vision. You weren’t even aware that Daphne, Millicent or the other first years were even in the common room when you got back from Professor Snape’s office.

You decided to guide the conversation back into safer territory as you scaled the steps to the Owlery. “So… you want to work in the Ministry?”

“Specifically in the Department of Magical Games and Sports,” Gemma confirmed. “Playing professional Quidditch isn’t an option for me… so, the way I see it, my only other chance at having a Quidditch career is by working in the Ministry department that runs the British and Irish Quidditch League.” She paused for a beat then grinned, “One extra benefit of switching allegiance from being a Fletchling to a Stinger is that Ludovic Bagman, the current head of the department, used to play Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps. Professional Quidditch players are known for having egos… so I figure being a proper Wasps fan could give me the leg up over a witch with similar qualifications who isn’t a proven Stinger. It’s all part of playing the game.”

“Wow…” you remarked, “You’ve got it all planned. I have no idea what I’m going to do after Hogwarts.”

“You still have plenty of time to figure that out,” she reassured you, “But fifth year is O.W.L. year and that’s when you have career counseling with your Head of House and actually have to start putting serious thought into what you want to do after school. Your Head of House will then advise you on which O.W.L. exams you need to do especially well on in order to have the proper qualifications for your chosen career.”

You entered the Owlery and Iago glided down from the rafters and landed on your shoulder.

“Hey there,” you greeted your pet and likely stroked the barred owl’s ashen feathers, “I’ve got a very important mission for you. I haven’t written the letter yet but I need you to bring it to Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley as fast as you can. I bought a broom there and need it to be delivered as soon as possible. Tomorrow if possible.”

Gemma handed you the quill and parchment she grabbed on the way out of the common room and you went over to a perch and used it as a flat surface to write out your note requesting the long awaited delivery of your Nimbus Two Thousand. You included specific instructions to have the broom delivered in the Great Hall at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry… to trusted and responsible fifth year prefect Gemma Farley.

A moment later, the two of you were watching as Iago flew south toward London.

“This’ll be a test of your owl’s speed,” Gemma mused, “If he gets there before the shop closes tonight… then they’ll send the broom out as an overnight delivery and it will be delivered with the owl post at breakfast tomorrow. But… if he doesn’t make it in time… then it’ll be sent out first thing in the morning as a day delivery. A team of owls carrying a broom together is going to be a fair bit slower than a lone owl with no package so you’ll be lucky if it arrives in time for dinner.”

“Friday practice is after dinner,” you stated, “So either way I get to break in a new broom ahead of the match.” You looked over at the prefect standing beside you, “Thanks for doing this, Gemma.”

“Of course, kid,” she assured you, “If you didn’t have this Nimbus waiting… I still would’ve gladly loaned you my Cleansweep Seven. It’s not as fast as a Nimbus Two Thousand… but you don’t really need that kind of speed to play Keeper. I brought it with me when I came back from break.”

“You did?” That would’ve been oddly convenient.

“Yeah,” Gemma replied, “You don’t need to be on the Quidditch team to fly your own broom. In the fall term… the weather starts alright but gets progressively worse… but when you come back from winter break… the Scottish weather starts at its worst and slowly gets better.”

You shook your head, “As someone who’s been flying in the current weather… I’d say you would’ve been better off bringing your broom to school when you returned from Easter break. Pass on flying until winter term is over and the spring term begins.”

“Maybe… but I’m not going home for Easter break,” Gemma replied, “One prefect from every house is required to be here during holidays. I’m sure you saw Damian skulking about the common room over winter break. Wanna take a wild guess who’s scheduled to cover Easter?”

“You,” you provided the obvious answer.

She gave a shrug, “I don’t know how the other houses do it but that’s how the Slytherin perfect hierarchy works. The two new fifth year prefects cover the holidays. Next year… I’ll get both holidays off again and the next fifth year prefects will be stuck here.”

“I wonder if I can volunteer to cover both,” you commented. For you ‘stuck’ wasn’t the right word. “Hogwarts castle is substantially better than where I’m currently living.”

“You say that now… but in four years you’ll probably be fighting with either Parkinson or Greengrass over who has to stay at the castle and who gets to attend the traditional Yule Ball. I’m sure Parkinson’s already told you that her family hosted this year’s big event. I’d certainly save you a dance if you attended. I’m sure a number of other girls would too.”

You started off smiling at Gemma’s easy acceptance of you being the boys’ prefect for your year while leaving the girls’ prefect up in the air between Pansy and Daphne… but then your cheeks flushed at the prospect of dancing with Gemma at a Yule Ball.

“Speaking of…” Gemma added as she reached out and tapped your shoulder, “You and I both know that you’re a better Keeper than Bletchley. And now that you have a proper broom coming you’ll be able to ensure that the whole school knows that. Flint will have **** but to play you against Hufflepuff in May.”

Your flush grew into a full blush as you remembered what Gemma said she’d do if you ever managed to shut out Tamsin Applebee.

“I can’t date a first year,” Gemma admitted, “But a celebratory snog is a different story. Because if I get to watch Tammy Apples be humiliated by a first year in one of the final matches of the year… then I’ll gladly snog the first year who made that miracle possible.”

The thought of actually kissing the older girl that you had a crush on still blew your mind. But as you thought of your somewhat recent experience in kissing… an icy pair of blue eyes flashed through your mind.

“Erm… that’s three months from now,,,” you reminded her, “A lot can happen in that time. What if I’m dating someone? I think I’ve got a pretty good shot with Daphne…”

Gemma raised an eyebrow, “It’s a snog. Not a shag. We can keep it between us and I’ll show you a couple tricks you can use to rock your little girlfriend’s world.”

You were reminded of Tracey’s thing about you being a hero like Aladdin or a villain like Jafar. The two starving dogs that haunted your nightmares for months made a sudden reappearance.

“But it’s Daphne,” you pointed out, “She’s naturally nosy! She’d find out! And if she doesn’t… then Tracey will! She was the first one I heard suggest the idea of me convincing an older student to poison Bletchley. She’s already suspicious of me and pointblank told me that she’s got her eye on me. Back in November… snogging you would’ve been a dream come true. But now I can only think of the nightmarish consequences I’d face if those two meddling kids found out.”

“Well… points for loyalty, I suppose,” Gemma commented, “We’ll cross this bridge when we get to it… but because I like you… I’ll make you a special deal. IF you can actually manage to shutout Tammy Apples in your first outing against her… I’ll more than likely be in an extremely generous mood. So if you’re worried about being unfaithful… bring your little girlfriend along and I’ll snog her too so you can stay on even footing.”

You stared wide-eyed at the fifth year. “Are you serious!? You’d snog another girl?”

Gemma shrugged, “If that’s the extra motivation you need… then I’m willing to give a young couple a joint snogging lesson. There’s not a lot I wouldn’t do if the end result is Tammy getting shutout by a first year.”

THAT last comment sent off a shower of red sparks.

Daphne’s cryptic hangman warning flashed through your mind: CLOSER THAN YOU THINK

“Do you have someone in mind?”

“I have an idea. But you’re not gonna like it.”

NO! No way! This was Gemma. Your favorite prefect. She ruffled your hair and called you ‘Snuggles’. She went out of her way to teach you the Knockback Jinx and didn’t get mad when you accidentally saw her knickers. In fact, she gave you said knickers as a Christmas present after you proved you could keep a secret. She was one of your most adamant defenders when Professor McGonagall accused you of poisoning Bletchley. You had to let Professor Snape read your mind before he started defending you. Gemma didn’t need any convincing. She was on your side from the start.

Maybe because she already knew that you didn’t do it?

NOO!

You shook your head. No way. Gemma was the one you trusted to help get around the first year broom rule… who also conveniently had a broom waiting for you to use if the need called for it. No sane person would spend their free time casually flying in the middle of a cold Scottish winter. You were obligated to endure the cold as a reserve member of the Quidditch team. Gemma wouldn’t have any reason to fly her broom until the spring term. And even if she wasn’t going home for the Easter holiday… she still could’ve had it sent to her rather than leaving it sitting unused in her dorm room.

No! No! No! No! No!

You did NOT like where this train of thought was taking you. She couldn’t do something like this. You refused to think of Gemma as a potential murderer.

_“Can’t or won’t?”_ Daphne’s off the cuff comment echoed in your mind and gave you a violent shove down this horrifying rabbit hole.

Gemma was the one who came out to watch your Quidditch tryout… who cheered you up after you got passed over for Bletchley… and stuck Montague upside down to the broomshed after he charged you… by transfiguring the surface with Epoximise to make it sticky.

Professor Snape said the Switching Spell was simultaneous transfiguration… which Professor McGonagall said she taught in fourth year and reviewed in fifth year.

And Tammy Apples herself admitted that the Hellebore could be found in Greenhouse Five… which could be accessed by students in fifth year and above.

“So the question you should be asking yourself is: who wants you on the Quidditch team bad enough to poison someone in order to make that happen?”

“You alright, Marvolo?” Gemma asked… her sapphire eyes shining with concern. “You look like the Bloody Baron just told you the horrifying story of how he got covered in all that blood.”

“Gemma… I have something unsettling to ask you,” you prompted as you quickly scanned the owlery to ensure that you were alone, “I don’t like it but I have to ask…” you took a deep breath then took the plunge, “...are you the reason Bletchley’s in the Hospital Wing?”

She stared at you in shock, “Why would you ask me something like that?”

“There have been TWO near fatal attacks on Quidditch players this season,” you stated. “I’ve had different people blame me for BOTH OF THEM. Originally, I thought they were two incidents committed by the same culprit. But that’s the simple solution. Now I’m starting to consider that they might be two separate incidents by separate perpetrators. I don’t like being blamed for crimes I didn’t commit. So I want to determine who was responsible and what their game is.”

“And you think I did it?” she questioned.

“You’re oddly supportive of my Quidditch prospects,” you pointed out, “And you’re in fifth year which means you’d have access to the poisonous plants in Herbology Greenhouse Five. I also remember you sticking a different Slytherin third year to the back of the broomshed after he charged me during tryouts… using transfiguration. I reckon a Switching Spell would be something you’d be more than capable of doing. And then there’s the fact that you had a quality broomstick ready and waiting in the off chance that I needed it. Even Flint would realise that’s suspicious.”

“Interesting theory,” she remarked. Which wasn’t a denial. “What would you do if I had?” Did that mean she hadn’t? Or was she testing you to see what you’d do if she confessed?

COULD YOU turn in Gemma? After everything she’d done for you? Even this benefited you. McGonagall was right about one thing… you had the most to gain if something unfortunate were to happen to Miles Bletchley so close to a Quidditch match.

“If their goal was to kill MIles Bletchley… then they failed. But… if their goal was to ensure that you’d be playing Keeper on Saturday… then I’d say they succeeded.”

You cast another wary glance around you to ensure you were alone except for the owls.

“I wouldn’t turn you in,” you resolved. “I can’t have a Nimbus Two Thousand delivered to you if you’re in Azkaban. And that’d be a piss poor way to thank you for everything you’ve done for me this last year.”

She smiled, “Good to know. But if it’ll make you feel better… I can tell you with one hundred percent honesty… that I did not poison Miles Bletchley.”

Rather than reassure you, her answer made you more nervous. It was only ‘thanks’ to your multiple creepy conversations with Professor Quirrell that you weren’t freaking the hell out. Quirrell would kill you if you pissed him off… Gemma outright said that she liked you. Her whole plan revolved around you. She needed you… and you needed her.

But you still wanted to know what the full plan was since it appeared to revolve around getting you to play for the Slytherin Quidditch team.

Which was why you felt a brief surge of confidence as you repeated the words your Quidditch Captain barked at you less than an hour ago.

“I didn’t ask if you poisoned him…” you clarified, “I asked if you put him there.”

She smiled, “Trust a Parselmouth to turn a phrase. Very clever. Keep going. You almost have it.”

“You haven’t denied it yet,” you observed, “And even if you didn’t personally poison Bletchley… you could’ve gotten someone else to do it for you in order to keep your hands clean. Which is something ELSE that I was accused of. Not Lysandra… she stormed out. Although, the scene she caused shortly before the incident could’ve been a distraction. That would leave…”

“The leading theory is that you bribed someone to do it for you,” the short blonde-haired Evanora supplied as she leaned closer and cupped a hand under her chin then gave you and Gemma a very blatant once over. “Any truth to that one?”

“...Evanora to cast the spell.” Lysandra was always the loudest of the three fifth years. Her loud cackle-like laugh naturally drew attention toward her. And Gemma was the high profile prefect. You’d mentally classified Evanora as the quiet studious one.

“Well done,” Gemma praised you, “I’d award points if I could. I knew I was right to bet on you.”

There it was. Your confirmation.

EVANORA ROWLE POISONED MILES BLETCHLEY… at the behest of Gemma Farley.

Because a proper cunning Slytherin knows to keep their hands clean during their schemes.