Chapter Text
Jessica swore she was standing next to the most obnoxious, arrogant kid she'd ever met. He was grinning around at the other Gryffindors, proudly flaunting his ability to pick up his broom on the first try. Madam Hooch applauded him quietly, and Jessica tried not to glare at him.
Control your temper, she said to herself. You will get your own back later. Show him that just because you don't show off your skills doesn't mean that you don't have them.
"Up," she commanded, and the broom flew into her hand with ease. The old, cracked wood felt rough against her palm, and she instinctively longed for her Nimbus and its familiarity. Long and hard had she trained on that broom, so much now that she was a natural flyer. She was even, as her father often said at the dinner table during family meals, a remarkable Beater. If only first years were allowed to bring their own brooms; then she would show that Gryffindor just how good of a player she was.
"Hey, Lorenzo," smirked a Gryffindor, "you've got competition."
Lorenzo laughed, his eyes narrowing towards his friend. "Not yet I haven't." he countered, and Jessica tightened the grip on her broom. "She just copied what I said, Tiziano. Anyone can say 'up'. But nobody can fly like I can, especially not a Slytherin."
"You're right," smirked Jessica, "I can't fly like you." Lorenzo raised his eyebrows, revelling in what he thought was Jessica applauding his brilliance. (She'd rather live with the Giant Squid for the rest of her life than do that.) "I can fly better."
Lorenzo scoffed at her. "I'd like to see you try."
Madam Hooch cleared her throat loudly. "I think we will wait before you can do that," she said firmly. "Now - the rest of you, 'up'!"
Jessica anxiously watched the other students as they attempted (rather pathetically, she had to admit) to pick up their brooms. "Up!" commanded Tiziano, smirking at Jessica as he did so. That was probably a bad move, she realised, as the broom whacked him rather firmly in the face. Several Slytherins and even one or two Gryffindors were sniggering, though his housemates seemed to shut up when they noticed the blood that was pooling into his hand. Madam Hooch grabbed him rather forcefully by the back of his robes. "Don't you move a muscle," she said warningly, to Jessica and Lorenzo more than anyone else. "I'm only going to the hospital wing and back - and believe me, it won't take long at all."
Then she was gone, and Lorenzo resumed his arrogant posture, grinning towards Jessica. "Better than me, are you?"
Jessica shrugged, trying to keep a calm head. "I probably am. I suppose there's only one way to find out for sure," and she mounted her broom. Lorenzo laughed, and in turn mounted his.
The feeling was exhilarating. Suddenly she was up in the air; up where she belonged. The wind rushed through her hair and ruffled her robes, and Lorenzo soared up. Her keen eyes noticed even the slightest wobble, and there it was: Lorenzo, the arrogant toerag, was not as great a flyer as she at first thought. She laughed softly. "I bet I can go highest." she smirked, already rising higher as she spoke.
"You're on," said Lorenzo, but he sounded quieter, almost as if he was beginning to regret challenging Jessica. Maybe he was.
Still, she paid no attention to it. The arrogant toerag got himself into this mess, she thought, so he can pay the price.
She rose higher and higher, and Lorenzo followed - why was he slowing? - until he stopped rather abruptly, face pale. "I think we ought to stop now," he said shakily, hands trembling as he rose his head to face Jessica.
"Why," she hissed, flying down to him, "are you afraid? Don't want to be showing your pretty face to Professor Dumbledore so soon?"
But before Lorenzo could bite out an retort, the shrill voice of Madam Hooch cried out, "You two! Get down here! I thought I told you to stay put!"
Jessica winced at the ache in her wrists as she scrubbed at the cauldron. "Damn you, papà," she mumbled, and then, with a slight grin, she turned her head to face Lorenzo. He was still struggling with his first cauldron, whilst she was on her fourth, and beads of sweat had begun to beam upon his bare forehead. "You look like you've never worked a day in your life," she said softly, too exhausted to give her voice any malice. (If she were in a different position, maybe she would have used one of the sneers her father often used, but one scrubbing cauldrons in detention could hardly sneer at somebody else scrubbing cauldrons without being a hypocrite.)
"I'm quite sure it's a sin to damn your own padre, Jessica," replied Lorenzo, continuing to scrub forcefully at the inside of the cauldron. "God almighty, what do they brew in these things?"
"Damn you, too," she returned, laughing quietly. (No, this did not mean they were friends. He was still an arrogant toerag.) "I damn you to eternal hell."
"And what's in this 'eternal hell'?" He put down his cauldron to make quote gestures with his fingers. "Satan? Burning, hot, fire?"
Jessica shook her head solemnly. "Hundreds of thousands of dirty cauldrons," she said simply, "and you have to scrub them all until they're pristine."
When Shylock returned to his classroom to check on them, he was unsure exactly why two first-years found cauldrons so amusing.