Of Love and Quidditch

September 28^th

Who am I?

That question is obvious to some people. I am the son of an esteemed Death Eater, as if Death Eaters should be called esteemed. I'm fifteen, and in my fifth year of Hogwarts (obviously). I'm in Slytherin, and one of the most talented Beaters Slytherin, even Hogwarts, has ever seen (supposedly).

But is that who I really am? I don't think it is. That's who I am to everyone else, the world of death and honor and pure blood that surrounds me. I stand and laugh at the witches and wizards who are muggle-born with my "friends"; I smirk my pompous smirk and make everyone in my path, especially the Gryffindors, feel small and unimportant because they are near me (or they should feel small and unimportant); I plan to become a Death Eater, have the mark burned in my forearm and serve the Dark Lord for my whole life, or until some Normandus Kurt-wannabe Auror kills me, whichever comes first. That is how most see me, just another pompous evil Slytherin boy who'll end up in Azkaban.

They know nothing.

Sometimes it seems like my life is not in my hands, but in the hands of those around me. Am I going to still be a Slytherin, even though I do not believe in Salazar's ideals? Yes. Am I going to be initiated as a Death Eater on the eve of my eighteenth birthday? More than likely. Nothing is within your grasp when you are born into a wealthy family of vicious Death Eaters.

My only escape is a girl who is my family's enemy, but her almost-violet eyes tell me that she knows I am not what I seem. She is fifteen, like me, beautiful and forbidden. She is a Chaser; she flies like she was born to do nothing else. The way she soars gracefully around the pitch is almost seductive to me, I want to be beside her and watch everything about her: the way her honey-colored hair sometimes falls out of her messy bun and flaps uninhibited behind her, the way she steers her Nimbus 2000 firmly, yet gently, the way that she smiles coyly at me when she sees me tailing her. I want to be with her, be close to her; it is a longing that I do not know how to deal with. So I merely hide behind the image that everyone has created for me, and I am safe for now.

--E.D

Morning had come too fast for Ethan. His late-night rendezvous with Madison Kurt had been an eventful break from his usual nocturnal wanderings through Hogwarts. Ethan was a creature of the night; it was when he came alive, really. Mornings were awful for him; but once he got onto the Quidditch team second year, he had learned to tolerate mornings in order to be able to play. He ate his breakfast of toast and honey distractedly; Madison Kurt had just sat down at the Ravenclaw table, her back to him. Her honey-colored hair was up in its usual messy bun, a few strands of her wavy locks falling out. How he wanted to wrap his finger around one of them, see if her hair was as soft and silky as it looked. Suddenly he was jolted out of his reverie, he felt an elbow come into contact with his arm.

"Dartmoore? Dartmoore!"

He would recognize that simpering drawl of a voice anywhere. It was Draco Malfoy, a sixth year and one of Dartmoore's "friends". Malfoy scowled at him.

"Staring into space, are we? Not listening to the Captain of the bloody Slytherin Quidditch team who may have something to say to you, are we??"

Malfoy had just been elected the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team this year, and was obviously very pleased with himself because of it. He was always referring to himself as 'I, Slytherin Quidditch Team Captain Draco Malfoy'. But, being the slimy, pompous git that he is, Ethan could not have expected much more.

"Come on, all of you lot, finish up. We have a Quidditch match to win, I said hurry up!" Malfoy nagged, and Ethan slurped down the last spoonful of porridge before grabbing his Nimbus 2001 that was propped up against the bench. He got up, and followed his Slytherin teammates out to the lockers. Once there, he changed into his emerald green Quidditch robes, mentally preparing himself for an excruciatingly boring strategy and tactics speech given by Draco Malfoy himself. Honestly, Ethan thought to himself as he sat down on a bench in front of a blackboard covered in chalk marks, I would rather the Imperius curse.

After Malfoy drawled and simpered for the better part of a quarter of an hour, he and the rest of the team walked out of the locker rooms and onto the Quidditch field. It was a bit nippy, but otherwise a very nice day for a game. The sun was shining, and the field was damp from the last night's rain, small puddles had formed across the field. Since Lee Jordan had graduated last year, a new commentator had been found. His name was Thomas....Dean Thomas, maybe? Ethan didn't know for sure.

"For the Slytherin team we have Malfoy, Warrington, Pucey, Bletchley, Jones, Dartmoore, and Lawrence! For Ravenclaw, we have Chang--a very pretty girl indeed--, Smythe, Yardley, Kurt--another one, gorgeous girl--" Dean was cut off by Professor McGonagall, who looked very perturbed.

"THOMAS, HAVE YOU BEEN TAKING LESSONS FROM JORDAN???"

"Sorry professor, err...yes, Kurt, Jameson, Barras, and DuPont."

The Slytherin team stood in a line in the middle of the pitch, facing the Ravenclaw team. Ethan glanced over to Madison, trying to catch her eye. When she caught it, he smirked at her. She gave him her signature grin, innocent and flirtatious at the same time. This match would definitely be an interesting one.