Chapter 12: Fishing is a delightful and relaxing hobby.

Blaise Zabini

Hogwarts, Great Britain

Violet Potter was an idiot. Either that, or she had a laughably inflated opinion of my abilities. That was useful sometimes, but not in the present situation: She hadn't actually said when we ought to meet at the owlery.

Fortunately, history was the last class on Thursday. I sat in the back of the class next to Gregory, full well knowing the beefy boy would be out like a light. Sure enough, he clocked out within seconds of the old ghost beginning his lecture on the tax reformation that started the third goblin rebellion. It was unexpectedly interesting stuff, an object lesson in why goblins weren't fanon's "misunderstood warrior society with honorable traditions and secret magics."

They might have secret magics, no one else could forge goblin silver, but they sure as hell weren't inclined to help wizards.

I for one decided to use this time to experiment. What did it mean to have a "divination medium?" Divination Through the Ages went over different mediums ranging from entrails of sacrificed animals to tarot cards used by the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, but if anything, the book highlighted to me just how broad the definition of the word "medium" could be.

That was how I ended up making a fortune teller out of parchment. It was one of those things I remembered obsessing over in elementary school. There were a few months in second grade when I was really interested in origami. I didn't remember how to make everything, but a fortune teller was one of the simplest constructs in any origami guide book. I scribbled "yes" and "no" on each alternating side.

Then, opening my inner eye, I asked myself: Will Violet be at the owlery today?

Thinking about the question, I nudged Heath Parkinson in the desk beside mine and Gregory's. "Psst, Parkinson."

"Yes, Zabini?" he asked. Unlike Gregory, he was awake and reading our defense textbook. With Quirrell pretending to be a stuttering, anxiety-ridden imbecile, the common consensus among my housemates was that history should be used as a study period to keep up with our defense curriculum on our own.

"Mind giving me a number? Between one and four."

"Sure. Four," he said absently, not bothering to look up from his book.

"Thanks." I began to fiddle with the fortune teller. "Again."

"One. What's that you've got there?"

"An experiment." I unfolded the fortune teller to find a "yes." But that could have been sheer luck. I then asked myself again: Will Violet be at the owlery today before dinner?

A few more yes or no questions followed. If this thing was right, Violet would be at the owlery during dinner, not before, nor after. But she'd also be there at four in the morning.

"I've come to a conclusion," I told the taller boy.

He looked at me with a raised brow. "And what's that?"

I should have known a muggle toy wouldn't be a valid divination medium. I'd wondered if the "childish belief" of millions of children would somehow affect magic, granting some prophetic weight to the otherwise ordinary construct, kind of like how faith and acts of worship were said to give gods power in many other settings.

If magic could be influenced by the collective psyche of sentient souls, then the humble fortune teller had not reached that threshold. Or perhaps I needed to make it out of something more permanent, with enchantments meant to harness the blind faith of children. Perhaps Japan's onmyodo?

Either way, my experiment was a dud. I crumpled the origami construct in my hand. "That I'm a bloody idiot and this is garbage."

"Dare I ask what that was about?"

"Just a game; don't worry about it."

"Fine. Have you done your DADA homework yet?"

"Yes, actually. I did it yesterday evening."

"It was assigned twenty minutes ag–" he shook his head in exasperation. "Of course you did. How do you get rid of an imp infestation?"

"You can stun the little buggers with the knockback jinx. We learned it in charms. If you're dealing with any that are hidden, you'll want to lure them out. They eat insects so you could use that."

"Thanks, mate."

"No problem, Parkinson. That's page twenty-six if you want to check. Although, you really shouldn't ever have an imp infestation to begin with so the assignment's a bit of a trick question."

"What do you mean?"

"Imps like swampy, marshland. Something about the high humidity and smell of stagnant water appeals to them apparently. Unless you're building a house in the swamp, you really don't have any reason to run into them. You're more likely to find garden gnomes, doxies, and the like."

"Well, yeah, but that's the assignment. Quirrell's no good, mate."

I snorted. I wondered what he'd think if I told him the truth, that the Dark Lord who occupied a position of myth in his family was right here in the castle. "You're right; Quirrell's a dud. Better we study on our own."

X

I split off from my housemates and made my way upstairs. The owlery occupied the majority of the west tower. The tower, located atop a ledge overlooking the Black Lake, had a spiral set of stairs that curved up nine stories. Five of those were dedicated to the mail owls of Hogwarts.

I navigated the stairs and thanked whichever headmaster had the foresight to install railings. The moment I walked into the fifth floor, I had to kick a vole skeleton away so I wouldn't step on it and skid across the room on owl feces like the world's shitiest figure skater. Crippled though I may be for the moment, I didn't think my dignity could survive that.

The entire floor was littered with clumps of straw and similar droppings. It was drafty and cold because the owlery was dotted with windows that lacked glass, allowing the owls to come and go as they pleased.

As I climbed the tower, I peeked into the little nests carved into the walls. There were many more nests than there were owls, so much so that the interior of the tower reminded me of a honeycomb.

Funnily enough, many of the nests on the lower floors were empty, too many for their occupants to all be out delivering letters or hunting. I also noticed that the ones that were occupied were occupied by older, more sickly owls. Their feathers were ruffled and unkept. Compared to them, the owls looked progressively better-fed the higher I climbed. It seemed there was some sort of striated society of mail owls here.

I chuckled at the thought. If that was so, there was no doubt in my mind where Minerva would be. She was huge, a chonker by bird standards; she'd permit herself no other seat save the one at the peak of the tower.

Sure enough, I was up to the seventh floor when the oversized feather duster landed on my shoulder. She let out an eager, croaking chirp. "Hey, Minerva, how are things?"

"Bwap," she croaked, nuzzling into my cheek. She then looked around the room, glaring the other owls into submission from my shoulder, as if declaring to her newfound kingdom that I was indeed her human.

"Are you still sore because someone else delivered my mail?"

"Bwap!"

"Aww, other owls will come to me if they belong to someone else, you know."

"Bwap," she said indignantly.

"Yes, yes, I'll only use you if I ever need to send correspondence," I promised her.

It was hilarious watching her glare at her fellows as I climbed the stairs. Then, when I reached the ninth floor, she flew up to the rafters, a dome with a hole in the center to let more light in. There, she'd made a giant nest for herself. I spied not just the fur of mice and voles, but also feathers, more than a few from other owls. The notion that she made other owls pay tribute to build her nest made me giggle.

A few seconds later, she flew back down with an honest-to-Merlin dead fox. She presented it to me with a soft croon and puffed feathers. It seemed I had quite the conqueror on my hands.

I spent a few minutes chatting with Minerva, brushing her feathers and pampering her with owl treats. It was peaceful here, the silence only disturbed by the rustle of feathers and the soft hoots of owls jockeying for position. Sure, the tower smelled like owl droppings, but I found that easy enough to ignore. And the view, the view just couldn't be beat.

My silence was broken by the arrival of the Girl Who Lived. She entered with Hedwig nestled on her shoulder and let out an impressed whistle. "Now that is a fat bird."

"Evening, Potter. She's about fifty percent fluff by volume," I said with a chuckle. "She only weighs seven pounds or so."

"Yeah, Hedgwig's only about half that. Maybe. What's up, Zabini? Did you like my riddle?"

I made an exaggerated scowl of revulsion. "Your puns are disgusting. I felt my soul shrivel up inside. Really, 'Mistress of Snowl?' That was the best you could come up with?"

"Hey, everyone else seems hellbent on giving me stupid names," she said with a carefree smirk. "I figured I may as well give myself one too. Besides, Hedwig's awesome."

"She is," I admitted. Her death honestly bothered me more than Dumbledore's. I reached out to pet her, only for the snowy owl to nip at my fingers. "Gah, fuck!"

"Bwap!" Minerva chirped in warning. She made to jump at Hedwig to enact feathery retribution, but I caught her and placed her on my lap.

"No. No murdering Potter's owl, even if she bites."

"Hey, it's your fault. You have your own owl anyway."

"Fine, fine, I concede to your wisdom."

"Good. We'll forgive you if you hand over some of those owl treats. I forgot mine in my trunk."

"Really? Emotional blackmail and extortion? Is this behavior befitting the Chosen One?"

"You can kiss my ass with that Chosen One shite. I'm going to live my life however the fuck I want and bugger whoever says otherwise," she huffed, a bit of that defiant, Gryffindor spark showing through.

I laughed and handed over half the treats in tribute. "Good. That's a good mentality to have. So, what did you call me here for, oh Mistress of Snowl?"

"What? Don't know that already?"

"Nope. Knowing everything would be boring."

"I guess." She looked out over the lake. She folded her messy bangs to the side and tucked them behind one ear, hiding her scar from view. With an uncharacteristically quiet sigh, she whispered, "Thank you."

"Hmm?"

"For Snape… Thanks for bailing me out."

"You're bad with emotions, aren't you?"

"Shut up!"

"Hey, no judgment. Sarcasm and snark are perfectly fine coping strategies," I said with a quiet laugh. "And you're welcome. Snape is… a complicated man."

"What's his deal? With me? We've only had two classes with him so far and I can already tell the git has it out for me."

"He doesn't, not really."

"Oh, yeah? Explain that shit to me. Please."

I schooled my expression and pondered the question. How much should I tell her? Snape almost certainly didn't want her to know and doing so might compromise my ability to use my head of house. Worse, he might cotton on to the fact that I was manipulating him if he knew I knew details about his past.

I shrugged. "Who knows? He's harsh on everyone though."

"He's a special prat to me."

"Maybe. It's only been two days, Potter. Give him a chance."

"You're only saying that because he's your head of house."

"Probably. I'm obligated to show some house spirit," I said. I changed the subject. "Speaking of heads of houses, did McGonagall show off her animagus form for you and the puffs?"

A wide grin sprouted on her face at that. "Yes, it's so cool! I also heard you drugged her to the gills by the way."

"Oh?"

"Padma told Parvati and Parvati told me. I can't believe you got her high."

"Correction. Patil and I got her high. Together. It was a group effort."

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"You know Padma's right peeved, right? You made her an accomplice."

"It was hilarious."

"Oh, it was. Parvati still hasn't stopped making fun of her though. You might want to watch out; Padma's apparently very creative when she feels wronged."

I nudged her shoulder with a friendly shove. "Is that why you called me out here? To warn me? I doubt Patil will do anything too drastic."

"No. Yes, to warn you, but not about Padma. I wanted to let you know that the twins are looking for you. They said something about having a 'real challenge for once.'"

"Aww, you do care."

"Shut up, Zabini. I owe you one, that's all."

"Thanks," I said sincerely. Jokes aside, it was nice to see that there was some sincerity beneath the sass with her.

The two of us fell into a companionable silence. Our owls in our laps, the sun starting to set in the Scottish autumn, and the scenic Black Lake made it all feel picturesque.

Then I was reminded that I'd need to get Theo back for his shit. What better way than to sic the twins on him? "Say, Potter?"

"What?"

"Get me the twins."

"Hmm?"

"I want a meeting with them."

"You think I can just order them around?" she asked incredulously.

"Not quite, but you're underestimating how much influence you have. Just tell them I want a meeting. And if they don't listen, tell them that 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good.' In those exact words."

"'I solemnly swear I am up to no good,'" she parroted back. "Why? What's that mean? Besides the obvious."

"I'll tell you eventually. Just do this for me? We'll be even for the Snape thing."

"Fine," she huffed, "keep your secrets."

I stood and held my arms up high, letting Minerva climb to her seat atop her penthouse roost. I picked up my cane and began to head back. "Thanks, Potter. I mean it. The twins are useful."

"Useful? Is that all you think about?"

"Slytherin," I said, as if that explained everything.

Violet rolled her eyes. "I'm so glad I turned the hat down. 'Make me great' my ass."

"Suit yourself. Remember, I solemnly swear-"

"-that I'm up to no good. Got it. Later, Zabini."

"Toodles. It's my bedtime."

"You're such a grandpa."

"Damn straight. I'm Gandalf."

"Wait, you read Lord of the Rings? But that's a muggle book!"

I laughed and mimed looking at a watch as I turned down the spiral stairs. "Oh, look at that, a wizard with places to be…"

X

That night, I made good on my promise and sent a letter to Daphne. It contained a simple note: This Saturday, Lyra Malfoy will be responsible for Gryffindor acquiring their newest and best seeker. We will lose our game with the lions as a result. Do with that as you will.

Come our first flying lesson, it should be damn obvious just who that seeker would be, and how Violet Potter got McGonagall's attention. In canon, Oliver Wood would have hidden the identity of their seeker until the first game next month, but seeing how I had that knowledge, I didn't see any reason to not use it against Lyra.

The rumors wouldn't ruin her, far from it, but given how obsessive most wizards were about that ridiculous sport, the simple fact that these rumors exist would harm her image in the house. If Daphne was smart, she'd be able to use that to her advantage, maybe a new groupie in Alice Runcorn, or even an in with the older years. It wouldn't get her the suite, but it'd be a chink in Lyra's social armor.

That of course relied on a few conditions. First, Lyra and Violet must play aerial keep-away with Neville's remembrall. Second, Lyra had to make a fool of herself in a way that was easily recognizable even by Slytherin's dullest "masterminds.". For example, by ignoring a seer's warning.

The problem was, Lyra wasn't stupid, far from it. She could be petty and impulsive, but she wasn't so cartoonishly idiotic as to ignore a blatant warning from a confirmed seer.

That just meant I'd have to get creative.

X

That was how I found myself lounging around in the common room with Heath at two in the afternoon on a Friday. Fridays were nice in that unlike the rest of the week, we got out of class an hour earlier. Being first years finishing up our first week, there was virtually no homework, none I couldn't rush in a few minutes during history, which meant I was free to watch the dueling pit from my comfy leather chair.

The two of us had claimed a small table that looked like it'd be at home in a bougie cafe. There were several of these, set aside so people could study or observe the ongoings below.

Evan Yaxley, the fifth year prefect, had warned us first years that being seen to be dueling down there too often wouldn't be good for our reputations, but context was important.

Being known as someone who could only settle his problems with violence? That was bad in the house of snakes; it implied that you were incapable of foresight. Even if you won consistently, you'd look like a boor, at best an enforcer to add to a clique rather than a respected peer.

Occasionally sparring with people? Taking part in friendly wagers? Practicing for the dueling club? All perfectly valid so long as you weren't trying to settle a grudge.

Down below, two fourth years were going at it, trading largely harmless hexes meant more for dodging practice than for closing a duel. According to the commentary, Samantha Selwyn and Cheryl Dupree were regulars at the dueling club last year. Cheryl especially, as the token half-blood in her year, and without a noble name like Greengrass to hide behind, had to get rather vicious with her wandwork.

"So, who do you think is going to win?" Heath asked. He had his transfiguration textbook open in front of him but had long since given up on studying.

I watched as Cheryl froze the ground with a glacius, before resorting to a series of knockback jinxes. First year spells though they were, they were especially effective with that setup.

Rather than try her hand at ice skating, Samantha intentionally took a knee before firing a depulso into the ground. The banishing charm was weaker than a full blasting curse, allowing her to skid along the ground and break up the smooth ice to provide more traction.

I hummed in thought before reaching for my crystal ball. Five seconds wouldn't be very impressive, but my favored medium could greatly expand my abilities. There were only three possible outcomes to this duel after all: victory, defeat, and draw.

I opened my inner eye and peered into the near future. I spoke aloud, enough for my voice to carry through the common room. "A galleon on Selwyn's victory. Any takers?"

A second year snorted from another table. "I'll take that bet, firstie. Dupree's a half-blood, but she's quick with her wand. Heard she's trying to go pro."

"I agree. She's the better duelist."

"Wha-"

"Just watch."

Sure enough, Samantha seemed to be on the back foot for a few more minutes. Cheryl was quick with her wand. For every two spells Samantha managed, Cheryl cast three.

Then, after a quick avis that provided her some much-needed cover, she whispered something under her breath that caused a pair of vines to erupt from the ground beneath Cheryl's feet. The vines grabbed the girl by either leg and pulled, forcing her to do the splits. Cheryl let out a squawk of pain and surprise, just in time to take a stupefy to the face.

I grinned smugly at the second year, hand outstretched for my payment. "Dupree's the better duelist, no question, but Selwyn had a new spell in her pocket."

He grumbled but eventually pulled a galleon out of his pocket and flicked it my way.

Samantha cast a quick renmervate on the fallen girl and the two walked off, one smugly self-satisfied and the other wearing a sulky frown. The pair were replaced by a fifth year boy and a sixth year girl, apparently they'd wagered a date on the outcome. That caused a sixth year, presumably a friend of the girl, to ask me about the outcome, not for money this time, just idle curiosity.

I spectated and predicted a few more duels before I saw my target. Lyra had just come through the common room entrance, Millicent tailing behind her.

"Yo, Malfoy, Blustrode," I called, tapping the seat across from me and next to Heath. "Care to join us?"

She came over, her face a mask of apathy. "Zabini. Parkinson. What do you want?"

"Parkinson is pretending to do his transfiguration assignments. I'm seeing if I can predict the outcome of the duels going on down there."

"Oh?"

"Yup. Four for four so far."

Millicent looked down curiously as an incendio was countered with a flame-freezing charm. The current duel, between a pair of seventh years boys, seemed a bit flashier than the others, and also a fair bit more dangerous. No one looked to be in any hurry to interfere so I assumed this was fine.

"Who's going to win this one?" she asked.

"The blonde. His uncle's the Norwegian champion duelist and he's been getting lessons this summer."

"Huh. Can you predict other things?"

"Of course, Blustrode. Care for a fortune?"

"Really?" she brightened. Then her expression became more guarded. "How much?"

I pretended to consider the question. I needed an amount that was affordable for the wealthy, but excessive for everyone else. "For a general reading? Five galleons should suffice."

She looked at me, then back at her purse with hesitation. It was hard to remember sometimes, but wizards had a strange relationship with money. Thanks to the wonders of magic, daily staples cost damn near nothing, usually only a handful of knuts, while things that were considered luxuries, such as a fortune reading, could be more exorbitantly priced.

That meant that to most wizards, a galleon was a considerable sum, at least when compared to the daily expenses of a household. Entire families could live off a thousand galleons, Harry's Triwizard money, for over a year. Comparatively, seven hundred galleons, the Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw, was only enough for Arthur and Molly Weasley to visit their son in Egypt.

And though the Blustrodes were technically part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, it was also a truism that they were often considered the political opposites to the Weasleys.

They were poor compared to even middling noble houses like the Shacklebolts. Though it was impolite to point it out, they didn't even have the excuse of having many mouths to feed or having withdrawn from elite society and politics altogether. No, they simply had the misfortune of having stupid lords for several generations in the seventeen hundreds and never recovered.

That meant that despite my lack of a noble name, I had a fair bit more resources than Millicent did. There was a reason her father was so insistent on Millicent grabbing Lyra's coattails. Five galleons was probably the bulk of her monthly allowance, if not its entirety.

"That's a lot," she tried to sound standoffish. "You won't get many takers for that."

I shrugged. "I know what I'm worth. How about you, Malfoy? Care for a reading?"

Truthfully, I didn't care for the money. Hell, I'd charged Daphne and Tracey considerably less. I was charging for the same reason I charged Daphne and Tracey to reveal the location of the kitchens; the image of this being a transaction was valuable in itself. More importantly, the high price tag was bait. A tuna needed bigger bait than a trout after all.

Lyra shot the room a smug look and slid five galleons across the table. Lyra was a proud creature; being seen affording something that a classmate could not, even if five galleons wasn't much to several others in the room, was reason enough to purchase my services. It allowed her to tell people she had money and that opportunity alone, no matter the product she was buying, was tantalizing to her.

"Alright then, Zabini. Five isn't too expensive," she drawled. "Impress me."

"It's not," I agreed with a placating nod, slipping the coins into my breast pocket. It was time to bullshit, to cast my line and let this chubby tuna hook herself on her own pride. Flattery was ever a wonderful social lubricant. "I might charge more later, but for now, having someone like you accept a reading from me is useful. Legitimacy, you understand."

The beautiful blonde puffed herself up. If there was one thing that Lyra Malfoy was proud of, it was her family name. "Naturally. You should be paying me for the privilege of reading my fortune."

"I'm not quite that desperate, Malfoy. Do you want a reading or not?"

"Hmph! Fine. Go on, then. Show me my future."

I held out my hands. "Give me your hands. It helps to have something to connect us."

She paused, her hands hovering an inch above my own. I gently enveloped her cool fingers in my palms. Her skin was remarkably soft, proof of a girl who took incredible care of herself, or at least a girl with access to a professionally curated beautifying regimen.

Even through the lukewarm lighting in the common room, I could see her cheeks take on a tinge of rosy red as I rubbed her hands soothingly. "I-Is this necessary?"

"No, I just wanted an excuse to hold your hands," I shot back with a cocksure smirk. She tried to pull away but I clamped down and held her still. Next to me, Heath shot me a betrayed glare. "I'm joking. Think of the future like a foggy city. It helps to know what I'm looking for. Having you here? It's like having a map, a beacon to lead me where I want to go."

I felt a swift but weak kick against my shin. "F-Fine, get on with it."

"As you wish, Miss Malfoy. Tell me, how are you finding Hogwarts?"

"Really? That's what you start with?"

"It's an earnest question. How are classes? Any trouble?"

"Of course not. You'd know that if you weren't a quack."

I ignored her reflexive insult and continued to steadily but slowly massage the back of her hands. "Of course, of course. You're Lyra Malfoy. You won't have any reason to struggle with simple first year material. How about Club Day tomorrow? Silly name, that. It's the whole weekend, not just Saturday. Any club you're interested in?"

"I'm starting to think you have no idea how this is supposed to work," she drawled. She'd recovered from her initial embarrassment. Her mask of ambivalent superiority was back in force, just in time too; my little show was drawing attention from the rest of the house. "I'm supposed to ask the questions, Zabini."

"Apologies, Malfoy. I'm just setting the scene. Forgive a dotty wizard his quirks, hmm?" I said with a disarming smile. There were enough witnesses now. I channeled some magic into the crystal ball and watched the fog roll in. "Yes, I see it. Club Day is going to be a bit of a milestone for you, though I suppose it is for all of us firsties."

"And?"

"And I think you're especially thrilled about our first flying lessons tomorrow. A big fan of quidditch, are we?"

"I could have told you that," Millicent snorted. She leaned forward despite her words, captured by the novelty of a working crystal ball. "Everyone knows Malfoy is amazing on a broom."

"Ah, but it's more than that, Miss Blustrode. Tomorrow's flying lessons will be something of a catalyst for her, the day that can determine a lot of other things in her future." I peered into the crystal as the fog thickened. I made a show of being entranced by the haze. "Yes, tomorrow will be special for you indeed."

The obvious show of actual magic captured Lyra's interest. "How so? How will it be special?"

"It's farther off in the future so the picture is hazy, but I think I see it. There is a figure on a broom. It looks feminine. She's chasing something… something gold… A snitch then? Yes, that sounds about right. A seeker, and quite successful at that. Yes, you're the cause of this."

"Sorry, I don't want to be a professional quidditch player, Zabini. Good guess, though," she drawled. She made to pull her hands back.

I held her hands firm. Looking up, I met her icy-blue eyes, so blue they were almost gray. They really were quite lovely. Ignoring the gawkers, I spoke softly, "That wasn't what I said, Malfoy. I don't think this is a good fortune."

"Obviously not."

"Not in the way you think. It's accurate, of that I am sure. Nor is this vision so far away as to be after our graduation."

"The house team? I guess that'd be fun," she mused. She said aloud to Terence Higgs, the current seeker, "Keep the seat warm for me, Higgs."

"It's just, using you as the focus, I can sometimes see hints of what you feel about the matter in the vision. And you're… unhappy."

"What? Why would I be unhappy about being the seeker?"

"Look. All I can tell you is that tomorrow? You're going to do something. Whatever you do, it'll lead directly to a woman on a broom chasing a golden snitch. And you're unhappy with the outcome. Who knows? It might not even be you."

This time, I allowed her to pull her hands away. All the seeds had been planted anyway. In her, and also in the people watching. This was only partially a true reading, and partially a performance, one specifically designed to play on Lyra's pride.

She scoffed. "Come off it, Zabini. I cause someone else to become seeker? How the bloody hell would that work? Give a right little pep talk for Davis to try out next year, do I? Of course it's me."

"Not next year. This year. It's far, but not that far," I said cryptically.

"I think you're full of it. Why would I be unhappy about becoming the house seeker? And everyone knows we're not allowed our own brooms until next year."

I shrugged and pulled out a cloth to polish my crystal ball. "I don't know, Malfoy, but I don't think I'm wrong."

She studied me closely. This time, she fully considered my words. "You're saying I can be the seeker this year?"

"I'm saying someone can be the seeker this year," I corrected, "and that this happens as a direct consequence of your actions tomorrow. Maybe you prove yourself and somehow impress Professor Snape. Maybe he bends the rules for you. But I don't think that's likely. Like I said, you were upset by this outcome. Or maybe you meet a second year girl and convince her to try out, replacing Higgs. Either way, you're the catalyst and perhaps not in a positive way. It is my personal suggestion that you not attend the flying lesson at all."

She pulled back her chair and stood. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she said, "All I heard was that I should prove myself. If someone can be seeker, it's going to be me. Watch, Zabini, I'll show you what the best flyer in the school looks like."

And she would, in her own, special way.

Having said her piece, she stalked off to the girls' dorms.

"Did you mean that?" Heath said. He had a complicated expression on his face. On one hand, I did just spend several minutes holding his crush's hand. On the other hand, the meeting hadn't ended well enough to stoke his jealousy.

The poor boy really needed to get a grip. I began to pack my bags and responded, "Yes, I did. No one's going to get hurt or anything, but tomorrow? I don't think it'll make her happy."

"Do me then. I want to know how I can make her happy."

"Nope. That took a lot out of me, Parkinson."

"What? Why? You have room for one more."

"I don't. There's a reason I charge so much," I said, making sure those around me could hear my words. "In the end, Malfoy has her reading. How she reacts to the information is up to her."

Author's Note

The owlery scene came out of left field for me. I really didn't plan that, but it just kinda wrote itself. It fits so I'm keeping it.

I think we've gone over this, but Blaise is a manipulative dick. It's easy to be cunning when you both know what's going to happen and have a good understanding of your victims' personalities. Lyra isn't stupid, but she is proud, and that makes her very vulnerable in ways she refuses to acknowledge.

Related animal fact: Eurasian eagle owls, like Minerva, mostly eat rodents. They can, however, take down foxes, snakes, other birds, and even young fawns. No joke. Fawns. As in baby deer. Now give one of them improved intelligence and Minerva making sport of bigger game doesn't sound all that outrageous anymore.

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