An American at Hogwarts

A Horrid Term

Weeks passed. Lockhart's classes were all as horrible as the first. I hardly learned anything in them. I was ahead already, granted, but he spent the majority of the time spouting whatever nonsense stories about his supposed adventures came to mind. Even Hermione was getting a bit tired of it. Thankfully, as September turned to October, quidditch tryouts finally came around. I awoke early on the morning of the tryout and grabbed my gear. My mom had sent over a bunch of stuff with her reply to my letter. As far as she knew, nobody in my family had experienced any weird dreams like the one I described. Trelawney, for her part, didn't have too much a clue what it was either. She said it sounded similar to what people who had what she called "the sight" experienced. She was just as eccentric as people had warned me, but she clearly meant well. Regardless, she said that she wouldn't be able to do much more than tell me how to focus a bit better on the visuals if another dream happened, lessons which thankfully I had not yet had reason to use.

As I made my way down the stairs, Marie tackled me into a hug.

"Y/N! You're up! How are you feeling dear?"

I smiled and gave her a quick peck on the lips. "A bit nervous, but pretty good I think! I'm certainly excited!"

She smiled brightly at me. "Come on, you need to eat before the tryout. Don't go in with an empty stomach."

I followed her down to the Great Hall, where I saw Malfoy talking with a bunch of older kids, handing out some big brown packages. That didn't bode well. I brushed it off, though. Dumbledore surely wouldn't let a second year pull off some weird dark magic stuff, so I probably had nothing to worry about. I ate quickly and made my way down to the quidditch field, where the team was already waiting. I got dressed quickly and flew out to meet them.

"Hey mate!" Exclaimed Harry. "Glad you're here! You ready to go?"

I nodded and we began. It went pretty well, all things considered. I was a bit rusty at first, having not flown much since the summer, but once I got warmed up, I definitely stood out against the competition. Thanks in part to my broom, of course, nobody else had a Nimbus 2001, but I had a better feel for the game than anyone else as well. I was able to figure out where I needed to be ahead of when I needed to be there, instead of chasing there after the fact. However, about halfway through, we were interrupted when a dozen or so Slytherins came out onto the field.

"Oh what are those bastards doing now?" Asked Wood, confused.

We flew down to meet them. Wood approached Marcus Flint, the Slytherin quidditch captain, his face red with a mix of exhaustion and anger.

"What are you doing here? I booked the pitch for today!"

Flint simply smirked. "Yes, but I have a letter from Professor Snape that says I can use it."

Wood took the bit of parchment with a huff and read it.

"I, Professor Snape, grant permission for the Slytherin team to use the pitch today, on account of the need to practice with their new seeker."

"New seeker?" Interrupted Harry. "Who?"

To my dismay, a familiar face emerged from the crowd.

"Me, Potter." Said Malfoy with a mocking bow. "And look what my father got for us!"

The team raised their brooms. They all had brand new Nimbus 2001s.

"You're not the only one, Malfoy." I said with a smirk, raising mine. He stuttered for a moment as Hermione, Marie, and Ron finally made their way down.

"At least nobody on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way onto it!" Exclaimed Hermione, enraged.

"Oh shut up, you damned mudblood!"

The momentary silence was deafening. I drew my wand.

"Thats it, Malfoy. I warned you."

Just as I raised my wand to do... something (I wasn't entirely sure what), Ron got ahead of me.

"Eat slugs, Malfoy!"

Unfortunately, Ron's wand picked that moment to backfire once again, sending him flying backwards. I spun around, now more concerned for my friend than I was angry. Ron slowly got up.

"You alright, mate?" Asked Harry, running over to him.

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but he simply vomited, a stream of, well, slugs, coming from his gullet.

I sighed, taking Marie and Hermione by the hand and pulling them back towards the two boys. "We need to get him help. I can deal with blondie later."

We rushed off towards Hagrid's. I had originally wanted to bring Ron to Madam Pomfrey, but Harry convinced me that he could get in trouble for trying to attack Malfoy, so we settled on Hagrid, since we knew he wouldn't tell anyone. Ron was in an absolutely horrid state. I couldn't believe the number of slugs that were coming out of him. He had to be feeling absolutely terrible. The worst part was that neither me nor Hermione could think of any spells to help him. I knew some basic healing magic, of course, stuff for cuts and broken bones (that was rather important for someone who wanted to learn how to duel after all), but nothing for this sort of ailment. We burst into Hagrid's hut out of breath, and he quickly rushed Ron over to a big bucket, and told him to just let it all out.

"What happened to him?"

We quickly explained the incident with Malfoy.

"He didn't use that word, no..."

We nodded grimly.

Harry meekly raised his hand. "Uh, Hagrid, what does that mean? I mean, it's obviously terrible, but I've never heard anyone use it before."

"I should bloody well hope not! It's a horrid term! Only the most vile of pureblood supremacists would dare use it! It basically means dirty blood. Its a term for muggleborns. Like Hermione here. Complete nonsense, of course. Hermione is one of the smartest students at Hogwarts! They've yet to make a spell she can't figure out!"

I nodded in agreement. "Don't let him get to you, Hermione. He's a moron."

She smiled appreciatively.

"I must say, though. It's probably a good thing that spell didn't work. And that you didn't try anything, Y/N. Lucius would have thrown a fit if either of you hurt his boy."

I sighed. Hagrid was probably right there. I guess I'd have to hold off on my plans. For now at least.

Harry turned back to Ron. "You ok now mate?"

The only reply that came was yet another stream of slugs.