Dark Pre-Match Mind Games pt 4

The amplified bells from the Clock Tower started ringing to announce it was now ten o’ clock. One hour until the match. Normally, this would be when you planned to head for the Quidditch pitch so you could don your Slytherin uniform for the first time.

But it seemed Lucius Malfoy had other plans, and he arrived promptly at ten.

You knew this because Professor Snape rose from his place at the Head table, came around it, and stalked down the aisle straight for you before the tenth bell chimed. You caught Draco’s eye and nodded toward your swiftly approaching Head of House.

“You two, come with me,” Professor Snape ordered without breaking his brisk stride. You waited until he passed you and paused briefly to peck your almost-girlfriend on the cheek, then rose from the bench and followed your Head of House. You hung back and waited for Draco to catch up as he came around from the far side of the Slytherin table then walked out of the Great Hall together.

You lowered your voice so the Potions professor didn’t hear, and whispered last minute advice to the son of the man you were about to meet. “I want to help you look good in front of your father. At some point, when we inevitably start discussing my work in Potions, I’m going to hand you one of my altered bruise potions and ask you what I’ve done to it. The answer is: I added extra Dittany to evoke a faster reaction.”

Draco shot you an irritated look as if you were insulting his intelligence by assuming he wouldn’t be able to figure that out by himself. “I know you could figure it out. But if we play this right, there’s a chance Professor Snape might award you House Points.” Draco nodded and decided that impressing his father by earning House Points with him watching seemed to be a good enough reason to get on the same page.

Before long, you were once again standing in the courtyard outside the front entrance of the school. You stood in between Draco and Professor Snape in the same spot Jessica Mateo was in when you got in her face two hours ago.

You weren’t waiting for long before Lucius Malfoy came striding up the path. Custom tailored black robes with intricate silver inlays, a stylish cane with a silver snake head handle, high cheek bones and grey eyes that you recognised in your roommate, and long, luscious, pale blonde hair that same shade as Draco’s… he looked every bit like the wealthy, sophisticated, pureblood aristocrat everyone claimed he was.

“I wonder if I could pull off long hair?” you pondered to yourself. You’d ask Daphne what kind of effort she put into maintaining her long, dark locks to see if it was worth it.

Professor Snape was the first to address him, “Governor Malfoy, welcome to Hogwarts.”

“Severus,” the elder Malfoy responded with casual familiarity, something that allowed him to flex his higher social station as a Sacred pureblood over the ‘lowly’ half-blood Potions professor.

Draco stepped forward next and greeted his father with a nod, “Father.”

“Draco,” Lucius Malfoy replied and smiled faintly as placed his free - non-cane - hand on his son’s shoulder as an ‘affectionate’ pureblood greeting.

The younger Malfoy stood up straighter and turned sideways to motion to you for an official introduction, “Presenting my roommate, classmate, and Quidditch teammate… Marvolo Gaunt. Marvolo, my father, Lucius Malfoy.”

You clasped your hands behind your back to show you weren’t going to attempt a handshake and gave a respectful head nod, “Governor Malfoy, pleased to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard many things.” You cast a deliberate flick of your eyes over to Draco to infer who you heard the majority of those things from.

“Likewise,” Mr. Malfoy replied. Although, his inferring eye flick went to both Draco and Professor Snape to show that his information was superior to yours. “Your invitation came at an opportune time. Draco has repeatedly requested that I turn my attention to my former house’s Quidditch team.” Translation: Draco repeatedly complained to his father about having to embarrass himself by flying on an inferior school broom at practice. “I thought it prudent to spectate a Slytherin match beforehand to see how the team might be improved.”

You all knew he wasn’t actually here for the Quidditch match. But it was a decent excuse. And it presented you with a convenient conversation topic. Parents usually enjoyed hearing praise for their children.

“A new Seeker might help,” you imparted, “At practice, Draco has been routinely showing us why he’s one of the best flyers in our year. He’s competing against a Seeker five years his senior on a school broom of all things. I’ve been able to get by on one of those until now. But, as you know, Keeper is the position that requires the least amount of intensive flying. Whereas Seeker requires the most and really showcases the old Shooting Star’s limitations with substandard speed, handling, stability, and acceleration. It might be passable for a beginner, but is not suited for the advanced flying techniques required to compete effectively in a Quidditch match. That your son’s still able to hold his own in spite of all those disadvantages speaks wonders of his talent.” You paused and grinned as if you were sharing a guarded secret, “Draco will likely want to give you a proper recount himself, but at practice last night, I loaned him the Nimbus Two Thousand I’m borrowing from a prefect and that gave him the edge he needed to finally beat Higgs to the Snitch.”

Lucius gave Draco another ‘affectionate’ pureblood shoulder pat. “Well done, Draco.” The younger Malfoy practically preened at his father’s praise. Then the elder Malfoy looked back at you, all signs of stuffy affection gone.“My son mentioned you were a talker and carried a northern energy.”

A swipe at you. The first part was a rebuke to remind you of your place, not to run your mouth so much around ‘your betters’ - even if you were praising his son - and the second basically meant you were friendly. To a cultured aristocratic family like the Malfoys, southerners were cultured and refined while northerners were low-class, cockney-speaking commoners.

“Yes, well,” you recovered smoothly, “I’m making up for lost time. Before this, my associates were local snakes, a house elf, and paid Ministry employees.” The elder Malfoy’s dismissive expression showed that he didn’t consider any of your associates people. Not even the humans! “I have to be outgoing if I’m going to establish my own social circle. And my tutor ensured that I lost my northern accent quickly.”

“You mean swiftly,” the younger Malfoy followed his father’s example and took his own swipe at you. This also served as a warning that all the Malfoys knew your orphan name and could use it against you. That he didn’t, meant he preferred to keep your image because he saw more value in associating with Marvolo Gaunt, confirmed Parselmouth and descendant of Salazar Slytherin over the common, boot-dwelling, orphan Oliver Swift.

Lucius Malfoy nodded toward the castle. “Shall we?”

And so you went back the other way again. Draco was quick to fall into step beside his father. You glanced over at Professor Snape and he gave a faint nod, telling you to go ahead. He was once again leaving you to fend for yourself against the two Malfoys.

Draco made sure he was at his father’s right side, so you caught up and walked on his left. You noted that instead of leading you back through the castle toward the Great Hall again, Governor Mafloy instead veered to the left for a more scenic - secluded - path that would eventually bring you across to the Owlery tower on the grounds.

“Severus tells me you’ve made numerous innovations in Potions before this most recent one,” Lucius brought the conversation to his ideal topic. Time for business.

“Inspiration often comes from odd places,” you said, “I imagine Draco told you about Neville Longbottom’s mishap during our first Potions lesson. He added the porcupine quills at the wrong time and accidentally inverted the potion. Instead of curing boils, it caused them. That was when I realised how crucial adding the key ingredient at the right time in the right way is. And that was my first foray into experimentation. I repeated Longbottom’s mistake on purpose, used less quills to mitigate the volatile reaction, and managed to create a sustainable boil-causing potion. Admittedly, it doesn’t necessarily have much use aside from testing a cure for boils, but I suppose you could use it offensively. Draco, what do you think? Would throwing a vial at an opponent and giving them a face full of boils be an effective tactic in a duel?”

He glared at you for reminding him of his lost duel to Potter, then gritted his teeth, “Yes. And if you get it in their eyes it might also serve to blind them.” That’s what he got for threatening you with your orphan name. You knew embarrassing secrets about him too.

“And then I made Reserve Keeper,” you continued, “and became Marcus Flint’s favorite target. That gave me a heightened interest in healing potions.” This was what you planned for. You reached into your boot and pulled out one of your vials of Lightning Bruise Remover. “This is my personal variation of the Topical Bruise Remover. Nothing major, just a minor tweak to make it more suitable for my immediate needs. Draco, be a sport and examine this, see if you can figure out what I did differently.” You passed the purple potion in front of the elder Malfoy and handed it to the younger.

Lucius watched as Draco held the crystal vial up in front of him and made a show of studying it. “It’s a shade lighter than normal. You added extra dittany to make it fast-acting. But that reduces the overall potency of the potion.” You hadn’t told him about the colour, but he likely noticed that on his own, and pointed out the detrimental effect to show why he hadn’t thought of it.

“Five points to Slytherin for keen deduction skills,” Professor Snape spoke up from behind you, almost as if he’d been in on your scheme the whole time.

Draco smiled at earning House Points in front of his father, hopefully that meant he forgave you for reminding him of the Pimple Jinx he took to the face. Lucius smiled at his son earning House Points and also in seeing his son’s godfather showing proper favoritism. Meanwhile, you smiled at your Malfoy House Point Ploy going off without a hitch, since setting his son up for success probably earned you points with his father.

“It might not be as potent as the standard brew,” you acknowledged Draco’s criticism, “But with my custom remedy, I can pop into the broomshed for a tick and come back from Quidditch practice without looking like I was just in a lowbrow muggle fistfight.” The elder Malfoy’s smile became a faint smirk. Putting down muggle fighting as ‘lowbrow’ seemed to have won you another point with him.

“And what led to your latest discovery?” And like that, he had you right where he wanted you.

“Some fifth year girls told me there wasn’t a cure for moles…” you explained, “Other remedies they tried didn’t do the trick, so I combined different aspects of the healing potions we’ve learned and made one. It’s not something revolutionary, but it’s an effective cosmetic potion. So far, it’s proven effective on two different moles on two different witches. Actually…” You looked back at Professor Snape, whose cloak was billowing behind him now that you were outdoors again, “Professor, did Professor Sprout approach you about my potion? Was it able to cure the mole on her wrist?”

“Yes,” the Potions professor confirmed. “Since you used the time productively, she agreed not to take points for missing Friday’s Herbology class.”

“That’s three-for-three, then,” you chirped.

“You’ve been a patron of our…” Lucius nodded toward his son to indicate it was a family business, “Pure-Quality Apothecary for some time now. I trust you’ll consider us when you decide on distribution for your discovery.”

There it was. It was phrased as a suggestion, but you knew it was anything but. Your group was halfway across the connecting bridge to the Owlery. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he timed it. You could only wonder if he’d toss you OFF the bridge if you refused.

“Of course, sir!” you replied, “You’re at the very top of my very short list. It’s the least I can do after the leg up you’ve given me.” Acknowledging your debt seemed to please him, but then you decided to goad him for something you wanted. “I doubt the word of a fourteen-year-old carries much value to you… should we sign off on the verbal agreement with a handshake?”

Lucius Malfoy stopped in his tracks. You stopped beside him and extended your hand. You saw a flash of anger in his grey eyes as if he was planning to throw you off the bridge.

Draco Malfoy stumbled to a stop and stared at you with a wide-eyed expression that read, ‘What are you doing!?’ He’d expressly warned you about trying to shake his father’s hand.

And you could feel Severus Snape glaring at the back of your head.

Lucius hadn’t taken your hand yet, but you were undeterred. This was your political power play. You had something he wanted that could potentially earn him money, and all you wanted in exchange was a token gesture that cost him nothing. “I believe a crisp handshake is considered good form when professional business ventures are concluded.” You smiled calmly as you stepped around to fully face him with your hand still outstretched. “I’m sure you know how difficult it can be at times to conduct business as a Slytherin alumni. We’re working against a longstanding shady reputation as cunning, resourceful opportunists.” Lucius Malfoy was half the reason people were wary of making deals with Slytherins! His surname meant Bad Faith. You wisely refrained from using the word Faith. “I’m only fourteen, my word doesn’t amount to much yet… but I want it to. That starts now with upholding my end of my first professional business agreement.”

Your rationale did enough to convince him that the handshake was to his benefit. It was an assurance that he would profit off of your potion once it was complete and fit for production. But there was still a cold, calculating gleam in his eyes. He was most likely going to turn things back in his favour when you negotiated a price, but he hung his cane on his side, grasped your right hand with his, and gave it a firm shake… then promptly snatched his hand back.

There it was. You **** the elder Malfoy to shake your hand as a show of respect. A personal victory for you!

“Since you’re our primary interested distributor, we’ll keep you updated on our progress,” you concluded, “and if you happen to hear anything about me examining other options, I want to assure you that it’s not meant as a slight against you in any way. If I appear to be exploring other options, it’s only because I want to fully understand what they are. I’m still a student and I’m being presented with a unique learning opportunity… and with Professor Snape’s help… I’m hoping to learn as much as I can about a potential career as a Potioneer. I hope that by sealing our verbal deal with a handshake you’ll be assured that I’m taking this seriously and won’t renege on a whim.”

You still hadn’t been thrown off the bridge or cursed, so you assumed your assurance had gone over well.

Mr. Malfoy sent Professor Snape a warning look to tell the professor he’d best guide you in the proper direction, then eyed you with that same calculating gleam from before. “I may be able to help with your… professional curiosity. If you’re interested in real world learning experience, we could - perhaps - take you on as an apprentice brewer over the summer.”

That was an unexpected offer. It meant you’d be working for Mr. Malfoy. You weren’t sure how he treated his employees who ran the day-to-day of his apothecary. You suspected he was looking to not only gain control of your miracle mole potion but ALSO the young wizard who created it. The Ministry might not be keen on that. They’d taken extensive efforts to keep you away from Lucius Malfoy to curb any Dark influence he might have on you.

“Oh, what an unexpectedly generous offer!” you remarked, “But I’m afraid I can’t accept it yet without first consulting my legal guardians at the Ministry.” But to show you were considering it, and that it wouldn’t be your fault if the idea was rejected, you looked over at your Head of House, “Professor Snape, I can’t show up to those negotiations uninformed and empty-handed, what would be the standard amount of hours an underage student could… humanely… work when out of school? I’m not an elf, after all.”

“A maximum of eight hours per day with a break for a meal,” he replied, “No more than four shifts a week.”

You nodded and considered what an eight-hour day of brewing might be like, then looked back at Lucius Malfoy, “I’ll reach out to the Ministry and see if I can get their approval.” Your potential employer’s expression briefly shifted and made it seem like he might take action to move things along on his end.

“GAUNT!”

You heard your name shouted from behind, and whirled around to see Gemma Farley hurtling toward you on the Nimbus Two Thousand. She landed on the far side of the bridge outside the Owlery and hastily dismounted.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she apologised with a glance behind you at Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape. “Flint told me if I didn’t get our Keeper to the changing room by half-ten that I’m off the team. We still have ten minutes, but I can’t give him any excuse to boot me.”

So Flint was already leveraging Gemma’s coveted position on the Quidditch team as something to hold over her? The highly motivated Reserve Chaser used the assets she had available to her and hopped on her/your Nimbus so she could spot you from the sky as soon as you appeared out on the grounds.

Introductions were in order, you faced Lucius Malfoy and motioned to the girl behind you, “This is Gemma Farley, fifth year Prefect. You might have spotted her at the Parkinsons’ holiday ball during break. She’s the one who helped me get around the first year broom rule, during which she pointed out the non-existence of a mole potion. Farley, this is Hogwarts Governor Lucius Malfoy. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.” You looked over at your teammate, “Draco, you know Flint’s planning on a long, grueling match… I might need that potion back.” He tossed it to you, you caught it, tucked the vial in your boot, then faced Mr. Malfoy again, “Apologies for cutting this short, but I’m afraid duty calls. I hope you enjoy yourself at today’s match.”

“Before you go, “ the pureblood aristocrat said, “some words of advice to a young, aspiring social climber… Talk. Less. You’ll give your adversaries less material to use against you. And if you keep some thoughts to yourself, you’ll be better armed to catch them off guard.”

“Did he give the same advice to Draco?” You wondered to yourself. “He mouths off all the time.”

“Of course, sir,” you replied out loud, “I’ll keep that in mind. By your leave, Mr. Malfoy, Professor Snape, Draco…”

You turned and raced to Gemma, the prefect led you down from the Owlery tower and out onto the grounds as you both legged it across Hogwarts’ back lawn to the Quidditch pitch. You could have made it to the pitch in under a minute if you borrowed the racing broom she was carrying beside her, but Gemma obviously wanted to show that she succeeded in her task set by the Quidditch Captain by personally delivering you to the changing room by the appointed time, so it took several. After all, it would be unbecoming to ride behind the older girl with a Hogwarts Governor and your strict Head of House watching.

“I take it… things went well…?” Gemma gasped as she ran beside you. “Spotted you earlier… but I waited… ‘til you shook hands… before dropping in…”

You nodded and appreciated the courtesy, “I basically… guaranteed him… distribution rights… to my mole potion. I figured… he’s the reason… I’m here. Might as well give him… an early return… on his investment.”

You stopped outside the changing room and caught your breath.

Gemma smirked as she pulled a familiar - partially used - vial of green potion out from her robes. “If the Malfoys are marketing it to upscale clientele, I expect this will be worth quite a few galleons come summer.”

“How did you get that?” you demanded.

“I caught Nora with her pants down earlier, didn’t I?” She smiled, “Now it’s mine. I think I’ll leave this on my desk beside my bed, so it can serve as a reminder of the kind of extraordinary magic you’re capable of when properly motivated… and of what a worthwhile investment you are.”

Your cheeks flushed. And for a moment you forgot about what she’d done and basked in the warmth that came from knowing the witch you used to fancy had such faith and admiration for you and your talent. That meant more than any praise Lucius Malfoy gave you. Actually, upon reflection, he hadn’t praised you. He acknowledged your success and showed his interest in controlling access to your creation, and you used that to compel him to shake your hand, but he never hadn’t outright complimented your ingenuity.

The warm feeling didn’t last long.

You stepped into the changing room and found the rest of the team waiting. On the far bench were not one, but TWO neatly folded, emerald green Slytherin uniforms. The first read ‘GAUNT’ while the second read ‘FARLEY’.

Flint, already in full uniform, was standing near the bench. “Farley, you’re in as Chaser. Grab your other broom.”

You sensed a Slytherin scheme was afoot and quickly searched the changing room. Cassius Warrington was missing.

Gemma was already on her way out. This unexpected change meant you were likely going to be the one flying the spare Cleansweep Seven, so no one stopped you when you bolted after her. You held your tongue and waited until you were both inside the broomshed with the door firmly shut behind you before you finally rounded on her. “WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

“What makes you think I did anything?”.

“Experience!”

She frowned, “So someone goes missing and you immediately blame me. Two days ago, you would’ve been happy for me.”

“Two days ago, I didn’t know better!”

“Then take a breath and think for a moment, smart guy,” she said, your suspicion seemed to be souring what would otherwise be a great moment. “Would Flint have had a spare uniform waiting if he didn’t know about it beforehand? This has him all over it.”

You considered it. Daphne warned you about jumping to the convenient conclusion. Flint had likely seen Professor Snape escort you out of the Great Hall for your meeting with Mr. Malfoy. He specifically sent Farley to fetch you and threatened the new reserve player’s spot on the team to ensure you turned up together. Gemma seemed genuinely worried about losing her spot on the team, so it didn’t appear that she was in on it. But you knew the manipulative witch was fond of having others do her dirty work so she could avoid getting her hands dirty.

You didn’t have a problem with Cassius Warrington. Sure, he used to exploit the limitations of your substandard broom to score on you. But that was literally his job as a Slytherin Chaser. Athletes were meant to be competitive! And you couldn’t hold it against him that he was loyal to his friend and yearmate Miles Bletchley over you. “So should we start checking the bottom of stairwells to see if Warrington’s there?”

“No time,” the Poisoned Prefect replied, taking this new development in stride. Of course, she was. It was all working out in her favour! “If he’s lucky, Flint only threatened him and told him not to show up today. Even that thick troll knows the value of a spare player, so he wouldn’t want Warrington removed from the team. If he accosted him, maybe he at least told someone where to find him so the missing player conveniently turns up after the start of the match?”

“For someone stumbling into this, you came up with that very quickly,” you pointed out, still suspicious.

“I’ve been at Hogwarts with Flint for four-and-a-half years,” Gemma said. “I know how his one-track mind works. I said think! If I had that kind of sway over him, I would’ve been on the team from the start! You’re the one who cracked him. Maybe I should be asking if you had anything to do with this? You’ve been a busy, busy bee the last few days.”

Were you responsible? You paused to recall the compulsion you planted in Flint’s head. “You’ve come to realise that Marvolo Gaunt has a sound mind for Quidditch strategy and his opinion often has merit.” You used that implanted thought, cold logic, and a strong argument to convince him to add Gemma to the team roster as a Reserve Chaser. You hadn’t pushed to make her Starter. He must have decided on his own after last night’s practice to go all in on Gemma Farley.

She tossed you the Cleansweep she removed from your shared locker while you were distracted. “You know this is a better broom for a Keeper. And I’ll need the Nimbus’ speed to put on a good showing as Chaser.” She smiled an almost giddy smile and ruffled your hair while her sapphire eyes danced. “My personal miracle maker. If you weren’t holding out for that twig, Greengrass, I’d snog you again for this.” She darted out and you rushed after her.

Of course, she was giddy. Gemma Farley was a natural opportunist and this was a dream come true for her.

You made it back to the changing room and went around to the far side of the bench to stow your broom in the locker you usually used during Flint’s pre-practice meetings. Then you pulled the potion vials out of your Ireland boots and stuck them in your locker. It would be a foul if you got caught sneaking contraband potions onto the pitch. You removed your Darren O’Hare Irish Quidditch robe and your boots before sticking them in the locker too.

“Ah-ah,” Gemma was two lockers down and had removed her winter cloak and black school robe. She gave you a firm shove. “Go change on the other side of the bench. I’m not gonna risk one of us tripping, accidentally bumping into each other, and setting off the underage contact ward.”

Good point. You went around and pulled off your shamrock green Irish National team jumper… but then froze when you saw Gemma remove her grey Hogwarts jumper.

It hadn’t occurred to you until that moment… GEMMA was going to be changing TOO!

Usually, the Quidditch players came to the changing room already wearing most of their team uniform and only used the changing room to don their pads before practice. That’s what the five other boys who beat you here had done. However, since this was both your and Gemma’s first time wearing Slytherin green, you would both need to strip out of your previous uniform to don your new one.

It was an open room. There were no hidden corners to duck into. A different, more chivalrous team of wizards might have left the room to allow their witch teammate to change in relative privacy. Flint offered no such courtesy. He was already against having a girl on the team. He gave Gemma all the special treatment she would get by removing the starter so she could play in the match. That meant Gemma Farley was going to have to strip down in front of an audience of gawking teenage boys.

Gemma hesitated as she realised the same thing, a nervous blush turned the seventeen-year-old witch’s cheeks pink as she stared past you at the rest of the audience. Her hands were nearly shaking as she slowly undid her green and silver Slytherin tie and appeared to be trying to talk herself into it.

Her anxious sapphire eyes found yours as she pulled her tie free from her collar. She followed your gaze to the exposed nape of her neck that was now visible through the starched collar of her white school blouse. The corner of her mouth curled up into a half-grin. She reached across the bench and grabbed your shoulders and guided you to the side so you were standing directly in front of her.

“There,” she resolved, “If I’m to change in a room full of boys, then I might as well use the closest one for cover.”

And then she began unbuttoning her blouse.

It was dead silent. You forgot how to breathe as each undone button revealed more and more of Gemma Farley’s deep D-Cup cleavage. Daphne definitely didn’t have that.

Gemma’s eyes remained locked on yours, her half-grin became a full smile as she drew confidence from your awed expression. You’d gotten her this far, now all that stood between her and her dream of playing Quidditch was this embarrassing moment of exposure, so she found confidence in your astonished gaze and used you to overcome this last hurdle.

Her bra was dark green. Your up-close view meant you were the first to spot it through the growing gap in Gemma’s blouse as she finished unbuttoning it. You suspected green undergarments was a popular trend for senior Slytherins who had long since grown accustomed to their house colours. Especially on the day of Quidditch matches.

But she stopped short of pulling it open, and flashed you an impish grin as she toyed with her unbuttoned blouse. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Her eyes went to the sleeveless undershirt you’d taken to wearing under your Irish uniform. “Lose your top.”

“FUCKING DO IT, GAUNT!” Peregrine Derrick shouted. That was the loudest you’d ever heard him. And the shout served to remind you that there were still other people in the room.

You crossed your arms in front of you and grabbed the hem of your undershirt, peeled it off, and tossed it on the bench. You warily eyed Gemma as you stood shirtless as the smallest boy in a room full of older teenagers.

Gemma eyed you appraisingly, “Not bad, Gaunt. Flint, it looks like your practices are agreeing with him. Your first year is putting on some muscle. Tanking those full-body tackles from you is starting to fill out his chest and I can see some definition in his arms and shoulders from all the throwing. He’s not as scrawny as he was when he turned up on the pitch for tryouts back in September.”

You felt more eyes on you as the older boys sized you up after Gemma drew attention to your developing body. This was the furthest you’d stripped down in the changing room. You noted that while you were outside in February in what was essentially a TENT, it wasn’t cold. There had to be some kind of Atmosphere Charm cast over the makeshift room to keep the interior warm for the players while they were changing. .

Gigi wasn’t done examining you. Her eyes went lower and trailed down your stomach, “Use my Cleansweep to keep doing loops around the hoops and you’ll strengthen your core muscles. Before long you might even have abs.”

Did you want abs? You’d been impressed by Mateo’s. From the peek you got inside Gemma’s undone blouse, it didn’t look like she had any. A flat tummy, for sure. But she didn’t have Mateo’s extra definition. Maybe you could ask Ravenclaw’s resident Amazon how she got hers?

“Keep going,” Gemma prompted, “Drop your trousers, Gaunt.”

“I… you said I’ll show you mine if you show me yours!” you argued.

“I did, didn’t I?” she mused. She lifted the sides of her blouse and grabbed her skirt, then unceremoniously pushed it down her legs and stepped back to remove herself from the black fabric pooled around her feet. She did not bend down to pick it up off the floor. “There. Your turn again. Drop trou.”

You stared at Gemma’s legs. Her white blouse hung down enough to cover her knickers, but you were close enough to spot a patch of dark green fabric that matched her bra between the undone shirt’s hanging twin tails. Other than that, Gemma’s legs were bare from her thighs down to her white socks. They weren’t as long as Mateo’s or Yaxley’s, and she definitely didn’t have the Amazon’s bulging thigh muscles. Instead, her hips were more pronounced and rounded than those two aforementioned slimmer witches. The fullness of the curvy witch’s hips caused her thighs to taper as they reached her knees, there was a bit of a swell below her knees as her calves peeked out from above her socks, but after seeing the Ravenclaw trackstar’s long, brown, muscular legs, they weren’t anything to stay stuck on. Gemma’s sport wasn’t running, it was flying.

“Waiting on you, Gaunt,” Gemma prompted as she squeezed her shapely thighs together, likely feeling the eyes of every other boy in the room on them, “Don’t get shy now. You go, I go, you go, I go. That’s how the game works. If you’re too scared to play, I can pull my trousers on now and make this much less fun for everyone.”

Why was she trying to make a game out of it? She was the one trying to hide how nervous she was! Why did she have to make it a grand spectacle? She could’ve just rushed to change and been done with it by now. Everyone still would’ve gawked, but she was drawing MORE attention to herself by stalling.

“Gaunt! I will come over there and pull your trousers down myself!” Lucius Bode threatened you.

Gemma’s sapphire eyes flashed, her cagey expression showed she didn’t want the Beater anywhere near her while she was changing. “Watch it, Bode. Talking about pulling another boy’s trousers down makes you sound GAY.” That wasn’t the light, teasing tone she used with you, it was sharp, full of venom, and the last word cracked like a whip.

“I’m not!“ Bode rushed to protest. To the thick-headed fifth year Beater, being gay would make him look less manly. Couldn’t have that in a room full of tough, athletic boys.

The lone witch looked back at you, “Now you know why I never bothered dating the boys in my year. Go on, Gaunty. Strip to your skivvies. The team’s counting on you.”

Oooh? Realisation struck you. ‘The team’, huh? That explained it.

This wasn’t JUST about the stripping. Gemma was about to make her Quidditch debut in front of the school. Now it was a room full of six boys, but soon it would be a CROWD of students watching her. Many of whom would be rooting for her to fail. And as excited as she was after being denied for years, her Quidditch career could hinge on this performance. If she fouled up, there’d be no more excuses. It would be because of her lack of ability, not Flint’s bias. This was everything wanted and - if you believed she had nothing to do with Warrington’s disappearance - it had been thrown at her last minute. It was truly a trial by fire.

And despite being on the outs, YOU were the prickly Poisoned Prefect’s closest friend and greatest ally here. By drawing out her stripping and dragging you into it with her, she was sharing her anxiety and passing some of it off to you. Being embarrassed together made the situation more bearable because she wasn’t going through it alone.

“The things I do for this girl,” you grumbled to yourself as you undid your belt and pulled down your Irish National team trousers. You dragged each leg out of the Irish trousers, folded them, and set them on the bench, then stepped aback and stood in the middle of the changing room wearing naught but your socks and your pants. “Happy?”

Gemma’s eyes were glued to the front of your dark pants. You were still covered from your waist to the middle of your thighs, but this was the most naked you’d ever been in front of anyone. And it was a room full of people. But you kept your head high, showed no weakness. You trained for this match. You were ready. And while you might be the smallest boy in the changing room… you made up for it by being one of the best players. You weren’t afraid to go out there and prove that to everyone.

“Well, boys,” Gemma remarked, “If any of you are curious, I can confidently confirm that first year Marvolo Gaunt is not the smallest boy in the room.” Your face flushed and you fought to keep from covering. Should you be grateful for the praise? “I can see it plainly… and he’s not even hard!” No. While she was praising your… anatomy, it was with the intention of making the rest of the room as uncomfortable as she was.

“He’s not?” Bode interjected again, “Then he’s the poofter!” It seemed the meathead Beater’s idea to make himself look less gay was to insist that you were gay. How many witches had he snogged this morning? You knew you had the Beater beat.

You shrugged it off and didn’t let it ruffle you. “I’ll ask my almost-girlfriend if she thinks I’m gay when I’m done snogging her after the match.”

“Hear that?” Gemma asked, “he’s got a half-naked witch in front of him and he’s only thinking about snogging. He doesn’t have naughty thoughts running through his head like you. This first year obviously has a healthy appreciation for the feminine form, anyone can see that, but what I appreciate the most is that he’s not trying to worm his way into my knickers. That’s half the reason I keep him around.”

It was? Did that mean she didn’t see you as any kind of threat? Did you want to be a threat?

The poisonous tone was back as she tried to shake her fellow fifth year and drag him into the trenches with her, “Careful, Bode, girls talk to each other. I’ve heard things. And you wouldn’t want me to share who’s the smallest.”

“The hell I am!” he objected as Gemma wound her fellow fight year up with a practiced ease, almost as if she’d been doing it for years. She’d rather be a bitch than admit she was scared.

“Calling me a liar?” she challenged him, “Or are you saying I have bad information? How’s this? Why don’t you strip down like Gaunt? We can all measure and see the truth for ourselves.”

“FUCK OFF!” he shouted. Bode definitely wasn’t going to be defending Gemma during the match. And at the rate she was going, she’d alienate the rest of the team too.

“This is why we shouldn’t have girls on the team,” Flint grumbled from the back.

“Shut! Up! Flint!” Terrence Higgs surprised you when he snapped at his fellow sixth year. “Quit stalling, Farley. We’ve got a match.” You were close enough to see that flash of nervousness, which confirmed your theory. “You’ve successfully goaded a first year into stripping to his pants and insulted Bode’s manhood. Get a move on.”

You felt a small swell of guilt for putting Higgs down in front of Mr. Malfoy. He might not be the best Seeker, but he was one of the more astute blokes in the room. That, or he just knew how to read Gemma, which was an impressive feat in and of itself.

The lone witch shrugged, “I just thought it would be fair if everyone on the team had someone to ogle.” She was still stalling.

“The boy you’re ogling is fourteen,” Adrian Pucey pointed out.

“This year,” Gemma countered, happy to argue instead of strip. “He won’t be forever. And all of you can see as well as I can that he’s coming along nicely.” She winked at you. “Look me up in five years and we’ll see what happens.”

Enough of this. Time to move things along.

“Higgs has a point,” you said, “You’re stalling. You wanted to turn this into a game. I’ve played along. And now it’s your turn.” Since everyone else was safely behind you, you put a pulse of magic in your gaze to try and get her over this last bout of nerves as you stared directly into stalling witch’s sapphire orbs. “You’re a star, and I know it. If you’re nervous, make your opponents MORE nervous. Don’t tear down your teammates, focus on tearing down the other team.”

She blinked rapidly and her face settled. “Alright, then. Since Gaunt manned up and took one for the team, then I suppose the team can get a load of these!”

BOOM! Gemma whipped her blouse open and for the second time that morning your mind was BLOWN.

“HOLY SHIT!” Derrick swore as she finished stripping off her blouse and tossed it on the bench between you. You weren’t the only one impressed. Some of these other blokes had likely been lusting after the chesty witch for years.

And there she was, Gemma Farley in her forest green bra and knickers.

Naturally, your eyes went to her breasts first. They were bigger, rounder, fuller than Mateo’s. And while the Ravenclaw Chaser compressed her chest to help her run unhindered, the thick green cups of the new Slytherin Chaser’s bra did something much more interesting. The green cups cradled the D-Cup orbs and held them up, this squashed them together, further emphasised her considerable cleavage, and thrust it up above the top of the bra so everyone could see it.

Gemma had the traditional feminine hourglass figure. As your eyes trailed down from her chest, you noted that her top half tapered to a much more narrow waist, and then flared back out to a pair of rounded hips with an inch of dark green fabric going around each of them before expanding downward to fully cover her crotch in a modest green triangle that gave nothing under it away. This view definitely beat that up-skirt shot from September. The center bit drew most of your attention. Farley’s flat might not have the defined line like Mateo’s Amazon abs, but below her navel going down across her pelvis and disappearing into the top of her knickers were two clear creases that showed Gemma took her own advice about strengthening her core muscles and flew a lot outside of school. Those pronounced core muscles at her pelvis were the key to her stellar broom handling.

Uh oh… broom handling? You made it dirty… A very bad time to think naughty thoughts.

“What’s wrong, little puppy?” Gemma beamed as she basked in your attention, then rolled her shoulders back, which caused her chest to shake and drag your - and every other boy’s - attention right back to it. “First time seeing a witch’s baps in a bra?”

It wasn’t. But even while staring in mesmerised awe, you still knew better than to say otherwise. Lucius Malfoy said Talk. Less.

Gemma wanted a response though, and reached across the bench to cup your face, “Ooo, I can feel the heat from your blush! Brightest one in the room! Someone likes what he sees. Definitely not gay.” She leaned across the bench and whispered in your ear, “Greengrass will never have Quaffles like these.”

Was that considered tearing down an opponent?

You were suddenly reminded that you had an almost-girlfriend and attempted to defend Daphne by looking away. But you quickly lost that battle of willpower when Gemma bent down to scoop her jumper off the bench. Her heavy breasts hung down, cradled by the cups of her bra, and you could see INTO the forbidden valley of her cleavage.

The show finally ended as Gemma pulled the emerald green jumper over her head and stuffed her auburn locks out through the neck hole. She tugged it down over her belly and let it hang just past her hips and hid the top half of her knickers.

You continued to admire her legs and snuck glimpses at her crotch as the Chaser snatched her white trousers off the bench and stuffed her legs in them. The Slytherin team trousers conformed to her shape, almost as if they were made specifically for the curvy witch. She secured the well-fitting trousers with a black belt, then stepped back to the locker behind her, and folded her arms across her emerald-clad chest. Her sapphire eyes were full of mirth.

“What’s that matter? Starstruck?” Gemma taunted you with a dazzling smile, “Are you gonna play Ravenclaw in your pants? Pull your trousers on. We’ve got a team of bird brains to tear apart.”

You grabbed your new trousers off of the bench and practically jumped into them. Much like Gemma’s, it felt like they were made for you and fit perfectly. You fastened the accompanying black belt, then grabbed your undershirt and pulled that back on before picking up your folded Slytherin jumper. You smiled at the name ‘GAUNT’ on the back.

Next came the pads. Thick black leather. You stuck your head in and pulled the set down so the shoulder pads were in place at the top of your arms. The straps on the back pulled tight all on their own as the chest guard was tugged flush against you. You twisted and swung your arms to ensure you still had your full range of movement, then did some bends and twists to make sure they felt right. Despite being made of thick leather, the sturdy Keeper pads felt like they barely weighed anything. They wouldn’t weigh or slow a flying witch or wizard down at all.

Speaking of flying witches, you glanced over at Gemma and saw that her pads fit her a bit differently than yours. The natural padding she had on her chest caused the chest guard to jut out a lot further than yours did, then the bottom curved inward to press flush against her chest. It looked like her boobs were wrapped in black leather armor.

Gemma saw you looking and cupped her padded chest with a grin, “Oh, yeah, this’ll hold the girls in place.”

Next you both grabbed your high black boots and stuffed your legs in, they came with built-in shin and knee guards. And like the trousers, jumper, and pads… it felt like they were personally made for you.

Lucius Malfoy hadn’t come to Hogwarts because of your Quidditch skills. Your brewing brain and skilled hands were all highly valuable. You had to protect them, so you stuck the black leather helmet on your head, fastened the chin strap, then grabbed your bracers, and strapped them on your forearms.

You passed on the black leather gloves. With Mr. Malfoy in attendance, it made more sense to stick with your original Keeper gloves, which were a Christmas gift from his son. You didn’t want to appear ungrateful after the Malfoys spent money on you.

And finally, at long last, you pulled on your emerald Slytherin robe with ‘GAUNT’ written across the black in shining silver lettering. It was warm and felt like it was embracing you. The hem went down to your shins with a split in the back allowing for maneuverability and the sleeves went to your elbows.

It took a lot to get to this point, but you were finally wearing the full Slytherin uniform. The stage was set, and you were about to make your Hogwarts Quidditch debut.

You glanced at the determined, green-robed witch beside you. And, apparently, so was Gemma Farley.