WHO: Samson Capper and Ursula Flint WHEN: Just before dinner on September 3rd, 1997 WHERE: Quidditch pitch and stands SUMMARY: Ursula pours out her heart regarding the Wandless RATING: PG-13 STATUS: Complete
Every night, she was out on the pitch before dinner - it hadn’t been booked for practices yet, as tryouts for all the teams were upcoming; they’d only just gotten back to school, it felt like, and aside from the odd player or prospective tryout looking to improve their skills for this coming year, it was mostly deserted during the hour that sometimes stretched into two where Ursula brought someone down to fly with her. Originally, she had planned for it to be just more preparation for the tryouts, to earn her spot on the Ravenclaw team. What it had turned out to be was more like therapy.
The blows had kept coming, one after another, in that period of a day or so. Kevin Entwhistle was a Wandless. The tiny eleven-year-old hands beating on the doors of the Express. Violent revolution. They echoed on repeat in time with her steps as she walked down to the grass, broom in one hand and box containing the balls required for Quidditch in the other, barely an inch off the ground as she heaved it along. Wandless. Hands. Violent revolution. Wandless. Hands. Violent revol--
She looked up in surprise as the weight disappeared, a large hand having taken the other handle of the ball box and a smiling face now looking down at her. As if he had removed the metaphorical as well as literal weight from her shoulders, she sagged in gratitude and answered, almost helplessly, “Hi.”
"Hi," Samson echoed. He gave her a smile. It was nice to see Ursula practicing so much. He knew he wanted her on the team, but he also wanted his team to win. And as much as he cared for her, he wouldn't let personal feelings get in the way of filling up his team roster. Everyone was potentially on the chopping block, and he made sure that they knew it. The Seeker position was going to be hot this year, but no one else had made it onto the reserves so he felt confident that only a second year could potentially knock her off the team. However, Ursula had the benefit of having practiced with the team on occasion, and stepped in for Cho herself during some of the practices although she'd never had the chance to play a game.
No, he was confident she was going to make the team.
Like Ursula, Samson wanted to go and train. While he already knew he was on the team, he wanted to keep himself in peak condition. There wasn't much else he wanted to do besides Quidditch. Archives, maybe, but he thought that might be extremely boring even if he did love History of Magic. He'd ask Binns for career advice but the ghost didn't much bother with his students. He called Samson Dappleberry.
"Been training a lot?" he asked. He wasn't thinking of everything that was happening. He was just thinking of Quidditch.
“Flying every night,” came her automatic answer, pleased to be impressive when it came down to it: he’d already given her his opinion, that she was in, given her experience with the team and the extra practice she’d been putting in, but all the same. Like he said, he couldn’t promise anything, and she didn’t want him to. Even moreso now, she wanted something to throw herself into and earn, something to detract from all the craziness that seemed to be going on. A normal year at Hogwarts, she had reflected ruefully more than once, was not in the cards for her, it seemed.
Pausing briefly after her statement, she glanced down at the ground and gave a little scoff, as if she were ridiculing herself already for what she was going to say. “I want it badly,” she admitted, refusing to meet his eye even as they shared the weight of the box, almost to the pitch. “More than I’ve wanted much else up to this point, honestly.” When she glanced up at him, there was uncertainty on her face, but determination in her eyes. “I want to deserve it.”
Ah, that was the spirit. Samson was glad for it. He wanted her to want it. And as she admitted that it was what he had wanted most he gave her a serious nod. That was what was important. She needed to know the weight of this commitment and the need to practice and she needed the desire most of all, for that would bring the other things along with it. It made him hope, more than anything else, that she would be the one.
"Good," he said. Samson was always a man of few words. Even when he wanted to find more to say to people, especially people like Ursula. But there wasn't much he could think of to say, so he said the only thing he could think of at the moment. "Want me to hit bludgers at you?" It sounded stupid, once it was out. But it was logical, he told himself.
“Sure,” she answered casually, albeit slightly breathlessly as she set the box down on the ground, straightening back up just to lift her broom up for his inspection. “If you think you can catch me.” It was the latest model just short of the Firebolt, courtesy of her father and his company: she’d pleaded for her own, citing Potter as having played on one for years, but he maintained it was a professional broom and she was a student playing for fun. She didn’t miss the emphasis. Still, it was one of the highest caliber broomsticks there were - she didn’t begrudge her father that, or ever feel more grateful for her privilege than in these moments.
The two of them raced around the pitch. He didn't go easy on her exactly, but he did know that she'd have him to protect her while the game was happening and so he gave her some grace just so that her head didn't get smashed in.
When the two of them had finished their practice they headed up the stands to watch as other students tried out their brooms and used the balls that they had abandoned. He leaned back as he gave out a puff of air before watching her out of the corner of his eye.
"How are things?" he asked. "Besides Quidditch."
Having settled herself on the bench in front of him, lying on her back with her arms crossed behind her head and eyes skybound with damp hair spread out around her, she exhaled briefly at his question and considered. How were things?
“Confusing,” she said truthfully up at the sky, as if she were confessing it to the heavens and not to him; when she glanced over at him a second later, there were worry lines creased into her forehead, and she pulled her legs up, bending her knees so that her feet were flat on the bench. “Things are confusing.” Returning her eyes to the darkening sky, she went on, “I’m not sure what to expect anymore.”
"I don't think any of us are," he admitted. Despite the fact that Samson knew well that the Ministry was in the right, he still didn't know what to expect from his new professors or subjects. The disappearance of Muggleborns disturbed him to a degree but he believed that they were dangerous. He might have Muggleborns in his family but they'd almost caused calamity, hadn't they? Samson didn't think they needed to be in the same world as real witches and wizards. They were just too dangerous.
"But it'll all work out," he finished.
She returned her gaze to him almost in disbelief at his last statement - he appeared to believe it, and so did Opal; that the first years on the train were let on by mistake and were simply returned to their parents in London, that the classes were just them catching up to Durmstrang’s academic capabilities, that the Wandless--
“There are some things going on that I can’t see ‘working out,’ Samson.” Came her voice quietly, deliberately quietly, so that no one but him could hear her - she gazed hopelessly up at the sky, fighting the pressing feelings of despair and uncertainty and most of all, being pulled in several different directions. “There are some things going on that I can’t even pretend to understand.”
"Hey," Samson said. "Things are going to be all right. The professors wouldn't let it. The Board of Governors made careful decisions. They always have. Things are different because Dumbledore is gone. That's all." For his part, Samson mostly believed it. He knew that the board wasn't necessarily tied up with the Ministry. Although… Mrs. Umbridge had made it seem as though it might be. But that was silly, he said. The Minister just wanted to know what was happening and that was why she had known who was going to be Headmaster and the new professors.
"What don't you understand, Little Bird?"
“Why there are people forced out of their homes and kept in the streets like animals,” she answered, her voice already breaking as she refused to look over at him. “Why suddenly bigots like Malfoy are the norm instead of the extremists. Why--” she cut herself off and refused to continue, staring up at the sky as if it held the answers she wanted so desperately, the reassurances she needed to calm down - the proof that neither side could provide her with.
Finally, she went on, “You have to think it’s wrong, what they’re doing to the Wandless.”
Samson was quiet for awhile before he moved to sit next to her head so that he could look down at her but be closer to her. He knew that there was some truth to her words, but on the other hand he didn't want to think about it. He'd rather pretend that wasn't happening and focus on what mattered to him. Those people weren't people he cared about. Sure, he missed Caroline sometimes. But she had been a bad influence on people like Stella and it was good that she had been removed. He hoped that she wasn't dead, or in Azkaban, but there it was.
"Yeah," he said slowly. "It'd be better if they just weren't around. I don't know why they're keeping them about like that."
“I don’t either,” came her voice, too honest to be calculating, too fragile to be indifferent. She lifted her chin, eyes meeting his as he sat there above her looking as uncertain as she felt. “What’s the point? If they’re not meant to be in the Wizarding world, then send them out of it. They’re just--” she forced herself not to shudder, though she wanted to. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she looked at him, pain and confusion evident in her eyes. “They’re just tormenting them, and they haven’t even given us proof as to why.” Her voice raised a little, still soft but endangered. “You know, they arrested Hannah Abbott and Lavender Brown for bringing them food. I think they’re meant to starve.”
"I can't explain it," he admitted slowly. "I don't know what's on the minds of the Department of Law Enforcement. Wish I did so I could give you an answer. But you're right, they should just send them out of it. We don't need them among our kind and they should stay where they belong--with Muggles. After all, you can't trust them to keep our secrets to ourselves. They should be obliviated and that's that if they can't prove allegiance to the Ministry.
"But…" he hesitated. "The Wandless is a bad idea. Even so, I doubt they're just trying to starve them. They wouldn't do that where everyone could see."
“Samson,” she said, almost abruptly, pleadingly, then pulled herself up, turned so that she was facing him, both of them on the same bench and her hands resting on it just a few inches from his. “They already are. And what are we doing about it?” She said it slowly, fearfully, as if she didn’t want to face up to it either. “Nothing.”
“Someone’s got to be doing this,” she went on, quietly, uncertainly. “Someone’s rigged whatever department is allowing this, but they’re powerful enough that I’m not sure what else they could do. And that scares me.”
He set his large hands over her small ones and leaned in. "We can't do anything about it. Not legally. This is a time to trust. It's not a good time to question." He knew that sounded bad, but he couldn't think of a better way to put it. "Don't be scared," he said. "Someone is pulling strings, but that's the way it's always been. This isn't any different. It's a new regime, new ideas. It's going to be different until one day you'll not be able to remember what it was like before. And if you want to make a difference, you should go into politics." He gave her a crooked smile. "After your brilliant Quidditch career, that is."
She watched him hesitantly, wanting to believe, wanting to trust that everything that had been weighing on her could be sloughed off just like that: wanted to let it all go, badly, as badly as she wanted Quidditch and normalcy and for all of the conflict to go away. But she had the privilege to ignore it all, and she knew without even reaching for the names, that there were too many who didn’t have that privilege. Too many who had been confronted by the problem they also wanted to ignore, to not affect them.
Wanting to trust, wanting to have faith, she forced a smile at him, dropping her eyes to their hands and looking there because it was easier than continuing the conversation, easier than trying to express how desperately uncertain she was. So all she said, through a trembling laugh, was, “I’m not even on the House team yet, Capper. Still projecting too far ahead.”
"Oh yeah," he said with a laugh that was far stronger than her own. He squeezed her hands and grinned at her even if she wasn't looking at him. "So, just go into politics," he told her. "If you can't make the house team. I just have faith in you. Is that so wrong?" He was glad that they weren't talking about the issues anymore. He didn't like thinking about them.
“No,” she admitted, waging a mental battle on whether to allow herself to lapse back into blissful ignorance or to acknowledge all the things she’d just said aloud, all the uncertainties, all the glossed over explanations that she’d somehow found herself accepting as if she had no choice. Taking a deep breath, she raised her eyes to his again and said, deliberately cheery, “No, having faith in me is always welcome.” Then, with a hint of her typical mischievous distance, “Careful, though, before I start thinking you’re trying to flatter me into taking you home to Daddy.”
He laughed awkwardly and lifted his hands off her own so that he could scratch the back of his head. "No, uh," he said. "Definitely not trying to do that." But he was looking at a stain on the stands instead of looking directly at her. "I might not be scared of Marcus but I just might be scared of your dad."
She looked at him curiously for a moment, at his avoiding eye contact and at his monosyllabic stalling, wondering if she’d hit some button; then abruptly, uncertainly, “We’re late for dinner, I think. I told Tilly I’d meet her in the library afterward, but you can come along if you like. I know she’d be glad to see you.” Even after stating it, she hesitated, looking at him as if something had occurred to her, but giving no verbal cues, not moving forward nor pulling back.
He stood and reached down to help her off the bench. He considered going to the library for a second but shook his head as he began heading down the stairs. "No thanks," he said. "I'm going to do some reading but I guess I'll just do it in my room." He turned around and saw the look on her face and frowned, pausing his jaunt down the stairs and turning to face her fully. "What's that?" he said, as though she had said something.
She shook her own head as he looked at her, as if startled by the fact that she hadn’t moved when he did, surprised that she’d been lost in thought. “Nothing,” she blurted out, jarring herself by jerking her head down, staring at the wood of the bench hotly, then abruptly getting to her feet and following him. “Nothing, just hungry,” she blathered, looking up at him for a brief second before bounding past him down the stairs, snatching up her broomstick as she did so. “Last one to the Great Hall carries the ball box tomorrow.”