Chapter 1 – September

AN: Hiya, everyone! Hope you're all having a lovely day/night. This is the first chapter of my Slytherin quidditch love story about a muggleborn chasing her dreams (see what I did there?). I plan on updating on the first of every month!

Touch The Sky – Julie Fowlis

I will ride, I will fly, chase the wind and touch the sky.

Nessa Starling's timing couldn't be worse. Her flight from JFK had been delayed by high winds, and as a result, she'd missed her connection from Dublin to London. By the time she rolled up to Kings Cross with her mother in tow, a late summer cloudburst had hit. Making it abundantly clear fate was against her return to Hogwarts.

"I'll forward your luggage to school," her mother reassured as they jogged through the station, shaking rain droplets off their jackets. "It couldn't have gotten far," she said, trying to keep her breath even at the fierce pace her daughter set. "It doesn't have legs like the one in that magazine you showed me last Christmas. What was it called? Bitch Weekly?"

"Mum," Nessa said in a clipped tone, scandalized. "It's Witch Weekly."

Her mother shrugged, not bothered, but Nessa winced. She hadn't meant to snap. It wasn't her mother's fault the flight in from New York had been delayed, or that the line for immigration had been long.

After swinging her pack over a shoulder, she grabbed her mother's hand to guide her through the barrier for platform 9 ¾. Mrs. Starling tensed, as she always did when it came to anything strange and magic-related, but shook it off soon after, smoothing down her blazer once they were through. She'd taken off work this morning to pick Nessa up from the airport and say goodbye. It was a sweet gesture, considering Mr. Starling couldn't make it this year.

"You cannot be alone or your final send off to school. I won't allow it," her mother had said on the subject earlier that summer. Her eyes welled with tears. "My baby. So grown up."

The crowd this terms seemed thicker than usual. Families huddled close, doling out late minute kisses and words of wisdom. But as soon as the first warning whistle blew, most of the kids scattered for the train doors.

Mrs. Starling tucked her daughter in for a tight embrace. Nessa buried her face into the crook of her mother's neck, standing on her tiptoes to do so. If only she'd inherited the height, life would've been so much easier—quidditch, too.

"Mum," Nessa began, "It's been grand, but I've got to go."

Her mother breathed in deeply and tightened her hold around Nessa's middle. "You don't have to go quite yet, my dearest girl," she said, her Irish accent thick and warm and smooth as honey.

"We're cutting it very close," Nessa answered, glancing over her shoulder at the train. Students were already waving out the windows.

Pouting, Mrs. Starling released Nessa and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Write me."

Nessa nodded, a sad smile gracing her lips. "You know I always do."

"And good luck leading your team this year," she flicked the pin clasped on the collar of her jean jacket. Nessa's chin lifted in pride. "No falling from great heights or hitting your noggin on one of those flying buggers."

"Bludgers," Nessa chuckled.

Mrs. Starling waved her off and pressed one last kiss to her forehead. "Goodbye, love."

Nessa put her quidditch training to test as she propelled herself passed swinging bags and trunks. The bell for last call rang throughout the station just as she leapt on the train.

She glanced back once she found her footing only to find misty grey eyes and a trembling chin in the distance. Her heart squeezed at the sight. But Nessa steeled herself. As Slytherin quidditch captain, she couldn't allow herself to be soft.

"Take care," her mum called as she climbed the stair. "School first, prefect duties second, then quid-ish—I love you!"

Nessa swallowed her laughter. "It's quidditch," she murmured to herself. How typical of her mother. If only dad were there to set things straight. He'd been so good with all the witchy concepts and cultural stuff throughout the years. But she was here, and her dad was in the States, where his job made it difficult to travel even to see his daughter off to her final year of school. Nessa did her best to not be bitter. At least he promised to see one of her matches this year. She bit the inside of her cheek. It would be something to look forward to.

Ignoring the lump in her throat, Nessa pulled the train door shut, blinking her eyes rapidly to keep water from welling up in the corners.

"Captain, eh?" A deep voice rumbled close behind, giving Nessa a start. "I guess Slytherin is capable of good judgment then."

Nessa swung herself around just as the train lurched forward, sending her crashing into James Potter's chest. The tips of her ears warmed to an unflattering shade of pink. How embarrassing.

"Be careful there, Potter," she said, doing a solid job of keeping her voice even despite the blush creeping up her neck. "I seem to recall that your brother is a member of my house."

James answered with a knitted brow, his green eyes sparkling. Had his eyelashes always been so long and dark?

"Potter?" He said. "Since when have we been on a last name basis?"

Nessa took a step back to give them some breathing room. They were standing far too close and she could smell his cologne. Her heart raced as the scent of broom polish and summer campfire filled her lungs. Maybe the three cups of coffee she'd downed on the plane this morning—or last night, now that she thought about it—weren't helping.

"Since now. We're officially rivals. Captains on even footing." She straightened out her jacket to give her hands something to do. "No more Ms. Nice Slytherin."

"Because we weren't rivals last year, or the year before that?" He mused a hand through his dark, windswept hair. "Or the year before—"

"I said officially," she cut him off, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to make herself look more intimidating. Though it was clearly a wasted effort. He stood tall at six feet, whereas she was a measly five foot two. They'd measured themselves the previous year on a bet from his cousin Fred that she was a full foot shorter than James. But she'd managed to walk away with five Galleons and her pride.

"We never played the same position," she pointed out."

"Oh," he said, a cheeky grin forming on his mouth. "Are you taking up the beater's bat now that you're captain?"

She shook her head. Patience with James was always a struggle. "We both hold leadership status this year, and I've deemed Gryffindor our greatest threat."

He smirked at that, his chest puffing out just slightly. "Too bad," he teased. "I've decided on Ravenclaw as ours." He shrugged off Nessa's stalwart glare. "But to each captain their own."

With a huff, Nessa motioned toward the hallway door. Muffling a yawn with her hand, she said, "I'd like to fit in a nap before the prefect meeting." She nodded at the handle he blocked with crossed arms. "If you'll excuse me."

"Of course," he answered with a winning smile. "After you, Starling."

Start of term prefect meetings on the train had never been Nessa's favorite. Mainly because half the students were dealing with motion sickness of some kind as they read through the year's list of programs, concerns, and patrol duty charts. Even now, a poor Ravenclaw fifth year was clutching his stomach, his cheeks pale as snow. But head boy, Carlisle Jones, was clearly on a roll.

Nessa's fellow seventh year Slytherin prefect rolled his eyes as Carlisle stood to address the group. Ira was never one to enjoy a lecture, even if it came from the mouth of the cute Hufflepuff he'd had his eye on since fourth year. She nudged him with her elbow to keep the bloke from nodding off mid-speech.

"I thought it was your job to keep me awake," she teased him quietly.

Ira merely slumped deeper into his seat, an apology at the edge of his lips, but Carlisle cleared his throat, shooting the Slytherin side of the compartment an appraising glare. Ira sent him a cheeky wink before the Hufflepuff moved onto his next agenda item, his feathers clearly ruffled at the interruption.

"I'll have you know that I nearly fell asleep putting on my robes," Nessa confided, taking a long sip from her cup of coffee.

Her friend gave Nessa a once over, likely checking to see if she'd buttoned up her shirt inside out. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Spent your holiday in the States?" Ira asked a moment later as Carlisle fumbled with his note cards.

She nodded. "Got stuck at immigration this morning, nearly missed the train."

He shook his head, eyes glancing skyward. "Muggles."

"Hey," she stomped on his foot lightly with the heel of her boot. "My family's all no-maj—muggles."

"But you are not a muggle."

"Regardless," she argued, her whispers heated. "I have to object by principle."

"If you weren't such a quidditch diehard, you'd make a good advocate for muggle rights," he answered calmly.

"Quiet in the corner!" Carlisle spoke harshly, eyeing daggers at them from behind his thick designer glasses.

Ira motioned zipping his lips and throwing away the key. It was all so very classy.

"Meeting adjourned," the head boy finally said with a prim sniff, tucking his note cards back into the pocket of his Hufflepuff robes.

As they all began filtering out of the room, Carlisle called out to the new prefects to huddle up. "Fifth years," he announced. "Don't forget to help guide first years to their common room after the feast. It is your sacred duty as a prefect. We have traditions to uphold."

"Sacred duty?" A familiar voice snorted at Nessa's side. "Sounds like my Uncle Percy."

Ira grimaced knowingly. "You'll have to get used to it, Al."

Though still a bit bleary eyed, Nessa did her best to smile warmly. "Congrats on making prefect."

"Thanks, Nessa," the fifth year tugged nervously on his green tie. "When are you planning on holding tryouts, captain?"

Nessa wheeled on Al and grabbed the edge of robe sleeve. His eyes widened, startled. "Are you seriously thinking of trying out for seeker?"

"Calm down," he said, raising his hands in quick defense, as if she were some wild beast.

But how could she be calm? The Potter family was notorious for many things, quidditch being one of them. His dad had been the youngest seeker in Hogwarts history and his mother went on to play for the bloody Harpies.

"Just asking for a friend," Al admitted suspiciously, making an effort to not meet her steely gaze.

"Then tell your friend that trials are still TBA. I'll be putting up posters in the common room bulletin board as soon as I confirm the date with Slughorn and reserve the pitch."

That's right, there was still so much to do. Nessa's fingers were already itching to make some new additions to her playbook.

"Sure thing," Al said before waving farewell, his feet quick. Probably frightened off by her bullheadedness. She had a reputation for being rather headstrong. Nessa watched him snake through the crowd, catching up with Rose, another Weasley clan member who'd been predictably named a Gryffindor prefect this year.

"Hey," Ira said, pulling Nessa aside. Her coffee cup, thankfully empty at this point, fell from her hand. "Take the rest of the train ride to get some sleep. You look like the walking dead."

"Actually, I should really get working on my playbook while there's still time." She bit her lip, picking up the cup from the floor. When she stood, the world seemed to shift out of focus underneath her.

"When was the last time you took a rest?"

She answered honestly, "I think I shut my eyes for maybe ten minutes before the meeting, but before that…" she trailed and Ira shook his head.

He marched them over to an empty compartment. "Say no more," he declared, taking her by the elbow and shoving her inside. He slammed the door shut behind them, pulling a heafty NEWT-level astronomy text out of his bag.

"I'll be reading," he said, "so there's no snoring allowed."

"I wanted to see Amelia," Nessa pouted. She hadn't seen her best friend in months. "Why didn't you choose her compartment?"

"Accio Amelia Wood," Ira deadpanned, not even bothering to wave his wand for the full effect.

"You're mean," Nessa mumbled, settling on the cushioned bench regardless.

"I'm Slytherin," Ira answered simply. "Deal with it."

The Great Hall was bustling with warmth and laughter as students filed in for the welcome feast. Stomach growling, Nessa scanned the Slytherin table, searching for a friendly face. Not one for big crowds, Ira tended to skip start of term dinners, so she kept a look out for her teammates.

"Vanessa, my love!" A body slammed into her back.

With a small yelp, Nessa turned and smiled bright at the squeal that left her best friend's lips.

"Amelia," Nessa answered in kind, her blood racing with joy. "Come here," she said, wrapping the Ravenclaw into a bear hug.

Having met during flying lessons first year, and as the only girls able to join their respective quidditch teams by second year (Nessa had been on the reserves, but still), they had forged an unbreakable bond. Their friendship was based on love and quidditch. It was honestly the only thread of light she could hold onto during her first years at Hogwarts, since her housemates seemed mystified that a muggleborn could manage to trick the sorting hat into allowing her to join the ranks of such a prestigious house.

"I need some tea," Nessa groaned into Amelia's shoulder, letting the brunt of her body's weight fall into her lean arms.

"Then you're in the right place, love." She grabbed Nessa's hand. "Sit with the ravens tonight."

But Nessa pulled back slightly. "For breakfast, definitely. But tonight I thought I'd sit with my team," she said, mumbling, "If I can find them."

Amelia's nose scrunched up. "What do you mean? You never want to sit at your house's table."

Nessa shrugged, her new badge catching the candlelight. "I thought it would be a nice thing to do, as Captain."

"Captain!" Amelia let out another squeal and gripped her by the shoulders. "How could you not tell me in your letters?"

"I thought this might be more fun," she said. "And I was right."

"Fine," she gave in, releasing her friend. "Go sit with your snakes, but I expect full details tomorrow, understand?"

"You got it," Nessa agreed, giving her a cheesy thumbs-up.

Amelia sighed, walking away. "How I missed that bloody American accent."

With a grin plastered across her cheeks, Nessa settled herself down at a table, where fifth year Adam Verity, fellow Slytherin chaser, waved frantically.

"Captain, my captain," he said, raising his glass in her direction once the sorting and speeches had wrapped up.

"Settle down, Verity," she answered, tucking a napkin over her lap before digging into her meal. "And not so loud."

"Why? You don't think the entire house doesn't already know?" Susan Derrick said, jostling Nessa's shoulder lightly before crashing herself down beside Blake Zambini. "As if Flint wasn't bitching about it from the moment he stepped foot onto the train."

Nessa, reaching for a roll, shuttered at the mention of Flint. "He will just have to deal with it."

"You earned it, Ness," Adam added on, his mouth already half stuffed with roast. "Truly."

"I appreciate that," she told him, pleased by the nods of agreement going around their little group. "But how was everyone's holiday? Did we get some training in?" She asked expectantly.

Susan was first to volunteer. "I was a lifeguard."

Adam laughed. "So you freely admit that you just sat on your arse all summer?"

Nessa coughed and quickly inspected her team. Susan had a flattering tan under her robes, but it was hard to tell muscle definition when wearing the Hogwarts uniform. Blake looked willowy as usual, but perhaps his shoulders had gone a bit broader? That was good. When she turned to Adam he was ready.

Straightening his posture, the fifth year gave her a proud dip of his chin. "I grew two inches this summer. Can you believe it?"

Nessa sniffed primly. "When I see it." Turning back to Susan, she begged, "You're a beater, please tell me you at least lifted over break?"

Susan shrugged, more concerned with building a mountain out of her mashed potatoes and peas. "On especially sunny days I lifted an umbrella over my chair. And I lifted small children after closing if they refused to exit the pool."

"We work our magic in the sky, Susie," Adam chimed in. "Not the water."

Susan narrowed her eyes. "You know better than to call me Susie."

Nessa held in a frustrated groan. "That's not the point," she said. There was clearly a lot of work to be done to get this team ready to go up against the other houses.

Blake gave her back a reassuring pat, clearly sensing her distress. Not that she was really making an effort of hiding it.

Though deadly with a beater's bat on the pitch, Blake tended to maneuver through Hogwarts with an unparalleled Hufflepuff-level gentleness. He'd never spoken the word mudblood (as far as she knew), which was something she couldn't say for a good chunk of the students sitting at this very table.

"I flew every day," Adam said, trying to be helpful.

Nessa turned to her least chatty teammate and raised a brow. "And you, Blake? What do you have to say for yourself?"

He shrugged and reached for a cup of vanilla pudding. But Susan, quick as a whip, grabbed him by the arm to check in on his biceps. She squeezed a few times making inscrutable faces as Blake let out a long-suffering sigh. In the end, Nessa surmised he'd clearly kept up with his beater training because Susan gave her captain an approving wink once Blake finally pulled his arm free of the girl's clutches.

Adam scowled and vigorously cut at his plate of bloody steak.

Nessa smirked with gratitude and amusement before shifting her gaze to glance down the bench, keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of the aforementioned Mason Flint. If he had a bone to pick with her she wished he'd get it over and done with.

A throat cleared itself behind her. "Excuse me, Miss Starling."

Nessa turned and hid her grimace best she could. "Professor Slughorn, pleasure to see you."

His wrinkled face lit up in goodhearted cheer. "It's a pleasure for me as well, to see my newly minted quidditch captain," he nodded to the hallway. "May I have a word in private?"

"Of course, sir," she said, placing her napkin onto the empty plate in front of her. "Poster crafting Wednesday after dinner, in the library?" Her team nodded back in agreement. It was tradition, after all.

Adam gave her a salute. "You got it, captain."

"My name is Nessa," she said, standing to her feet. "When we're off the pitch feel free to use it." She didn't stick around to hear his response, but Nessa doubted he would take her at her word.

Slughorn guided her to a sheltered alcove by the main stairwell. The sounds of clinking glasses and laughter faded into faint echoes. Did he want to talk strategy in private? She began tugging lightly at the ends of her robe sleeves.

"Did you enjoy your summer holiday?" He asked mildly, tightening a hand around his cane.

"It was nice," she said. "But I'm eager to get back to flying."

He cocked his head. "You mean you haven't been in the air since last term?"

"I'm muggleborn, Professor," she reminded him. "I live with my father over summer break in the states, and he lives in a no-maj village. I'd be risking exposure."

His brows rose. "And you've been doing that every summer?"

She nodded, cheeks reddening by the second. This wasn't a normal problem for most Slytherin students. A majority of her housemates were pureblood or half-blood, at the very least.

"And yet you're still one of Slytherin's best flyers," he said.

Nessa stood a little taller, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

"But," he continued, his tone shifting to something more tentative. "Speaking of Slytheirn's best, there's one student I'd like to talk about in particular…"

"Yes, professor?" She asked, fighting heavily against the urge to run for the hills.

"Last term we had a bit of a… disciplinary issue."

Nessa remembered it clear as day. "With one of my fellow chasers," she said. "Flint was removed from the team."

"Yes, well…" His smile grew sweet. "I'm not sure word has spread yet, but I'm planning on retiring at the end of the year."

Where was he going with this?

"That's a downright shame, professor," she said, trying not to sound too pleased for the future Hogwarts students who would never know the woes of the dreaded Slug Club.

"Thank you, dear girl," he nodded, leaning forward. "I would like to go out with a bang. Winning the House Cup might do the trick, don't you think?"

"The quidditch team will do its part as always," Nessa assured. He wouldn't have picked her to lead if he thought she'd run the team to the ground.

"Good," Slughorn said, resting a hand over his chest. "Splendid, really. I had some ideas regarding the make up of this year's team."

"Yes, sir?" She reached carefully for the playbook tucked in her robe pocket, but something in her gut was souring.

"I'm aware of your rather unpleasant past with Mr. Flint," he said.

Nessa's breath caught in her throat. That had been an understatement of the rudest sort.

"He will be part Slytherin's team this year," Slughorn continued nonplussed. "He's paid his dues and reassured me he wants to continue playing." Slughorn leaned in. "As I said before, I would very much like to win the cup this year, Miss Starling."

Nessa knuckles went white around her journal. She did her best to keep an even tone.

"Sir," she coughed, doing her best to keep an even, mature tone. "With all due respect, there are other students who have their hearts set on trying out for the team. I plan on giving them a fair go."

Slughorn pursed his lips. Disapproval leaked from every pore, but it wasn't as though he could shoot that statement down. She was in the right. Nessa breathed in through her nose as her head of house sorted out his response.

"Maybe I misjudged you, Miss Starling..." Slughorn trailed off, eyes snagging on her new badge.

Fire blazed through her veins. Was that a threat?

She mustered up some strength and spoke with false cheer before he could finish that sentence. "If he shows up for trials, I'll see to it that he gets a fair shot."

In a flash, Slughorn returned to his previous state of withered, elderly charm, gracing her with a quick nod of approval.

She hid her wince like a born actress. As a first year, she often doubted her sorting. Why Slytherin? How could she ever dream of fitting in with all the ruthless, self-assured badasses? If this moment was a coming of age—she'd failed.

If only she could tell Slughorn that Flint wasn't worthy of wearing their colors. Flint didn't deserve an inch of loyalty, or a second chance. He'd lost that a long time ago.

"Very good, Miss Starling." He winked. "Have a good night."

"Good night, professor," she muttered as he ambled away, nails digging tight into his walking cane. "And good riddance."