Rating:
PG-13
House:
Astronomy Tower
Ships:
Blaise Zabini/Other Canon Witch Other Canon Witch/Other Canon Wizard Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson
Characters:
Other Canon Witch
Genres:
Drama Angst
Era:
The Harry Potter at Hogwarts Years
Spoilers:
Order of the Phoenix Half-Blood Prince
Stats:
Published: 12/09/2006
Updated: 02/14/2007
Words: 15,745
Chapters: 6
Hits: 2,270

Tracey Davis' Guide to Surviving Slytherin

mekelon

Story Summary:
Tracey Davis, fifth year Slytherin encompassing none of its finer attributes and all of its nonsensical ones, is the invisible damsel in distress trying to make it through just one more day of her housemates' irksome competitions. A story where Blaise steals butterbeer and more besides, Pansy's busy attempting to flirt with Draco (presently, it's quite one-sided) and everyone's in love with Daphne Greengrass. A slow but un-fluffy romance about the difficulties of being unconventional in the traditionalistic society that is the Slytherin Common Room. Just because you're a Slytherin doesn't make surviving your fellow housemates any easier.

Chapter 02 - Hold On To Your Kite

Chapter Summary:
Tracey shows her Slytherin side; Theodore Nott successfully ticks off Malfoy - but comes to no harm, and Pansy is being her usual egotistical self.
Posted:
12/14/2006
Hits:
476


Author's Note: This chapter was written with The Kook's Naïve playing on repeat.

I'd like to thank all the wonderful awesome people who have reviewed! You've all made my day.

Tracey Davis' Guide to Surviving Slytherin

Chapter Two: Hold On To Your Kite

I can't believe it. Blaise Zabini, his very dazzling presence, here. Here. Before me. Me. I've pinched myself twice to make sure I'm not dreaming, and forced what dramatic-gifts I do possess to begin working immediately, so I can pull off a nonchalant expression.

"Davis," Blaise nods.

Dad would have been proud. I keep my casual intact. Pansy would have faintly impressed, as she would have expected me to have wet my knickers by this stage. Quinn, on the other hand, would have been seething. She's been after Blaise for about half a year, now. "Zabini," I offer as serenely as I can manage. It actually sounds authentic. "Is there something you wanted?"

"From a dirty wench like you?" he sneers.

I can literally hear my heart being crushed under his immaculately shined heel. I wonder briefly whether I am a stoic, my expression not having altered a bit. There is a deafening pounding in my ears, as I realise that I am back at square one. Blaise might know my name after all these five years, but he doesn't think much of me. "Well, if there's nothing that you want from me, would you please move? I'd like to get to breakfast sometime before noon," I manage to state, once again in a worringly calm tone, pointing towards the entrance hole he has now blocked.

Miraculously, Blaise obliges. Apparently, I can move mountains. An odd sense of triumph settles over me until I hear Theodore Nott's vaguely amused voice behind me as I walk away. "Why were you talking to Tracey Davis?"

I continue walking at the same pace, hearing Theodore's and Blaise's footsteps unintentionally following my own, as to not allow either of them to believe that I am eavesdropping.

"What do you mean talking to her?"

"You've been spending too much time around Malfoy, Blaise," Theodore interjects.

"Oh, that's right; you took her to the Yule Ball last year, didn't you?"

"Well, I was hardly going to ask Eloise Midgen, was I? I had to take somebody. That's beside the point, anyway. I asked why you were talking to her."

"Shut up, Theo."

"Think for yourself for a bit, and then get back to me." Nott stalks past me haughtily. I strongly doubt either boy knew that I had heard every word, despite being a considerable number of meters in front of them. Conversations carry further in the halls of Hogwarts. Surely everyone knows that?

Afraid that my newly found stoic abilities had reached their tether, I duck into the nearest girl's bathroom, and wait two minutes or so until I know Blaise had passed. Opening the door, I discover that a group of Hufflepuffs have emerged from their cellar common room. I may be ignorant, but I'm not wholly stupid. I know that Gryffindor and Ravenclaw have their quarters in some towers somewhere. I'm just not bothered about the precise locations.

Half the problem with Hufflepuffs is that they are very much herd creatures. They stick together, and it would never do for them to recognise me, so I linger at the back, walking slowly, so that I look as though I were a self-sufficient Slytherin (as I ought to be) who is merely coincidentally walking alongside Hufflepuff stragglers.

Suddenly, I trip over an aforesaid straggler, who decided, for reasons best known to himself, to retie a shoelace in the middle of the Entrance Hall.

"Murdering Hippogriffs! You blasted idiot! You preposterous prat! You...." I give him one of my best Slytherin Death Glares, having run out unprofaned insults, and rub my ankle, anxious that it may have been sprained in the utterly ungraceful fall. A plummet to Hell, more like it. Who knew Hell had such a hard, stony bottom?

His face is sincerely apologetic, and appalled at his lack of foresight or thought towards the safety of others. How Hufflepuff-like? He proffers a hand, which I take in hidden gratitude, before I realise that this boy was not as I had supposed him to be, but a Ravenclaw. Probably one who got along with Theodore Nott, and would probably recount this very encounter to him, which would get back to Blaise. And then they'd both laugh at me in their horrible, awful way, and then share their little joke with Draco, who will use it against me next time we have Potions. Unfortunately, a double tomorrow.

"I'm really sorry, Tracey. I didn't see you behind me." His eyebrows are knitted together in pressing anxiousness. If I wasn't so upset at the envisioned betrayal, I might have laughed. Then, it strikes me.

He knows my name.

That's new.

With a guilty turn of my stomach, I smile as nicely as I can manage, aware that it might have come out more akin to a sick looking grimace.

"It's alright, er..."

"Kevin," he offers, smiling shyly. "My name is Kevin Entwhistle. We have, er, Herbology together."

I raise my eyebrow in a calculated 'yeah, so?' manner. It works. Kevin blushes, biting his lip nervously.

"You alright, then? Haven't broken or sprained anything?" he asks.

"Fine." It's nice to be in the position of power. Maybe this is the kick that Pansy gets. Too bad I have no status in Slytherin. I could get used to this.

Merlin, I'm sad.

Meanwhile, Kevin is metaphorically flailing. "I'll see you next period, then." He walks away very quickly, his confusion very obviously ebbing into and lingering in the air.

At least he knows now to never mess with me.

When I finally do enter the Great Hall, I can see that unless someone is planning to get up within the space of about the next thirty seconds, I only have two seating options. One is at the front end of the table amongst the first years. No self-respecting fifth year that wasn't dumped with Prefect duties would choose to sit with them. That sort of thing was left to Hufflepuffs and the occasional Gryffindor.

The other seating option is directly opposite Blaise Zabini. Self pride and an innate cowardice dictate that maybe I should skip breakfast this morning. But, I remember, suddenly, that I'd already skipped lunch and turned up late enough to only consume dessert yesterday - so skipping breakfast mayn't be the wisest, nor healthiest option. My stomach grumbles in concurrence. So, I swallow my pride, adopt an indifferent mask, and take my place in front of the very god-like creature himself.

It's a wonder I haven't fainted yet.

I notice, as I sit down, that a usually reserved Theodore raises his eyebrow at me; hence I decide to completely throw him out of the water and, lo and behold, wink back.

"Did you hear?" Draco addresses us from two seats right of me. Pansy is wedged between us, and winces as Crabbe (opposite her) bellows out a "no?" flashing a great gollop of porridge settled over his tongue.

Draco stares at him for a moment before continuing, "Professor Umbridge is looking for members for her Inquisitorial Squad, and she's asked me to recommend her the rest of the names."

"Oh?" Pansy's eyes are shining, probably with the hope of spending even more time with the egotistical prat.

"Well, I said Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy, of course."

Pansy sighs happily, obviously thrilled. Personally, I'd want to throw up at the prospect of spending time in any of their company for more than is socially obligatory, but I'm positively starving - so I decide to focus on my food.

"So, Zabini, Nott, Tracey - you lot in?" Draco demands.

I have only just raised my spoon of cereal to my mouth, and am not pleased at having to put it down for the sake of answering his stupid questions. Thankfully, Theodore speaks first, "Inquisitorial Squad, you said, Malfoy?"

"Yes." Draco's tone is decidedly less egotistical whenever he speaks to Theodore. I think he considers him his equal. I'd love that privilege. Theodore doesn't seem to give much of a damn.

"What sorts of duties are involved for this Inquisitorial Squad?"

"Well, we get more authority that we would as Prefects. We can dock points, and the like."

"Right. And, ah, are we expected to answer to Professor Umbride? And do her bidding?"

"Certainly."

"And report offences against her regulations?"

"Of course."

"And generally pass information regarding the actions, behaviour and thoughts of the student body onto her?"

"That is the general idea, yes."

"Count me out, then."

Draco stares.

"You see, I don't like Umbridge. She's a useless teacher. I don't work for people I don't like, and I certainly have more than enough on my plate already. Like trying to practice for the practical assessment of our Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L."

There is a long pause in which Draco looks as though he wants to strangle something, or accurately, someone. But with, what is evidently, great effort, he calms himself down and shrugs. "Alright, then; what say you, Zabini?"

"No. I don't like responsibilities. S'why I don't play Quidditch." Blaise is a damned good flier. Draco's been pestering him to try out for the Slytherin team for ages, but has always been knocked back with an adamant refusal.

"Tracey?" He sounds a little desperate now.

"No," states a voice. It isn't mine. "Tracey's not interested in that sort of thing, are you Trace? Maybe you should ask Daphne, or better yet, Millicent." Damn Pansy. Damn her and her reign over me! I was going to say no, anyway. I mean, if Theodore and Blaise refused, there wasn't going to be any pressure on me, was there? But I still wanted to say it for myself. See what I mean about being invisible? I'm not even allowed to speak for myself!

"Good luck with Daphne," Theodore sniggers. "She's more likely to hex you in response."

"Forget Daphne, then, Draco. I'll ask Millicent for you. She'll say no if you ask her in your way. It needs a... It needs my touch."

Theodore looks like he just choked on his pumpkin juice.