To Be So Lonely

8

"I can finally try out for Quidditch and you best bet I'm going to be Slytherin's best Keeper!" Tracey announced to the Slytherin table determinedly. Eyes gleaming if there was anybody that ate, breathed and just thrived on Quidditch - besides that Gryffindor Oliver Wood - it was Tracey.

"You're totally going to make it Trace, we believe in you!" Her friends said to her encouragingly pumping her up.

"Yes, two you need to come work out with me in the mornings, so that I can get faster and stronger!"

This made both Nel and Theodore cringe. Waking up at dawn to run around the lake. Pass. That did not sound like a good time.

"Yes, you need to come work out with me so that I can get faster and stronger!"

"You're not going to make it," a shrill voice interrupted. "The Slytherin team is boys only, everybody knows that," an irritable voice spoke from a couple of seats next to them. Somebody that had obviously been eavesdropping. Three pairs of glaring eyes turned back to face Pansy Parkinson. Someone that Nel had definitely not missed.

"That's not written anywhere in parchment," Tracey shot back.

"So?" Elowen butted "If anything that's just another glass ceiling to break."

Davis gave her friend a thankful smile. Having been shut up. Parkinson leered at her with a scrunched-up nose of disgust when she looked down at Saintday's uniform.

"Is that last year's uniform?" She chortled looking at the Slytherin uniform that still looked brand new after just a year or use.

"Is that last year's overbite?" Nel bit back ruthlessly. Even making Daphne Greengrass snort into her chalice almost spilling out her pumpkin juice. Parkinson scowled and turned away pretending to be more interested in whatever some third-years next to her were talking about.

With a little smirk Nel chewed on her turkey thoughtfully making a mental note to buy some dung bombs and belch powder from the Weasley twins to torture Parkinson this year. Maybe even a biting teacup would do the trick.

"I know I'm going to make the Slytherin team," a cocky voice butted. Nel didn't even bother turning around to face Malfoy. "After all, I have been flying for years. It's only expected that Ibecome the youngest Seeker in Slytherin's history," Draco boasted from a couple of seats ago. Like Pansy it appeared he had been eavesdropping on the conversation. Not that anyone blamed him, it was probably more interesting than anything Crabbe or Goyle had to say.

Tracey rolled her eyes slightly, Theodore let out what looked like a humorous huff, yet no one acknowledged him. Maybe if they just ignored him he'd go away.

"I'll be at the try outs to cheer you on Draco!" Pansy piped in a dreamy tone.

He didn't seem to hear or care for anything she had to say.

"What do you think of that Saint-Nel?"

"My name's Saintday, not Saint-Nel. Malfoy," she turned irritated. The grip on her fork becoming tighter. "Also, only my friends can call me Nel. So don't let me hear my name coming from your filthy mouth!"

His gray eyes fixed on her upset expression. He didn't have a good reason for wanting to provoke her other than looking cool in front of the Quidditch team.

"Does it matter?" He scoffed. "It's not even a real name."

Scattered hooting and sniggering surrounded him. Parkinson laughing the loudest. The grip on Nel's utensils becoming tighter. She wanted nothing more than to stab him with her fork. Maybe throw the dull knife at him but he was too far from her reach.