Maybe they'll leave you alone, but not me

She smirked as he hiccupped, glad to live in the delusion that the booze wasn’t settling into her system as they spoke. It’d be when she stood up that she felt the full weight of that first shot and the chugged drinks. Right now it was just a pleasant hum spreading through her limbs and setting in the back of her mind. A little beehive, picking up activity.

“I have my own sources,” she muttered, mocking in a quiet childish tone as she split another pie and popped half in her mouth, smirking.

She reached for the second half and smoothly said, “Lies. You said you rooted for me ‘cause your team sucked.”

If it weren’t for the drinks, she’d realize how lame it was that she’d remembered his words. She was sure it hadn’t been an actual comment in earnest, just something to justify harshing her vibe while she’d tried to get some training in. He’d been mellow that night. Maybe she now knew why.

She glanced back up. “You should come to more games. We’re killer.” She finished the last of the pie. "And it's lame to skip Quidditch. Where's your spirit?"

"Alright maybe I've been once or twice," he trailed off before finally adding "lately." as he took another regretful sip of his drink. He made a face and pushed it away so he would remember not to touch it again.

And in his defense the Slytherin team really did stink this year. Most of the good players had graduated last year. But, that's what you get when you stock the team with older students and never give the new blood the chance to play. Not that he had ever really wanted to play Quidditch but he had tried-out in his fifth year and was basically laughed off the pitch. Jack didn't seem the type to allow that sort of thing and it showed in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. At least he thought it did, he didn't exactly know a lot about the game. Even when he had tried out he had only done it because he wanted to be cool.

"I tried out for Quidditch in my fifth year..." he said absentmindedly. "Did not go very well, lucky for me, I hate heights."

Oh, it seems the firewhisky decided to make another appearance.

"I just don't know enough about the game to really get invested." he admitted and shook his head. "And now it's my last year and I've been to like 4 games."

Jack was curious in the way a cat was curious. You put a bunch of shiny toys in front of it and it’d run for the wrappings. So typically when people dropped little nuggets, she was too distracted by the fact she’d just learned that they had noticed peach scones were only on Tuesdays, not that they had a pen pal. Or whatever boring personal detail they had divested.

But she knew when a rare opportunity presented itself.

But which route? Quidditch, heights, Quidditch, heights-

“Why’d you try out for Quidditch then?” she asked.

At his next comment, the cogs turned. She glanced around and began to quietly collect salt and pepper shakers, a coaster, tearing up napkins…

What was she up to?

He hadn’t answered, so she glanced at him again, punctuating her question with a raised eyebrow as she suppressed the boozy burp brewing in her chest.

Good old "Loose Lips Lestrange" - he had figured she'd known about this incident. Apparently it had only reached the whole of Slytherin. But, at the same time he didn't really care about the embarrassment, it was two years ago now. But it opened up a whole new line of questioning and even in his current state he could just barely make out the activity in her brain. He had a moment to prepare his next moves, they had to be precise and calculated. Under no circumstances could he actually reveal more about himself without -

"I wanted to impress people."

No embarrassment or regret in his voice either. That was the truth of it and honestly it wasn't even really that bad. He did want to impress people, when he was younger anyway. Life had become simpler since then. Less people to be around, less people to disappoint. But he especially didn't care about disappointed or impressing Jack - there was a mutual disrespectful respect between them that somehow held strong no matter what happened between them.

"I know I sound like a broken record but you're easy to talk to, Dyllan." he looked around at the slightly emptier bar they found themselves in.

"What say we take these pies on the road and try to sober up a bit in the fresh air before we have to pretend like we haven't been illegally drinking in Hogsmeade." he backed his chair up and got to his feet.

Well, that was honest.

Maybe deep down, Jack knew this about her friendly rival. He did carry A Name and all. Even in the shadow of the great war, one meant to undermine the importance of blood and status, a name meant something. If anything, the war fuelled it. How could it not? How could you not sit in History of Magic and discuss the war and hear the name Harry Potter and not be mesmerized when his kids passed you in the hall. How could it not jar the ears to hear about the war crimes of Voldemort’s followers when their kin sat in front of you in Charms?

Having a name increased the pressure. It gave you something to prove, either that you were what your family stood for, or against.

Jack was not saddled with that responsibility. The Dyllans were not known entitled, not in this world nor the nonmagical. Very early on, her mother had held no expectation of Jack rising to her standards. There was nothing she could do to impress her family. The standards she had to live by belonged firmly to herself.

Jack wasn’t great with people. She liked pushing buttons. Especially Matt’s, considering how shiny they were. But she felt no need to push. She’d asked. He answered.

She shrugged at his follow up, rolling her eyes. “Not bad for someone so out of practice,” she said, waving a hand. She wasn’t sure what she meant exactly. Probably something to do with the fact that she wasn’t exactly the kind of person people talked to.

She balked a bit at his suggestion, gesturing to the ripped up napkins and coasters before her. “I was just about to teach you Quidditch! See, these are the hoops, and this–the bludger. Wait, no, I meant this be the Quaffle. Was that what this…”

She sighed and scrambled up the items, waving both hands. “Whatever, I’ll explain it on the way. It’ll keep us focused.”

Ooh, yeah this was taking more effort than usual. Amazing, the Firewhiskey was doing its job.

"Well I mean I know the basics, I understand how to play I just don't know what things are impressive." He said as they moved toward the door and out onto the streets of Hogsmeade.

His family had never been particularly interested in Quidditch either. Which made his attempt at joining the Quidditch all that more confusing, especially to himself. Family wasn't everything but at the same time, the weight his family carried had been both a hinderance and a privilege. He didn't really care about anyone's blood status [strike one], he didn't feel like all muggles must die [strike two], and he certainly didn't give any shits about the weight his family name carried [oddly enough, not quite strike 3].

"Like, okay, so..." he began, "winning by like 200 hundred points vs 500 points; 200 isn't that impressive right?" he asked her. He knew the snitch was worth 150 so 200 didn't seem like it was that much of a lead. Normally he wouldn't be interested in even engaging in the topic of Quidditch but Jack had yet to truly rile him up. Outwardly he was simply allowing her to geek out about one of the things she was good at. Inwardly, he was getting a better sense of her character.

“Just watch whatever I do, you’ll get a good sense.”

Jack knew better than anyone what her weaknesses on the pitch were. She knew she needed better accuracy. She knew that sometimes she spent so much time keeping track of who needed defense that she’d become a solid target. She knew she needed to work on her people skills as a captain. She knew she needed restraint.

But being the best started with believing you were the best. And when you didn’t believe it, you pretended.

She’d read a book where Glynnis Griffiths had said that. It’d become a core aspect of her strategy.

As she stood, she felt a wobble in her knees. She overcorrected, drawing herself up a little too tall, her chin a little too firm. It all served to signal I’m not drunk, you are!

They headed for the door and slipped into the cool air. The chaos was beginning to organize itself as friends found each other to head back up to the castle, but they were definitely behind the crowd. “Well, yes and no. Like good on that team, but it sounds like it wasn’t an even match. Winning just by 200 could mean that the rest of the team was having to bust their arses to keep evenly matched, had to keep the Seekers at bay. I mean, unless it’s zero to 200 then, well-” she made a raspberry noise, punctuated with a thumbs down.

“What people forget, it’s not just a game for the teams, it’s a game to be watched. The best teams know to put on a show without compromising the sport. That’s something I understand when I’m in the stands but on the pitch I just want to see good playing, entertainment be damned,” she laughed. “But if I want to go pro, I have to prove I’m not just super serious about winning, but also serious about getting a fan base, which has never been my strong suit.”

Interesting, tipsy Jack was talkative.

The iceberg ran deeper under the water than he imagined. But as she spoke he could hear there was a completely different muse behind her words. He had grown so used to the typical snark and chirp that they shared it was almost impossible to miss the change. Had either of them been a bit more sober she might have been able to hide it better and he might have been able to hear it anyway. But they were both being sloppier than usual when it came to defenses. But, he almost softened a little bit as she continued explaining her thought process to him - she very clearly loved the sport and brought that passion wherever she went. She wasn't afraid to own her "thing" and she did a damn good job. He simultaneously admired and envied that.

"See, that I can understand. I do the same thing in dueling club." it was a very weak comparison but he was enjoying the direction of the conversation.

He was a bit of a show off, and it had cost him more than one win, but nobody really liked him anyway so all bets were off. He had hoped that some people had grown to appreciate his showmanship - or at least the fact that he didn't always try doing as much harm as possible to his partners. "The win is important obviously, but for me it's a constant struggle between winning the game or winning the crowd." he said as he finished the last bite of the pie he had been nursing.

"Little bit harder winning the crowd with the massive 'L' hanging over my entire being." he sighed, but then he chuckled and smiled. "Maybe I've got more in common with some of the Potter kids than any of us would like to think."

The mention of duelling club brought her to their last run in. That’s how they were different. He worried too much about the crowd, she didn’t worry enough.

“Yeaaaah, I wanna win,” she said. “So much so I’ve been known to, I don’t know, punch my opponent.”

She offered a wolfish grin.

“People care too much about what people think. They’re gonna make their own uniformed, dumb opinions up anyway, might as well make sure it’s accurate by presenting exactly who you are.”

If she were smoking rather than drinking, she’d have the insight that this was not actually her case. She was nowhere near as isolated and prickly as she presented, it was definitely a bit. She at least wasn’t putting on a full lie, just exaggerating what was there.

“If the Potters are proof of anything it’s that people like an underdog. They like to see that L become a W,” she pointed out. “‘Sides in a lot of ways you’re just like them. Known name, big ol’ bank account, lots of pressure.” She shook her head. “Must be tough being so famous.”

He instinctually reached up to rub his eye and grinned back at her - remembering one of their more explosive interactions. It was certainly one of his favourites. It was one of the few times he considered they both walked away on even ground.

"Infamous" he added to her final statement matter-of-factly. "Their father is known for fighting one of the darkest wizards in history. My father is known for kissing his ass."

He laughed a genuine laugh at the thought of his father. Maybe a few years ago he mightn't have but she had a point, he had to maintain his true self. He had been faltering a bit at that lately by hiding away and keeping to himself. It was starting to feel old, stagnant - he liked people, though he'd never admit it. He was good with people, though nobody would ever know it.

"It's not all dark marks and torture." he told her. "Here's a fun fact about me," he said as he turned to start walking backwards and looking at her. "Since I'm oversharing this evening, did you know know that I myself am actually a half-blood."

He had never known his mother but his father had made it clear she was a muggle and was never to be spoken of. He had given up hope of ever finding her as a child but he had only given up hope on his father a few years ago. There was a part of him, however, that wondered if his father's absence now was a gift - he never reached out, never gave him grief, but continue to give him access to many of the family privileges. He had spent months debating reaching out himself but now he was glad he hadn't.

"Sometimes I think if I hadn't been pushing so hard for Slytherin I would have made it into almost any other house and maybe I'd have some real friends." he said, more to himself. "I mean I probably wouldn't have had a family but I don't now anyway so c'est la vie."