big jumps, chapter ii
A/N: Sorry that this is so short, but today is my friend Brit'ne's birthday and I promised her I'd update this as a birthday present to her. :]
[chapter i]
The first Quidditch game of the year took place on a clear, chilly night between Gryffindor and Slytherin. The stands quickly filled up with students eager to forget their studies for a while. Quinn struggled to keep from grinning as she half-ran to the pitch, dragging Hermione behind her.
“Slow down, Quinn! The game doesn’t start for another hour!” Hermione’s voice was stern, but her eyes laughed at the childlike excitement that shone from Quinn’s radiant face.
“But we need to get good seats! I want to see everything! Quidditch is so much more interesting than football,” Quinn said. She’d been a cheerleader for the football team in middle school, but Quidditch required no extra entertainment. At her wizarding school, she’d been perfectly content to cheer for her team without having to twirl around needlessly.
“We should probably decide which box we want to sit in,” Hermione commented wryly.
Quinn stopped so quickly that Hermione almost ran into her from behind. “I-Hermione, can we sit together? Since we’re in different houses? Maybe you can disguise me as a Gryffindor-”
Hermione blinked, and then laughed. “Quinn, no one cares who sits where. The stands are just divided up by house because of tradition.”
She took the blond girl’s hand gently and leaned in close, her breath warming Quinn’s cold, chapped face. “Come on, let’s sit in the Gryffindor box.” They began climbing the stairs.
Hermione’s mouth twisted and she explained, “Gryffindors are a little more accepting of students from other houses than Slytherins would be. Well, except for Ron,” she added, rolling her eyes, “but he’s playing today.”
Quinn couldn’t argue with that.
As they climbed, Hermione complained loudly about all the studying time everyone was wasting at the game. When Quinn asked if she didn’t like Quidditch, Hermione thought for a moment and shook her head. “I just don’t like the rivalry it creates between the houses, that’s all. And even I have to admit that it’s pretty exciting sometimes.” She smiled a little.
Quinn wondered about the sharp pang in her chest she got when she thought about Hermione only going to Quidditch games for her friends, Ron and Harry. Quinn saw the way Hermione and Ron looked at each other. But it really wasn’t any of her business. Hermione was just her . . . tutor.
The cold wind slapped Quinn in the face when she reached the open-air box. She reached automatically for Hermione’s hand, faced with so many strangers. “Where do you normally sit?”
Hermione took the lead and led Quinn to a spot between two boys. Gesturing to the round-faced boy on her left, Hermione introduced him as Neville Longbottom, and then introduced a black boy named Dean Thomas. Quinn smiled and greeted them both.
Quinn and Hermione spent the rest of the time before the game talking about school and their lives before Hogwarts. Hermione was surprised to learn that Quinn had been a part of glee club in America.
“But what do singing and dancing have to do with magic?” Hermione seemed genuinely confused.
Quinn thought about the cheesy reply Rachel would have given-something about singing and dancing being a different kind of magic. But she just replied, “It’s just for fun.” She looked pointedly down at the pitch, where the players were warming up. “And no one gets hurt-unless they fall off the stage.” Or poison or hex each other, Quinn added silently, thinking of Rachel and Vocal Adrenaline.
For her part, Hermione told Quinn funny stories about the crazy antics of the Gryffindors, particularly the Weasley twins. Quinn laughed and tried not to angst over how close this Weasley family sounded, how full of warmth . . . It reminded her of Sam and how he was almost always happy, acting silly when his parents barely had enough money to pay for their hotel room. And she couldn’t help but compare the seemingly cold, loveless Malfoy family to her own.
But then Quinn’s optimistic inner voice stepped in to save her from her pointless wallowing.
Back in Ohio, the glee club was your real family, just as crazy and lovingly functional as the Weasleys. And here, you’ve got Hermione.
Quinn looked at the other girl with a small smile. Hermione’s face was pink from the cold, dry wind. Her eyes were bright and her gestures animated as she talked. Her striped Gryffindor scarf engulfed her neck like a fat, lazy python, and her curly brown hair surrounded her head in a bushy halo.
“What?” Hermione asked, hands immediately going to her teeth. “Did someone hex me again?”
“No,” Quinn assured her, and took Hermione’s hand in her own.
* * *
“GO, HARRY!” Quinn shrieked, bobbing up and down like a demented dandelion. Her already raspy voice strained to be heard over the roar of the crowd.
Hermione waved a small Gryffindor flag that seemed to have appeared out of thin air, grinning from ear to ear and cheering for Ron.
Dean and Neville looked at each other with raised eyebrows and laughed, joining in with deeper bellows of their own.
Luna Lovegood’s dreamy voice provided a stark contrast to the wild atmosphere of the screaming students. “There goes that nice Angelina with the Quaffle. Oh, she seems to be having a rather heated conversation with that Slytherin boy with the crooked teeth, what’s his name again? No matter, George Weasley just took him out with a bludger to the head, nice work . . . . Oh, right, McGonagall, Gryffindor is up by twenty points.”
The Snitch winked into existence above Hermione’s head. Quinn noticed it just as she saw a blur of green and silver rushing right at them. “Watch out!” she screamed, yanking Hermione down. Malfoy whizzed past, intent on his target, straight through the spot where Hermione’s head had been.
“Bloody hell,” muttered Dean, who had taken cover with Neville. “Good eye, Fabray.”
Quinn gave a shaky smile. “Thanks. You all right, Hermione?” She poked the mop of frizzy brown hair in her lap.
“Murphgggrffkrr, grrfffkmmm,” came her muffled reply.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Quinn teased.
Hermione lifted her head and grinned sheepishly. “I said, ‘Motherfucker, I’m going to kill him.’”
* * *
“Did you see that save I made? It was bloody brilliant!” Ron gushed about the game all the way to the castle until even Harry had a headache.
“That’s all very nice, Ron, but Quinn saved me from getting done in by Malfoy today,” Hermione said nonchalantly as they climbed the stairs, grinning at Quinn.
“What?” Harry and Ron chorused.
“The stupid git was going for the Snitch, and it just happened to be right above Hermione’s head,” Dean explained. “Quinn dragged her down just in time.”
Neville smiled. “It was fantastic!”
Quinn’s face burned. “Really, guys-”
Ron shook his head and clapped Quinn on the shoulder with a grin. “Really, mate. Thanks. If Hermione’d been put in the Hospital Wing by that idiot, we wouldn’t have anyone to do our homework for us.”
“Ron!” Hermione elbowed him hard enough that he grunted and doubled over. “I just correct your mistakes, I would never actually do your homework for you! That’s cheating!”
Everyone laughed.
* * *
When Quinn got back to the Slytherin common room that night, she found Malfoy and his cronies waiting for her.
“What do you want?” she sighed, suddenly tired.
Malfoy’s face was carefully bored, but she saw his hand twitch.
“After tonight, we thought you might need a reminder of where your Slytherin loyalties lie, Fabray,” he drawled, eyes cold.
Quinn couldn’t help but snort. “You have got to be kidding me. What are you, the mafia?”
Malfoy smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Close enough.”
He gestured, and Pansy Parkinson stepped forward, wand raised. “Sweet dreams, Fabray.” She snapped a spell and Quinn dropped to the ground, unconscious.
A/N #2: I'm sorry for the horrible, cliched, cliffhanger ending!
[chapter i]
The first Quidditch game of the year took place on a clear, chilly night between Gryffindor and Slytherin. The stands quickly filled up with students eager to forget their studies for a while. Quinn struggled to keep from grinning as she half-ran to the pitch, dragging Hermione behind her.
“Slow down, Quinn! The game doesn’t start for another hour!” Hermione’s voice was stern, but her eyes laughed at the childlike excitement that shone from Quinn’s radiant face.
“But we need to get good seats! I want to see everything! Quidditch is so much more interesting than football,” Quinn said. She’d been a cheerleader for the football team in middle school, but Quidditch required no extra entertainment. At her wizarding school, she’d been perfectly content to cheer for her team without having to twirl around needlessly.
“We should probably decide which box we want to sit in,” Hermione commented wryly.
Quinn stopped so quickly that Hermione almost ran into her from behind. “I-Hermione, can we sit together? Since we’re in different houses? Maybe you can disguise me as a Gryffindor-”
Hermione blinked, and then laughed. “Quinn, no one cares who sits where. The stands are just divided up by house because of tradition.”
She took the blond girl’s hand gently and leaned in close, her breath warming Quinn’s cold, chapped face. “Come on, let’s sit in the Gryffindor box.” They began climbing the stairs.
Hermione’s mouth twisted and she explained, “Gryffindors are a little more accepting of students from other houses than Slytherins would be. Well, except for Ron,” she added, rolling her eyes, “but he’s playing today.”
Quinn couldn’t argue with that.
As they climbed, Hermione complained loudly about all the studying time everyone was wasting at the game. When Quinn asked if she didn’t like Quidditch, Hermione thought for a moment and shook her head. “I just don’t like the rivalry it creates between the houses, that’s all. And even I have to admit that it’s pretty exciting sometimes.” She smiled a little.
Quinn wondered about the sharp pang in her chest she got when she thought about Hermione only going to Quidditch games for her friends, Ron and Harry. Quinn saw the way Hermione and Ron looked at each other. But it really wasn’t any of her business. Hermione was just her . . . tutor.
The cold wind slapped Quinn in the face when she reached the open-air box. She reached automatically for Hermione’s hand, faced with so many strangers. “Where do you normally sit?”
Hermione took the lead and led Quinn to a spot between two boys. Gesturing to the round-faced boy on her left, Hermione introduced him as Neville Longbottom, and then introduced a black boy named Dean Thomas. Quinn smiled and greeted them both.
Quinn and Hermione spent the rest of the time before the game talking about school and their lives before Hogwarts. Hermione was surprised to learn that Quinn had been a part of glee club in America.
“But what do singing and dancing have to do with magic?” Hermione seemed genuinely confused.
Quinn thought about the cheesy reply Rachel would have given-something about singing and dancing being a different kind of magic. But she just replied, “It’s just for fun.” She looked pointedly down at the pitch, where the players were warming up. “And no one gets hurt-unless they fall off the stage.” Or poison or hex each other, Quinn added silently, thinking of Rachel and Vocal Adrenaline.
For her part, Hermione told Quinn funny stories about the crazy antics of the Gryffindors, particularly the Weasley twins. Quinn laughed and tried not to angst over how close this Weasley family sounded, how full of warmth . . . It reminded her of Sam and how he was almost always happy, acting silly when his parents barely had enough money to pay for their hotel room. And she couldn’t help but compare the seemingly cold, loveless Malfoy family to her own.
But then Quinn’s optimistic inner voice stepped in to save her from her pointless wallowing.
Back in Ohio, the glee club was your real family, just as crazy and lovingly functional as the Weasleys. And here, you’ve got Hermione.
Quinn looked at the other girl with a small smile. Hermione’s face was pink from the cold, dry wind. Her eyes were bright and her gestures animated as she talked. Her striped Gryffindor scarf engulfed her neck like a fat, lazy python, and her curly brown hair surrounded her head in a bushy halo.
“What?” Hermione asked, hands immediately going to her teeth. “Did someone hex me again?”
“No,” Quinn assured her, and took Hermione’s hand in her own.
* * *
“GO, HARRY!” Quinn shrieked, bobbing up and down like a demented dandelion. Her already raspy voice strained to be heard over the roar of the crowd.
Hermione waved a small Gryffindor flag that seemed to have appeared out of thin air, grinning from ear to ear and cheering for Ron.
Dean and Neville looked at each other with raised eyebrows and laughed, joining in with deeper bellows of their own.
Luna Lovegood’s dreamy voice provided a stark contrast to the wild atmosphere of the screaming students. “There goes that nice Angelina with the Quaffle. Oh, she seems to be having a rather heated conversation with that Slytherin boy with the crooked teeth, what’s his name again? No matter, George Weasley just took him out with a bludger to the head, nice work . . . . Oh, right, McGonagall, Gryffindor is up by twenty points.”
The Snitch winked into existence above Hermione’s head. Quinn noticed it just as she saw a blur of green and silver rushing right at them. “Watch out!” she screamed, yanking Hermione down. Malfoy whizzed past, intent on his target, straight through the spot where Hermione’s head had been.
“Bloody hell,” muttered Dean, who had taken cover with Neville. “Good eye, Fabray.”
Quinn gave a shaky smile. “Thanks. You all right, Hermione?” She poked the mop of frizzy brown hair in her lap.
“Murphgggrffkrr, grrfffkmmm,” came her muffled reply.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Quinn teased.
Hermione lifted her head and grinned sheepishly. “I said, ‘Motherfucker, I’m going to kill him.’”
* * *
“Did you see that save I made? It was bloody brilliant!” Ron gushed about the game all the way to the castle until even Harry had a headache.
“That’s all very nice, Ron, but Quinn saved me from getting done in by Malfoy today,” Hermione said nonchalantly as they climbed the stairs, grinning at Quinn.
“What?” Harry and Ron chorused.
“The stupid git was going for the Snitch, and it just happened to be right above Hermione’s head,” Dean explained. “Quinn dragged her down just in time.”
Neville smiled. “It was fantastic!”
Quinn’s face burned. “Really, guys-”
Ron shook his head and clapped Quinn on the shoulder with a grin. “Really, mate. Thanks. If Hermione’d been put in the Hospital Wing by that idiot, we wouldn’t have anyone to do our homework for us.”
“Ron!” Hermione elbowed him hard enough that he grunted and doubled over. “I just correct your mistakes, I would never actually do your homework for you! That’s cheating!”
Everyone laughed.
* * *
When Quinn got back to the Slytherin common room that night, she found Malfoy and his cronies waiting for her.
“What do you want?” she sighed, suddenly tired.
Malfoy’s face was carefully bored, but she saw his hand twitch.
“After tonight, we thought you might need a reminder of where your Slytherin loyalties lie, Fabray,” he drawled, eyes cold.
Quinn couldn’t help but snort. “You have got to be kidding me. What are you, the mafia?”
Malfoy smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Close enough.”
He gestured, and Pansy Parkinson stepped forward, wand raised. “Sweet dreams, Fabray.” She snapped a spell and Quinn dropped to the ground, unconscious.
A/N #2: I'm sorry for the horrible, cliched, cliffhanger ending!