Watcher
Carina Nott was, to put it simply, exactly like her little brother. They were both loners, neither of them much liking to spend time pathetically traipsing after those with more wealth or prestige than themselves. They were both Slytherins, because to be anywhere else would be social suicide. And they were both blood supremacists. Of course, maybe the muggleborns weren’t absolutely terrible - that Granger girl could probably outcast some of the seventh years in anything other than Defence - but the Muggles? The Muggles are more useless than a half-kneazle or a broken sneakoscope.
Carina took pride in being a pureblood, to some extent. She didn’t want to marry Marcus Flint next year, but it wasn’t like she had much choice. It wasn’t that she and Flint were too closely related, or that he was older than her (although he was, by a year), or even that he was just not all there outside of Quidditch plays and unoriginal insults. She just didn’t like him.
She didn’t like men at all, really, but it wasn’t like she had much say in the matter.
Carina could only watch from the sidelines as, again and again, Gryffindor house, or, really, just Harry Potter, stole the house cup right out from under her. It didn’t matter how much she sucked up to different teachers, or how obvious she made her preparedness known in class, it was never enough. Fucking Albus Dumbledore always had to step in and do something.
Well, she decided, hearing about the Tri-Wizard tournament from her father one morning over breakfast, this year, so am I. Only over my dead body will Harry bloody Potter get my house cup this year.
Sitting in the great hall, listening to the headmaster’s speech, Carina knows that nothing and noone will stop her from getting into the tournament.
She reads up on the history of the tournament for the rest of the summer, only stopping her research and practicing when her father tells her that she will be going to the Quidditch World Cup Final.
With Flint.
The two of them don’t get seats in the top box, but they are rather high up, and Carina knows that they must’ve cost a pretty penny.
Carina ignores Ludo Bagman, but only watches on, scornful, as Flint puts 50 Galleons on Bulgaria winning. The only good player on their team is Krum, and even he can’t make up for everything the Ireland team is about to do. Carina looks away from the transaction, rolling her eyes.
“Darling, what do you think?”
“Krum might catch the snitch, but Ireland will win.”
Carina watches as Flint puts 50 more Galleons, under her name, toward her predicted outcome. “I’m 50 Galleons down the drain now, you better have been right.”
Carina doesn’t ignore him completely, but she does turn her attention to the upcoming match. At one point, Barty Crouch shows up, and she briefly wonders why he isn’t in the top box with the other high-level ministry employees.
It doesn’t matter though, the match begins, and she watches the Veela with just as much laser focus as Flint or her brother, sitting in the row above them, wanting to prove herself worthy.
When she shivers, the chilly air getting to her, she casts a warming charm.
Flint notices, and half-jokes, “What, no warming charm for me?”
She casts the charm on him, making sure to do it nonverbally, just so it isn’t as powerful. And, finally, she resolves herself to simply tune him out and watch the game, which goes exactly as she suspected it would. Krum caught the snitch, but Ireland still won.
What she didn’t expect though, was the very forward hand placed on her inner thigh. She looks to Flint immediately, furious and ready to hex him into oblivion. She was not some mudblood he could order around and do with as he wished, she was a pureblood witch. She was to be his wife.
Slowly, Carina tries to reel in her expectations. It is Flint, what more could she expect?
He does still kiss her head on, his hand never leaving her thigh, his thumb squeezing a little too hard.
She shoves back at his chest, knocking him to the edge of the row of seats. “What the hell?”
“No wife of mine will push at me like that! I was just trying to make sure you had a good time!”
Carina sees red. “This is your idea of what I call a good time? Ruining my reputation and getting knocked up before my wedding?”
“What? No! I know the contraception charm.”
“So do I, but it isn’t always effective, and I don’t trust your ability to cast Charms. Didn’t you make a Troll in Charms on your O.W.L.s?”
“That’s beside the point! You weren’t going to get pregnant.”
Theo, finally having heard enough, speaks up. “This is my sister’s honor you’re fighting over, I think she has more of an idea of how important that is than you do.”
“We’re already betrothed. That’s a binding agreement. The only one who should be concerned about her honor is me, considering I’m the one marrying her.”
A girl, who Carina immediately recognizes as at least partially Veela, speaks up then. “Those terms aren’t nearly as legally or magically binding as you might think. I can think of three ways to release her from it right now.”
Flint takes the bait, challenging her, “Oh, really? Prove it.”
She does, walking over to Carina and kissing her. Fireworks don’t explode in her head the way they do in the novels, but it is certainly a much nicer kiss than Flint’s.
The girl immediately turns up the charm, and she asks a simple question. “Would you rather marry me?”
Three separate cries of, “Yes, of course,” flow into the booth, and the level of charm is immediately lowered.
“There, she’s no longer betrothed to you.” The lady gives Flint a withering look, and marches off, toward where a few other girls are waiting with a lady even taller than Hagrid.
When the three of them return to their tent, well after Flint confirms that Bagman paid him back in real Galleons rather than fools gold, Carina realizes that she never got the girl’s name.
Silently, Carina considers if it might be best for her to Obliviate Flint and her brother before they can tell her father what’s happened. But Carina decides it might be best not to risk going to Azkaban for assaulting two different pureblood heirs if she manages not to get one of them properly enough. Carina is, to say the least, surprised when her father doesn’t turn up at the tent. He had said he had important matters to attend to before the match, but surely -
Carina hears screams, pure terror-filled screams, coming from outside, and rushes to look outside to see what the commotion is about. She sees a group covered by robes she recognizes all too well, and goes back inside to grab Theo’s arm. “Take Flint and the two of you need to get out of here. Now!”
Theo looks at her incredulously, “But what about you?”
“I’ll be fine, bubs. Don’t worry about me.”
Theo grabs his wand, casting a notice me not charm on the both of them. “Too late. I already lost mum last summer, don’t do anything stupid and make me lose you too.”
“I won’t. Just go.”
Carina stalks out of the tent, holding her wand in a dueling stance as she makes her way toward the former death eaters. She sees people floating above them, being toyed with and tortured. Based on their clothes, she knows they’re probably Muggles, but she still feels bad for them, especially as she hears the Crucio cast on them. She knows what that spell feels like.
She hears a very familiar set of voices, and looks to her left to see The bloody Boy Who Lived running away with everyone else. Not much of a savior now, is he?
Carina, sick of the display already, casts in rapid succession, all nonverbal, all nonlethal.
Everte Statum. Immobulus. Fumos. Epoximise. Depulso Maxima. Confundo.
Content with the state the former Death Eaters are now in, Carina casts one last nonverbal spell. Accio Muggles. And then, realizing her father is almost certainly part of the crowd, Accio Dad.
Carina Obliviates the Muggles, and, with her father, apparates away the second she sees the green light fill the sky. It would be impossible to not know what that is.
Her father though, after she releases him from her spells, is furious. Somewhere between high off delight and pissed that she would intervene.
When Theodore, his little ‘gift from god’ floos in though, clearly splinched and bleeding heavily, her father momentarily forgets all about her, giving her enough time to escape to her room while Theodore is taken care of.
By some miracle, she makes it through the rest of her summer without her father finding out that the betrothal agreement between her and Marcus has been broken. Or maybe he gets so drunk he can’t remember when he finds out. Either way, Carina is pleased.
Carina is even more pleased when she gets her Hogwarts letter. She’s going to be Head Girl!
Now, there’s no way in hell Harry Potter is stealing the House Cup from her.
Thinking carefully about the implications of breaking off the engagement though, Carina casts an undetectable extension charm on her trunk to make sure she can fit all of her belongings in it. Everything from her bed to her favorite scented candle to the only remaining copy of Dueling: Grey Magic for the Profound Witch or Wizard in existence. Climbing into her trunk, she decides that, if she really wanted to, she could probably live inside it. Once she figured out how to add a kitchen and a decent bathroom, although neither were entirely essential in the wizarding world, as long as she knew cleaning charms, had chamber pots available, and had a safe location for storing food. Everything can be done with magic.
Carina leaves her trunk, locking it and dragging it downstairs, where she is going to apparate her, her brother, and all of their combined belongings to the school.
The train ride, even with her new status as Head Girl and nearly every Slytherin or soon to be Slytherin sucking up to her, is incredibly dull. Theo had run off the second they boarded to find Blaise and the other boys from his year. Carina, meanwhile, was just trying not to hex somebody for being too familiar with her without being invited to be so.
Half the older boys, despite probably being aware that she was engaged to Flint and likely having romantic partners of their own, are overly flirtatious. And half the girls are giving her baseless complements she had never received before this year. It’s even worse among the prefects. Everyone wants to be assigned rounds on weeknights and with their friends or partners, and most of them will stop at nothing to get that.
By the end of the train ride, Carina and Aiden Bulwark, the Head Boy and only tolerable Ravenclaw, have condemned their least favorite prefects (the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff fifth, sixth, and seventh years) to weekend duty for the entirety of the semester, which means they’ll have weekday duty next semester, during exams. It is a clear abuse of power, but one not taken lightly. They both understand the importance of house loyalty and know that, to the rest of the school, they must present a united front on this. After informing the prefects of their duties, which have all, thankfully, already been outlined by their heads of house, Carina elects to find a compartment by herself, maybe kicking out two unsorted and unrecognizable firsties when she does.
Finally alone, Carina still can’t bring herself to think of all the responsibility as being anything other than completely worth it. Screw Gryffindor or whatever.
Carina falls asleep and doesn’t wake up until the train stops in Hogsmeade. This, at least, is much better than last year’s fiasco.