lomonaaeren

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Chapter Eight—Friendly Competition

“Did I tell you that my father is going to give the Slytherin Quidditch team Nimbus 2001’s if I make the team?”

Harry nodded and made a little humming noise of the kind that Draco would take as him paying attention. In truth, he had repeated this idea over and over again, but he didn’t seem to be tired of saying it yet.

Harry wondered if purebloods ever bored themselves.

“Harry, pay attention!”

Draco using his name was still rare enough to jerk Harry’s eyes off the book of defensive spells he was reading. And Draco was leaning forwards from his seat on the other side of the train compartment to pout outrageously. His pouting was far worse than his normal mode of speech, so Harry set the book down.

“I thought you were already all but on the team?” he asked, to say something new. “That’s what Flint promised last year.”

“Well, yes, but I have to pass an official tryout first.” Draco leaned back and smiled complacently. Harry couldn’t imagine being that complacent even if he’d been born to this world, but, well. Purebloods. “Then Father will make the gift of the brooms. The Nimbus company is already waiting on his order, of course.”

“And you don’t think he’ll mind giving me a broom?”

“If you get on the team, of course not.”

“Of course. I have to try out.”

“Even if you were good last year, you must see that Slytherin team can’t be seen handing a position to a Mudblood instead of having him earn it.”

Harry lowered his eyes and nodded, and Draco went back to chattering about how they were going to win the Quidditch Cup and make the Gryffindors cry. Harry did look up and blink a little when the compartment door slid open with a bang. He wondered if it was Ron Weasley from Gryffindor, who seemed to have some sort of rivalry with Draco.

But it was Nott, who stalked in and stared at them for a second before shaking his head and sitting down next to Draco. “Grayson. Draco.”

“Hello, Nott,” Harry murmured.

Draco grinned sidelong at Nott in a way that he of course noticed. He looked at Draco with a faint frown. “What is it?”

“Grayson stayed at my house for the last part of the summer.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. That wasn’t a social coup, as Mr. Malfoy had emphasized for Harry over and over again. It was Draco’s family being gracious. Why would Draco bring it up as if it were something Nott should be jealous of?

But for some reason, Nott flushed. He turned and stared at Harry. “I thought you were staying in Knockturn Alley.”

“I did for a while. But the Malfoys graciously invited me to stay the last few weeks.”

Nott gaped at him, then turned back to Draco. Harry eyed his abandoned book and wondered if this was some weird competition they were having with each other and he could go back to reading.

“You didn’t tell me!”

Nott’s words seemed to be directed to Draco, at least. Harry was glad. He would have had no idea how to respond if Nott had been talking to him, and he might have said something stupid.

It had become a matter of interest to him not to say things that purebloods found stupid. Not because he thought they were better than he was, but just because it might make them not take him seriously and not give him what he wanted.

At least Nott and Draco were arguing. Harry picked up his book and happily returned to reading.

*

Theo felt an unfamiliar envy grip him. He had been sure that he would get on the train and be able to give Draco a superior smile in the matter of Grayson. After all, even if Draco had gone to see him in Knockturn Alley, it would only have been because Theo had told him Grayson was staying there. Right of first discovery would still belong to Theo.

And instead it turned out that Draco had invited Grayson to stay at Malfoy Manor.

Well, in truth, Draco’s parents would have done that. But that they had wanted to do it in the first place—that Draco had persuaded them to do it—astonished Theo. Lucius Malfoy wasn’t in the habit of giving out unearned assistance to nameless Mudbloods.

Theo sneaked a glance at Grayson, who was reading again and appeared to entirely ignore them.

Of course, Grayson wasn’t like most Mudbloods. Theo could admit that. But precisely because he was unusual, Theo thought that ought to mean that the person who discovered him first had the right to any services he could provide.

Draco, from his smug smile, evidently didn’t agree.

Theo leaned near enough and raised a little charm so that Grayson wouldn’t overhear them. He couldn’t maintain this spell for very long yet, but that didn’t matter. It would hold for long enough that Theo could say what he needed to say. “You needn’t think that you’re going to win Grayson’s loyalty, Draco.”

Draco had the gall to laugh, louder and more confidently than he ever had since he and Theo had met as children. “I don’t see how I’ll lose now, Theo. He stayed with us. You know that you could never prevail on your father to invite him over.”

Theo grimaced. That was true enough. Father was violently prejudiced against Mudbloods and even half-bloods.

But then, one of them had killed Mother, so that made sense.

“That doesn’t mean you can simply keep him to yourself.”

Draco looked coolly amused, the first time Theo thought he’d ever successfully copied one of his father’s expressions. “It’s over, Theo. He not only maintained contact with his clients in Knockturn Alley while we were hosting him, he brewed at the Manor. Why would he give up those comforts for the dubious ones you could offer him?”

Theo’s eyes narrowed to slits. He turned and looked at Grayson.

Grayson was looking back at him with those seemingly unnatural hazel eyes, over the top of his book.

He probably knows that we’re discussing him, Theo thought, and let the charm go. “Tell me, Grayson, what potions did you manage to brew over the summer?”

Grayson ducked his head. He probably didn’t really know what to do with himself in the face of two purebloods’ attention, Theo thought. “Well, the Default Draught was my most common one. But I brewed a few others I’m proud of.”

He detailed them, while Theo listened with feigned interest and suppressed the impulse to kick Draco.

He would win this. He would find a way to give Grayson a greater gift than Draco had.

It shouldn’t be that difficult. After all, Grayson had never known real luxuries. He would find some of the objects Theo thought were commonplace to be stunning.

I will win.

*

Lily leaned forwards to catch a glimpse of her son as Harry walked to the Slytherin table. He didn’t appear to be talking. As soon as he sat down, he pulled out a book and buried his head in it, only answering absently to some of the things people around him said.

Lily’s heart ached. She stared into her glass of water and wondered whether it would be worth it to take up curse-breaking herself, so that she could someday break the spells on her son. Or try.

“Do cheer up, Lily dear! You look as though Nick took his head off in front of you!”

Lily looked up and forced herself to smile at Horace. Perhaps she could glean a few insights into Harry from him, at that. “Just a thought for the holiday that’s fled already, Horace. I swear they pass more quickly now that I’m a professor than they ever did as a student!”

Horace laughed hard enough to make his belly jiggle like Lily remembered Santa Claus’s doing in the stories of her childhood. “There’s something to that! But given that my home is Hogwarts, I have a different perspective. I always walk these corridors and think how glad I am that I…”

Lily listened, or appeared to listen, to his monologue after that, nodding now and then so Horace wouldn’t notice her wandering attention. Harry had put his book away now at least, since the Sorting was done and the feast had been served. He ate neatly and spoke with Nott and Malfoy, and once Flint, who leaned towards him and said something that looked like it might be threatening, based on his body language.

Lily bristled, ready to intervene, but Harry only ducked his head a little and replied. Flint turned away towards his own friends.

Is Flint bullying him? I know it’s bad in Slytherin, but I thought they would leave him alone after a year, with new students to bully.

“Are you listening to me at all, Lily?”

Lily recalled herself with a little start and a shake of her head, turning to smile apologetically at Horace. “No, sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Horace sipped his own wine and stared at her shrewdly. “You were looking hard at my little snakes. Is everything all right? Minerva hasn’t reported any bullying there yet, but then, it is only the start of term!”

“Oh.” Lily made her mouth move in a smile. “Just wondering whether Flint was bullying that little Muggleborn you told me about last year.”

Horace laughed and turned his cheeks red again. “Not Marcus! He knows Quidditch talent when he sees it.”

“Oh. H—Grayson is a good Quidditch player?”

“I shouldn’t tell you, knowing which team you’ll be cheering for!”

“Oh, come on, Horace. What’s Hogwarts without a little House rivalry?”

Lily detested the words coming out of her mouth, but they were enough to gain Horace’s confidence. He winked at her. “There’s that, there’s that! Yes, Mr. Grayson there is going to be our new Seeker, assuming he passes the formal tryout.”

Lily had to fight against the pain that blossomed in her chest. She’d never had any interest in the game herself, but James—

Harry was just like James.

If only they could reach him, show him that the family he must always have longed for was waiting for him! But it seemed that everything Lily learned only confirmed that Harry was like them but also alienated from them forever—

Unless Quidditch was a path inwards.

Lily bit her lip and leaned back in her seat, deliberately adopting a relaxed posture as she turned to ask Pomona and Septima about their holidays. They had acted hastily before, and only succeeding in pushing Harry further away. She was going to be slow this time, careful, and establish another kind of link with Harry.

She was going to. She refused to think that Harry was lost forever. That wasn’t the way the world or hope worked.

*

“Welcome to the official Slytherin Quidditch team tryouts.”

Harry thought he had seldom heard a less sincere welcome. Flint’s face was twisted in a scowl, and his eyes flicked over the assembled Slytherins in front of him as though he was insulted by having to work with such unpromising material.

Then again, the Slytherin Quidditch Captain usually looked that way.

Flint stepped back and holstered a broom across his shoulders. It was a rather nice Cleansweep, Harry thought, from what he could see of the label on the shaft. “You might know that we have reserve members of the team who tried out last year. That doesn’t matter. They’re going to try out again now, and if they’re not good enough, we’ll replace them with someone else.”

Harry nodded along with the people beside him and behind him and in front of him. That made sense. Slytherin wanted the best, and if you weren’t the best, why the hell should they put you on the field?

Last year, Harry might have thought that purebloods would be on the team no matter what, and that his own skill at Quidditch—which he knew he had—was too small to be respected because of his blood. Now, he knew better. He waited patiently.

It had been a productive summer in more ways than one.

Flint scanned them, then snorted and stepped back. “Pucey, Warrington, Malfoy…”

He was naming the Chaser hopefuls. Harry felt nothing much except a faint hope that Malfoy would make the team so they could get the fancy Nimbus brooms from Mr. Malfoy. He was waiting for the announcement of the Seeker tryouts.

From what he could see, there weren’t many people waiting for that position. He wondered idly if the ones who would have had heard about Harry’s skill and didn’t want to compete against him, or if it was something else.

Probably the fact that Slytherin Seekers are targets for the other Houses as well as the Bludgers.

“Hey, Flint!”

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Various Gryffindors were trooping onto the field, some Quidditch team members but not all, probably just looking for a chance to yell at Flint and the people doing the tryouts.

Harry ignored them. Their taunts were about snakes and not being good at magic and being Death Eaters. None of those applied to him except the snake part, and the symbol of his House really didn’t matter all that much to him.

Some of the other Slytherins were getting bothered, and the taunts were disturbing at least two of the Chaser candidates. Harry held back a sneer.

“Bugger off, Weasley!” Flint finally bellowed, after an insult from one of the Weasley twins that had something to do with someone’s ancestor. Harry didn’t know what it meant, except that Warrington had swerved and missed an easy Quaffle catch.

“You first, Flint!”

Harry was just as glad to see that Draco was ignoring the insults and snatching Quaffles from the air easily, passing them through the hoop while Bletchley was distracted, and skimming out of the way of the Bludgers. Maybe it was because he only really seemed to have a rivalry with the youngest Weasley brother, who wasn’t on the field.

“Fuck off!”

“Ooh, the big Slytherin is getting scary now!”

So it went, back and forth, until Professor McGonagall came storming down to the pitch and dragged most of the Gryffindors off it. Harry watched her go, and wondered idly if Slughorn had told her about it, or someone else.

“Seekers, up!”

Harry turned back and stepped forwards to take the handle of the broom he was offered—

Flint’s own Cleansweep.

Harry stared up at the Captain, who stared back, his eyes squinting so hard they were almost gone in the folds of his cheeks. “You impressed me last year on an inferior broom, Grayson,” he hissed under his breath. “You better impress me on this one, unless you want to find a new position.”

Harry just nodded. It was the sort of threat he’d become used to. He slung his leg over the broom and lifted into the air.

It was just as fascinating and freeing as it had been last term. Harry turned and zoomed around the poles, through the Keeper’s hoop as Bletchley made a grab for him and missed, and then swooped down.

The Snitch was waiting for him. Oh, Harry did have the impression that it had tried to dart away, but he was there. He grabbed it and lifted, waving his hand back and forth.

“First catch to Grayson!”

The other candidates for Seeker, a third-year girl and a boy Harry thought was called Bole, began to grimly chase the Snitch. They couldn’t get close to it, though, even though their brooms were at least as nice as Harry’s. Harry caught it and caught it, then smiled at Bole and released the Snitch right in front of his nose.

Bole grabbed for it. Harry swept negligently to the side and scooped it out of the air.

“Fuck you, Grayson!”

Bole’s frustration was lost in the laughter of the others.

Harry circled and held the Snitch up again, so that the sun sparked off it. Flint laughed, and Harry knew in that moment that he’d made the team, and even if Bole or the girl—something Fawley—tried to get back at him later, he’d proved he was the best.

It turned out that Draco had also become a Chaser. Harry made sure that his smile was sufficiently admiring as they walked back up to the school.

“Did you tell Flint about the brooms?” Harry asked.

“Of course! What do you take me for, Grayson?”

Harry murmured apologies, but even pretending to be contrite couldn’t dim the happiness that was shining in him like another Snitch.

*

“I have a gift for you, Grayson.”

Theo did appreciate the way that Grayson paid attention, with a subtle, sober posture that made him seem as though he’d been waiting all his life for the instruction of purebloods. That wasn’t true, of course, but Theo did bask in feeling as though it was.

Soon, he would have the attention of people more important than a Mudblood his own age. But this was a good beginning.

“You don’t have to do that, Nott.”

Theo shrugged and sat down on the couch beside Grayson. Grayson had been getting more attention in the week or so since Quidditch tryouts, but most people weren’t staring anymore, which was the reason that Theo had chosen to approach him now.

“I wanted to.”

Grayson waited for a moment. Theo waited, too. He was hoping that Grayson would at least ask what it was, but Grayson seemed inclined to simply sit there.

“It’s a broom,” Theo said at last. “I know that you don’t have one of your own, and now that you’re on the team, you’ll need it.”

Grayson blinked, and then a subtle current of amusement seemed to run through him. Theo narrowed his eyes. “I don’t enjoy being made fun of,” he said.

“I’m not making fun of you,” said Grayson, in that soft tone of voice that made Theo itch sometimes. “It’s only that Draco’s father promised the team Nimbus 2001 brooms if he made Chaser, so I’ll have a nice broom soon.”

Theo felt his stomach clench. The broom he had to offer was a fine Shooting Star, but it certainly couldn’t compare to a Nimbus 2001. He sought for something to say, and settled on, “Since when do you call him Draco?”

“Since I stayed with him for a couple of weeks this summer.”

Grayson was watching Theo in curiosity Theo didn’t think was feigned. He made a decision and leaned closer. “I want you to call me Theo.”

“All right.”

No challenge. Grayson simply gave in. Theo stared at him, and had the unsettling feeling that he would find no resistance if he kept pushing, either, that Grayson would simply yield like fog and keep the core of himself hidden behind his compliance.

“Fine,” Theo said abruptly, and stood and stalked away.

He caught Draco’s eye on the path away from Grayson, and Draco gave him such a smarmy smirk that Theo’s resolve hardened.

He would find a gift that was better for Grayson than anything Draco could give him. He would learn Grayson’s secrets, and make Grayson pay attention to him and accept Theo as someone worth befriending.

Notts don’t lose.