SHE'S A MALFOY

FIVE

"So light em up up up
I'm on fire"
- Fall out boys

"Bonjour, Malfoy!" Marcus said with a cheery disposition as he bounded into my quarters at Beauxbatons, enfolding me in a warm embrace.

"Morning, Marcus," I replied with a languid tone, my disdain for the blinding sun streaming through the windows evident.

"Rise and shine, my friend! There's no time for slumber!" He declared, making a valiant effort to wrest the protective sanctuary of my blanket away from me.

"I must vehemently protest," I retorted, clutching my covers more tightly. "It is an ungodly hour for your exuberance, I assure you."

"Very well, then I shall resort to sitting upon you," he threatened playfully, and without further ado, he perched himself on my prone form, causing me considerable discomfort.

An uneasy tranquility settled upon us until it was abruptly shattered by the arrival of Philip and Lorenzo, who launched into a spirited, albeit loud, debate regarding the merits of various Quidditch teams. I sighed, casting a weary glance at Marcus, who appeared equally unamused.

"Oh, do let us endeavor to find a more civil hour for such discussions, gentlemen," I implored, my voice tinged with the faintest hint of irritation. "Beauxbatons deserves a more refined beginning to the day, wouldn't you agree?"

"The Irish, my dear fellow, are indeed quite formidable," Philip declared with an air of certainty.

Louis, ever the diplomat, chimed in, "Well, let's not forget the Italians' remarkable finesse in the art of Quidditch."

A spirited exchange of opinions ensued, and it seemed that Louis was on the verge of offering his own viewpoint when Marcus, displaying remarkable wisdom, forestalled him with a subtle shake of his head. It was clear that getting embroiled in such a debate would lead to naught but an endless dispute.

Today marked the eve of the Beauxbatons Quidditch tryouts, an event traditionally dominated by the gentlemen of the academy, as the young ladies gravitated more toward the pursuits of art and music. However, one determined soul had set her sights on changing the status quo, seeking to prove that women could excel on the Quidditch pitch.

Accompanied by her loyal companions, the girl found herself transported to the elegant Beauxbatons campus, where her male friends provided her with the necessary equipment to ensure her safety. To add an extra touch of flair, they insisted she wear a distinctive hat, a gesture somewhat reminiscent of schoolyard antics, though entirely well-intentioned.

"Are you prepared for this endeavor, my young friend?" Corentin inquired, adopting a teasing tone that bordered on a babyish lilt.

With a spirited retort, I replied, "Prepared? Indeed, who do you take me for? And kindly desist with that infantile tone, old chap!"

With a flourish, Polo continued to expound upon the intricacies of the game and the team's expectations. Meanwhile, I espied Evan and Philip seated upon the bench, their faces rapt with attention. By my side stood the dependable trio of Louis, Lorenzo, and Marcus, each of them renowned for their skills on the pitch.

I turned to Lorenzo, curiosity piqued. "Pray tell, dear friend, what roles do you all undertake on this grand Quidditch stage?"

Lorenzo, with an air of self-assuredness, responded, "I am entrusted with the responsibilities of a beater. Louis, over here, serves as our guardian, and Marcus gallantly assumes the role of our seeker."

Ah, the seeker position, my old haunt, where glory awaited the swift and the keen of eye. "I, too, have been known to seek the elusive snitch," I confessed with a sly grin, "but this year, I aspire to chase, for I crave the spotlight."