Back to the Books
by: Adelaide Reynolds
9/1/89
Collingwood residence, London.
“It’s a little warm in here, isn’t it?” Denis Collingwood said as he entered the family dining-room just in time for breakfast. Unlike Tressa, her younger sister and mother, the head of the household was not in the habit of rising early in the morning, and it was because of this that they were already seated at the table when he finally decided to come downstairs for breakfast. The only person, Tressa reflected, who was less of a morning-person than her father was her younger brother, George. Not surprisingly, it was he who was now absent from the dining table.
“Just a little,” Tressa heard her mother admit from the opposite end of the table. “I’ve just been demonstrating to Tressa some of the easier spells that she’ll be learning in Weathercraft this year, which is why the ambient temperature in the dining-room is slightly above normal. Temperat Stratum and all.”
Tressa watched her father raise an eyebrow, smiling as he picked up his newspaper from the table and started to unfold it. “Weathercraft’s a fascinating subject, Tress – you’ll thoroughly enjoy it I’m sure.” Turning his head to look over his right shoulder, he called out into the hallway: “Hurry up, George!”
A frustrated yell from the second-floor replied, “Just a second!”
Turning back to face the dining-room, Tressa held back a sigh as she noted the way her father split his attention between her and the newspaper, reading as he spoke in no particular direction. It had been the same for as long as she could remember, and even Maggie had picked up on it from a young age. Tressa recalled one time when Maggie had been about five, when she had told their father that he wasn’t listening to her ‘with his eyes’. She’d been right, even at that young age – their father always neglected to make eye-contact when speaking to them.
“Of course, the practical application of Weathercraft is unfortunately limited, given that mass alteration of the weather in areas such as London is banned. Can’t be helped though, given that even the most dimwitted of Muggle would notice if the weather in London suddenly and permanently changed for the better. That doesn’t mean that Weathercraft can’t be applied to indoor situations, though, such as your mother just demonstrated.”
Tressa was about to comment on that when her father raised an eyebrow and smiled, glancing over at her mother. “Speaking of which, dear?”
Her mother nodded. “Oh, of course! I’d forgotten.” Removing her wand from a pocket in her dress, she gave it a quick flick in the air. “Temperat Stabalasis.” Within seconds, the temperature of the dining-room dropped noticeably until it equalized with the air-temperature of the rest of the house.
“Much better, thank you,” her father said appreciatively. Looking over the top of his newspaper, he asked: “So what other classes are you enrolled in this year, dear?”
Tressa, who, despite being an early-riser certainly wasn’t a ‘morning-person’, had her eyes closed as she answered. “Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Divination and Ancient Languages.”
“Uh-huh,” she heard her father say absently, apparently momentarily distracted by another thought. She heard him twisting in his chair, no doubt to face the hallway behind him. Then he called out: “George! Get down here now!”
Another hurried yell came from upstairs, this time audibly annoyed at being rushed: “Yeah! Just a minute!”
Typical, Tressa thought to herself as she slowly opened her eyes and allowed her pupils time to adjust to the morning light. If there was one character-flaw that George’s professors commented on every term it was his predisposition towards tardiness. He was unfortunate then, she reflected, that he had been in both Professor Snape and McGonagall’s classes in his first year. Neither of the two Professors were the type to let a student off easily for getting to class late.
“And how about you, Margaret?” her father switched his attention to Maggie. “Looking forward to this upcoming year?”
Maggie, who was about to begin her third year as a Gryffindor, had been uncharacteristically quiet during the course of the conversation, which Tressa thought to be odd given that it was usually a challenge just to stop her from interrupting other people mid-sentence.
“Yeah, I guess.”
Her father’s voice turned to disbelief as he looked up from his newspaper. “I find that hard to believe when you’re so obviously lacking in enthusiasm.” Leaning forward in his chair, he folded the newspaper up and replaced it on the table from which he had acquired it. “What’s wrong, dear?”
“I’m taking potions again this year,” Maggie sulked.
Tressa fought back a smile as she watched her father raise an eyebrow – a sure sign of the fact that he failed to see the point. “So…?”
“So that means that I’ve another year with Professor Snape.”
Her father’s response was uncharacteristically short, as he leant back in his chair. “Ah, I see.”
Tressa, for her part, sighed audibly in disappointment. Despite the fact that her little sis was working hard to keep up in her studies, she was disappointed by her shortsightedness. Tressa herself had always taken the teacher’s behavior towards her as being a reflection of how hard she was working, and rightly so in her opinion. Maggie, on the other hand, took the opposite approach, apparently blaming her teachers’ behavior towards her on their ‘flawed’ personalities.
“Professor Snape really isn’t the ogre that you younger students make him out to be,” Tressa interjected matter-of-factly. “If you paid attention in class for once then you’d realize that the qualities in him that you’ve identified as being spite and bitterness are, in fact, merely his frustration at trying to educate students to their full potential when all those students want to do is mess around in class and waste his time.”
She could tell from Maggie’s expression that she was about to object, when George came bustling into the dining-room, dragging his case carelessly along the floor behind him. “Whose time?” he asked, having only just caught the butt-end of the conversation.
Tressa resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. Judging by how her morning had gone so-far, she had an itching suspicion that the first day of her seventh-year at Hogwarts was going to be a very trying one to say the least.
Hogwarts Express, on-route to Hogsmeade.
“Heya Tress!” Kathryn Bennet said as she entered the carriage that Tressa was sitting in, sliding the door shut behind her. Like most her journeys on the Hogwarts Express, Tressa had chosen to occupy one of the few empty carriages where she could be alone with her thoughts. It was funny, she reflected, how her parents had always imprinted on her the importance of excelling at school, but had never thought to mention the possibility that having such narrow priorities would preclude the possibility of her gaining even the slightest shred of popularity amongst her fellow students.
Smiling warmly, Tressa indicated for her friend (one of the few friends she actually had) to take a seat.
“Hiya Kathryn. How was your holiday?”
“All right, I suppose,” the seventh-year Hufflepuff said as she took a seat opposite Tressa. “We took a trip up to Wales and visited my older brother, Jeff. He’s the one who’s working for a Muggle fishery, by the way, so he’d come home each night absolutely reeking of fish! The trip aside, I spent most of the holiday helping Dad out around the store – dusting shelves and helping customers pick out clothes that suit them.”
Tressa nodded. “Speaking of which, when am I going to get a discount for your Dad’s store?” She grinned playfully. “Surely five years of friendship with the owner’s daughter entitles me to some kind of discounted price?”
Kathryn returned the grin. “Hey, you’ll get a discount for my Dad’s store when I get one for your Dad’s! You know that I’ve been thinking of getting a new wand for quite some time now.”
Tressa shook her head, an apologetic look on her face. “It would never happen, I’m afraid. Dad thinks that if he were to start giving out discounts then it might be seen as playing favorites amongst his customers. Having raised three children, he’s more than aware of the effects that playing favorites can have – trust me on that.”
Kathryn shrugged. “I’ll have to take your word.”
Shifting in her seat, Tressa glanced in the direction of the carriage’s entrance, momentarily wondering when the tea cart would be coming past this particular carriage. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and right about now even the sickly-sweet lollies sold by the tea cart lady sounded good.
“So what about you – how was your holiday?” Kathryn asked, breaking the silence.
“It was all right. I spent most of my time helping Mum care for the owls at Eeylops, in between which I’ve been reading ahead of time for some of my subjects this term.” She was about to go into detail about what she had learnt, but decided against it when she saw Kathryn’s attention wander to the scenery outside the carriage window. It stung a little, knowing that even her closest friend was uninterested in that which her entire existence was based around learning.
“So I guess by now you know that you weren’t chosen as Head Girl for Slytherin this year?”
Tressa shrugged, as apathetic to the subject of House Prefect’s and Head Girls as Kathryn was towards her studying habits.
“I honestly thought you’d get it this year” Kathryn said softly.
Liar, Tressa thought, although she kept her facial expression impartial. Kathryn knew as well as she did that she never had a chance at being Head Girl. And although she knew that the Hufflepuff had only said it to be sympathetic to her feelings, it still annoyed her that her one of her only friends thought that she needed to be babied through every rejection or near-failure. She wasn’t some whiny, self-pitying first-year student, after all.
“Doubtful. My grades may be consistent but the sad fact of the matter is that Head Girls for Slytherin are chosen for their aggressiveness in succeeding and their popularity. Let’s face it, even Georgie-porgie would win a popularity contest before I would, and that’s really saying something! As for aggressiveness, I fall seriously short in that category as well. While I’ve always been ambitious to succeed, which is why I was sorted into Slytherin I suspect, I could never be as aggressive as some of the other students are.”
Kathryn nodded. “Tell me about it. I was waiting for Orson around the side of the broomshed last term after the last Slytherin/Ravenclaw match before the holidays, and I heard you arguing with Slytherin’s Quidditch Captain.”
Tressa nodded, not surprised that her friend had heard the conversation since both she and the Quidditch Captain had been practically yelling at each other – and that hadn’t been their first disagreement, either.
“Yeah. Apparently while he appreciated the effort I was putting into training and acknowledged the fact that I was playing competitively to win, he said that competitiveness wouldn’t hack it. I had to be ‘downright aggressive’ he told me. I had to ‘get my hands dirty’ if I wanted to truly succeed in the game. Naturally I told him, with the utmost respect of course, to go take a long flight on a faulty broom.”
Kathryn laughed. “Thank god I’m not in Slytherin!”
Tressa sighed and glanced back out the carriage window, secretly wishing that she could say the same.
Slytherin Common room, Hogwarts.
Tressa sat in a chair closest to one of the green lamps that illuminated Slytherin’s dungeon-like Common room, her legs crossed at the knees and a text-book for her ‘Ancient Languages’ class sitting in her lap. Having just come from the start-of-term banquet, she was feeling rather sluggish and was grateful for the opportunity to just sit down and allow her body time to digest the meal.
She had just finished reading the introductory chapter, which contained a fascinating forward by Professor Wren, when she heard several others enter the Common room through the entrance behind her. That in itself wasn’t uncommon, but once she identified the newcomers from the sound of their voices she winced in anticipation of what was coming.
“Heya, Dodo,” one of the Slytherin Quidditch team’s Beaters said as he slumped down in one of the nearby chairs. His rather cruel nickname for her, ‘Dodo’, was a reference to the time that she was bitten by a Diricawl (which the Muggles call a ‘Dodo’) during her third year. Despite the fact that the incident hadn’t been her fault, a few select Slytherin’s chose to tease her year-after-year about it, implying that her injury and resulting scar had been the result of her own incompetence in dealing with magical creatures.
The other Beater and the team Captain also sat down, the latter of whom sat next to Tressa. Unlike his dim-witted friends, whom she was sure didn’t have a minutes worth of intelligent conversation between them, he was much more tactful in his criticism of her. Not that he was a particularly good student in terms of academics, she reflected, just that he had learnt tactfulness during his reign as Quidditch Captain. Dealing with Referees so often tended to have that effect on people.
“You’re off the team this term, Collingwood,” he said flatly.
Tressa expected the two Beaters to say something snide but the Common room fell uncomfortably silent. They must have known that the Captain had been planning this, she realized, and were keeping quiet on his instruction. He was obviously expecting her to have an explosive reaction to the news, to which he and his two Beaters would no doubt have a good laugh about later.
Despite having thought this through, Tressa felt her temper start to flare and bit down on her tongue to stop herself from saying something she might later regret. “That decision is your prerogative,” she began to say, pronouncing the words slowly and clearly to avoid getting caught up in the frustration of the moment. “But first I would like to know the reason for my dismissal from the team. Is it due to a lack of performance on my behalf, or have you found someone more competent to replace me?”
As he opened his mouth to speak, Tressa was silently counting back from ten with her breath held to stop her temper from flaring beyond her control. “10 Isle of White… 9 Isle of White… 8 Isle of White…”
“Another Chaser more competent than you, Collingwood?” he sniggered. “Hardly. As I’ve expressed to you on many occasions, you’re a competent enough player but you fail to play as aggressively to win as the rest of the team does. And while competence is an admirable trait, it doesn’t win Quidditch matches.”
Tressa was about to interject when he continued talking.
“Even Hufflepuff have competent players, Collingwood – and you don’t see them kicking our behinds at the stadium, do you!” It wasn’t a question, despite the way it was phrased, so Tressa kept uncharacteristically quiet. “Competence is the foundation of a good Quidditch player,” he continued, “but to win you need to play aggressively – something you have consistently failed to do!”
“I’ve told you before – I won’t cheat!” Tressa blurted out.
“Who said anything about cheating?” he replied. “If we were caught cheating then we wouldn’t win so many matches, would we? What I’m talking about is aggressively fighting for the Quaffle. Sure, once you have it you have a good track-record of scoring, and I’m not denying that you’ve pretty much mastered the long goal, but the fact of the matter is that you’re not aggressive enough in getting the Quaffle in the first place!”
He paused, lowering the tone of his voice – purposefully sounding tired.
“This is the same argument I’ve had with you since I became Captain, and quite frankly I’m sick of it.”
Tressa had heard enough. Shutting her book close she stood up and started for the exit, weaving in between the chairs and lamps.
“I’m not finished yet, Collingwood,” she heard the Captain call after her. She turned, letting go of the hold she had thus far kept over her temper.
“Listen you conceited little…” she began, but was cut off when the Captain interjected.
“One more chance, Collingwood” he told her seriously. “And if I don’t see an improvement in your game, you’re off the team. From this point forward, I don’t care how many points your earn – it’s how you get those points I’ll be watching. When I tell you to perform a particular maneuver, I expect you to do it without hesitation – regardless of whether or not it conflicts with your personal views on what conduct on the field is and is not good sportsmanship. Do I make myself clear?”
Tressa bit her tongue, and fought back the impulse to take out her wand and turn him into common pond-scum.
“Understood” she said through clenched teeth.
The Captain waved a hand dismissively. “Off you go, then.”
Tressa turned and quickly left Slytherin’s Common room. As she passed through the door, she heard the two Beater’s begin to laugh.
“That was awesome!” one proclaimed.
“Blimey, you sure showed her!” the other laughed.
Walking outside into the corridor, Tressa clutched her book against her chest and fought back mixed tears of frustration and shock. Her past arguments with the team Captain had never affected her up until now, so why was she taking this so hard?
‘Because he almost kicked you off the team’, she heard her voice answer in her mind, ‘Because this is the closest you’ve come to failing in a long time and you know that this time studying through the night won’t save you!’
The answer, the kind of truthful answer she had come to expect from self reflection, was painful to accept but Tressa knew it was undeniable. The Captain’s criticism hadn’t been about a lack of study or effort on her behalf, but criticism against her character. She wasn’t aggressive enough on the field, and her fellow players equated that as being a weakness of character. Perhaps that was what hurt so much?
Surely though, just because she lacked the aggressiveness that her fellow team-mates had in abundance didn’t make her any less an effective Quidditch player....
Did it?
Link to: Tressa Collingwood, Denis Collingwood (NPC), Elaine Collingwood (NPC), Margaret Collingwood (NPC), George Collingwood (NPC), Kathryn Bennet (NPC), Slytherin Quidditch Captain & Beaters (NPCs).
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