The Slytherin Saga: Book One: The Year Without Quidditch

Chapter One: November the first

Warrington and Montague were pacing back and forth across the Slytherin common room. “It isn’t fair!” Montague complained.

“It sucks,” added Warrington. The rest of the Slytherin Quidditch players looked at them from their scattered positions around the room.

“It’s not our fault that Harry Potter got around the age circle somehow, so why is it that we’re the ones being punished for it?” All of them turned and looked at Andy Griewe, a first year who had made the comment.

“It’s rubbish,” Draco exclaimed. “You’re right, it isn’t fair,” he told Montague. “But there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Like hell,” Liese spat. Liese hadn’t been a member of the Quidditch team previous to this term and she had become quite fond of the sport in the few times she had played. “We can just fly over the gate to the pitch and play anyway.”

“No, we can’t,” Warrington answered her. “It’s got a charm on it; you can only get in through the gate.”

“And even if we were to get in,” added Montague, “someone would certainly hear us, or see us, and tell on us. We’d have detention until we’re thirty.”

“Then it’s a bust, then,” Crabbe inserted. “We can’t play Quidditch without a staff member there, and all of the staff members are in that stupid conference for the rest of the day.”

“What about that new girl?” Liese offered. “You know, the one who was at our table during the announcements last night. Didn’t Professor Snape say that she would be teaching an elective next term? Do you think she counts? All we need is to get past Filch, right? Just to get the key...”

“Liese’s right,” Draco agreed, standing up from his chair. “If we can get her to agree to come with us, then we can play.” Liese seemed particularly proud of having had such a bright idea, and she smiled wickedly at Draco as he spoke. “I’ll go and ask her.”

“Wait just a second,” Montague challenged. “I should go. As the likely candidate for next year’s Captain, I should be the one to ask.”

“You just want to go because you think she’s cute,” Warrington accused him. “And anyway, as this year’s elected Captain, it should be my job to go and ask.”

“You boys are all being ridiculous,” Liese called out to them. “She’s not even very pretty, what with all that crazy hair and those ridiculous looking glasses.” Liese seemed to be directing her last comment to Draco. “But if you all are so desperate to be the one to go and talk to the new Miss Hartlestead then, here.” She pulled several bristles out of her broomstick and broke them all in half, and then she took a single piece and broke it off of her broom and placed it in her hand. She placed all of the straws in her palm and closed her fist around them. “Come here and each of you just pick one, the one with the longest straw gets to go over there and knock on her door.” Liese held out her hand and every man in the room scrambled to snag a straw from her. Once all of the straws were taken, each of the guys brought theirs out to compare his with his neighbor’s. Much to Liese’s disappointment, it was Draco who came up with the longest straw.

“Excuse me,” he said to the group as he walked toward the exit of the Slytherin common room. He took the few steps down the hall and stopped at the door that Snape had described as the one leading to Miss Hartlestead’s room. He knocked tentatively on the door.

“Come,” called an undeniably Irish sounding voice from the other side of the door. Draco pushed open the door slowly and stepped inside. There was music playing quietly in the background and the new graduate student was buzzing around the room, unpacking things from crates and tucking them neatly into drawers and her over sized closet. The room was much bigger than he imagined it would be. There was a large fireplace directly behind him and to his left as he entered the room, and there were two overstuffed parlor chairs and a small table on a rug facing it. The room had a large window, the size you wouldn’t normally find at this level of the castle, and underneath it sat a desk of sorts covered in parchment scrolls with quills scattered about and a globe resting prettily on one corner. Another tiny table sat with a wireless atop it (undoubtedly the source of the music he was hearing) next to the head of the bed, which lay a comfortable distance from the fireplace and faced the desk and window. The bed itself was at least full size if not larger and was draped in down and velvet blankets and generously supplied with pillows. Beyond the bed were a rather large wooden armoire and a doorway that passed into a tiny hall containing an open closet and, Draco could only guess, a private bath. “Close the door behind you,” the young lady implored of him. “I have a fire in here and I’d like not to let the heat out.”

“Sure,” Draco answered her, pulling the door to. He took an additional step inside and then addressed her.

“Miss Hartlestead,” he began.

“My name’s Orinda,” she countered, “you might as well use it.” She continued shuffling around the room putting her things away.

“Alright,” he muttered, “Orinda…I, um…I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he offered.

“Not really,” she answered him. “I’m still just getting my things unpacked and put away.”

“Good,” Draco commented. “I…um, I’m here because…”

“You drew the short straw,” she finished for him.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked.

“Well, you’re certainly not the welcome wagon,” she surmised. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he replied.

“So I figure,” she continued, “that you and the others had something you either wanted to know or needed from me and you all cast lots of some sort to see who would have to come here and you drew the short straw.” Draco stood there for a moment, his mouth slightly agape. He wasn’t sure how much she knew and how much she was just guessing as to how he came to be in her room. “And now that we’ve dispensed with that potentially embarrassing formality, what can I do for you, Mr. Malfoy?”

“You know my name?” Draco sounded curious of that fact both because they had never been introduced and also very much so because she hadn’t looked at him squarely since he’d come in.

“I do, Draco Malfoy,” she answered him. “Face it, you’re practically a prince.” She finally looked over at him. She was prettier than he had remembered, but still not a girl that Draco would have described as attractive. She was wearing black trousers and a brown cable knit sweater and her deep auburn hair was twisted into a haphazard knot that hung floppily from the back of her head. Her thin, dark wire rimmed glasses framed her pink cheeks and made her deep green eyes look exceptionally intense.

“Prince?” he asked.

“I saw you sitting with your parents in the minister’s box at the World Cup last summer.”

“You were in our section?” he asked. “I don’t remember you.”

“Nah,” she answered, “I wasn't in the stands, I was on the field.”

“You were on the Irish team?” he asked. “I don’t remember any girls on their team.”

“No,” she answered. “I was an official.” Draco’s eyes got wide, but then he frowned at her.

“But the official in that match was an old Egyptian man.”

“It’s true,” Orinda smiled as she answered him. “Hassan Mostafa was the official on the pitch for the final match, but you do know that the Quidditch World cup is comprised of almost forty matches that lead up to that championship match. And they prefer it that the officials are fresh for each round of play. Nearly every certified official in the sport had something to do with the World Cup.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he told her

“Most people don’t,” she admitted. “But no worries,” she added. “So what is it that brings you here this afternoon, Mr. Malfoy?” she asked, point blank.

“It’s actually Quidditch that I came to talk about,” he told her.

“Quidditch?” she sounded surprised. “And you didn’t even know I was involved in Quidditch?” She walked a few steps closer to him and looked him square in the eye.

“You see,” he explained, “there’s usually a Quidditch tournament held during the year, between the different houses. But this year it’s been cancelled.”

“Right,” Orinda inserted, “I heard that from Professor Dumbledore yesterday, it’s due to all of the extra time this year having to be devoted to things concerning the Triwizard tournament.”

“Yeah,” Draco confirmed, “but we were told right after we found that out that it would be fine to play scrimmages within our own team and keep sharp for next year, train the first years…”

“Good idea,” she told him. “Keep up your skills and make sure you’re not out of practice when next year rolls around and all of the sudden there’s Quidditch matches again. Meanwhile, all of the other houses are so focused on this tournament and they’ll have two years worth of new players to train next year and be a full year out of practice.” Draco smiled. He was glad that she could see the point of their decision to practice Quidditch even though there would be no official matches this term. He was beginning to see why the Sorting Hat had put her into Slytherin house.

“That’s exactly it,” he told her. “But the only condition is that we have to have a teacher or another member of the staff on the pitch with us. But…”

“But,” she interrupted him, “now with all of this nonsense about that Potter lad from Gryffindor having his name come out of the Goblet of Fire, all of the professors are in meeting after meeting and no one seems to have time to come to Quidditch...?”

“Professor Snape and Madam Hooch are both in meetings and, well… since you’re technically a teacher come January…?”

“You want me to be the responsible party on record so that you all can play?” Draco nodded and frowned.

“If you could?” he asked.

“And when, exactly, is it that this scrimmage match scheduled to begin?” Orinda asked him.

“We were on the way there already when we found out that there wasn’t anyone to get the keys.”

“Well, Mr. Malfoy,” she began.

“Draco, please…” he implored.

“Draco,” she answered back, rolling the ‘r’ in his name in a way he had never heard before. He thought to himself, trying to remember if he’d ever had a conversation with an Irish person before. “I believe it’s your lucky day,” she finished. She smiled brightly at him. He smiled back at her as she continued. “Seeing as it’s only my second day here, I have not managed to start in on getting myself a life. I do warn you, however, that I do not plan to be available on such short notice later in the term.” She grinned at him. “I’ll just get my gear.” She looked around at the numerous trunks and crates still strewn around her room. She looked confused for a second and then a light bulb obviously went on in her head. She snagged her wand off of the nearby desk which also held the globe and all of the quills and parchment scrolls. She pointed her wand at the large bed at the center of the room and called out, “Accio Quidditch!” Draco jumped slightly as trunks and crates shook slightly from all over the room. Orinda scurried to un latch any trunk that was moving, even in the least; and as she did, different pieces of Quidditch gear flew from their various locations all over the room and stacked itself neatly in the center of the bed.

“That was clever,” Draco observed.

“Thank you,” she replied. “I have to be clever,” she informed him, “I’m too scatterbrained not to be.” She reached over into the far corner of her room and snagged one of the two broomsticks she had resting against the wall. As she picked it up, Draco’s mouth fell open.

“Is that a Stratus 5?” he asked, sounding intrigued. He had heard of such a broom, but had never actually seen one. The Stratus Company was more of a boutique operation than a viable manufacturer, and their broomsticks were notoriously quirky and hard to control.

“No,” Orinda sang, walking toward him with the broomstick held in her outstretched hand. “It’s a Stratus 5K,” she corrected him.

“But that’s not even…” Draco was amazed. The 5K was rumored to be the fastest broomstick ever built, and he had at one time even entertained the thought of asking his father for one. He almost didn’t believe her claim, as the scheduled release of the 5K was over a year away. He squinted his eyes to examine the thing a centimeter at a time.

“Mm-hmmm,” Orinda confirmed for him. “They’ll be on the market in time for next Christmas, most likely,” she told him. “We got them at the World Cup. Apparently they wanted to make sure that even the worst fliers among the officials could keep up with the likes of Viktor Krum, so the Stratus Company very kindly agreed to offer pre production models of their next super creation- the fastest broom ever to be manufactured- to us. It was a great treat, and not a one of us expected that we’d get to keep the things afterward, but we were told after the championship match that they were ours to keep. Part of me still wonders if it was just easier. I mean, what- with all the mayhem and goin’s on durin’ the after party.”

“That’s quite a broom,” Draco said, taking it from her outstretched hand.

“You want to use it today?” she offered.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” he answered nervously, handing the broom back to her. She smiled back at him.

“Are you sure?” she chuckled a little. “Last chance…” she informed him.

“I couldn’t,” he responded. She took the broom from his hand. He had to force himself to let go of it, no matter what his mouth was saying.

“It’s probably for the best,” she told him, taking back her broomstick and snatching up her other gear off of her bed. “Besides,” she added, “it’s illegal to use one during a real match. I mean, for the players it is.”

“It is?” he asked. She took a few steps over to the chairs near the fireplace and propped her foot up on the one nearest the door. She dropped her pads and her robe to the floor and began fastening her wand holster to her leg.

“You cannot use a broom that isn’t on the market,” she informed him. “It’s one of those things where you have to be on some sort of equal footing. Although,” she looked up and grinned at him, “from what I’ve been hearing around the campus, the Slytherin team has a bit of an advantage in that vein. You all fly Nimbus two thousand and ones?”

“My father bought them for the team,” a grinning Draco nodded and answered her.

“A fine endowment,” she commented. She looked up at him as she finished the final buckle on her strap. “Let’s see if you know how to use it, then,” she challenged him. Draco’s grin became wider, and began to more closely resemble a smug smirk than a genuine smile. He nodded his approval to her. She took hold of her pads and robe in one hand and flipped her wand through the air with the other in the direction of the wireless set on the bedside table. To Draco’s amusement, it ceased to play.

“You…” He looked utterly shocked. “You can cast without speaking?” Orinda chuckled and slid her wand into its holster.

“About two spells, three on a good day,” she informed him. “And not a one of them with too much accuracy or all that much power behind them, either. But it does come in handy for turning the music off, or on… or starting the bathwater for heating from across the room while having a conversation- especially if there’s a chance that there may be muggles in earshot.”

“I guess so,” his eyes were wide as he answered. “Could you teach me that?” he asked her.

“I don’t see why not,” she replied, apparently thinking it over as she did. “But not now,” she added, “I think the rest of your team is beginning to get antsy. And I suppose I have to get the keys to the pitch from that awful Filch person?” He nodded, his face screwing itself up into a frown. “Well, as I’m not in any hurry to be doin’ that, I’ll tell you I am in some hurry to be gettin’ that over with.” Draco let out a chuckle at that. He turned and took the few steps to open the door and then gestured through it.

“Ladies first,” he insisted.

“Well, that’s a new one,” she contended, taking him up on his offer. “Not a whole lot of folks would be referrin’ to an Irish Quidditch lass as a ‘lady’”. Draco laughed at that. He darted from her door and into the common room, where the anxious players were milling about aimlessly. All at once, the bunch of them looked up from what they were doing and stared directly at Draco. He had to fight the urge to let them stew for a moment. He couldn’t help but find the room full of hopeful faces the tiniest bit comical. He went toward the couch where he had left his gear and retrieved his pads and broomstick from their resting place. He turned to the rest of the room and frowned.

“Well, come on then,” he insisted, “she said she’d do it, what the hell are you people waiting for?”