[ fifteen, new seeker ]

Whilst not thrilled about the humiliation that was soon to come, a smile bloomed on Neville's face as he thought about Aemma's daring actions and the risk she'd taken on his behalf, all things he'd unfortunately missed the first time around, having been confined to the Hospital Wing.

Of course, he had to thank the Hogwarts rumour mill for this discovery, the only ever-working organisation that united all Houses under the same purpose. He could still recall how his heart had almost stopped when the news had finally reached him, dread and sorrow spreading throughout him at the mere thought of losing one of the few friends he'd ever had, the only one who'd ever deemed him worthy enough to risk it all for him.

Shy, awkward, and accident-prone Neville Longbottom had been ready to do the unthinkable and break out of the sterile environment to defend one of his first true friends when good tidings finally reached that side of the Castle, shocking everyone with the subject of their gossip.

It'd only been upon an older student's reassurance that Aemma wouldn't be leaving that Neville had allowed himself to relax, for he wouldn't be losing such a new and cherished friendship.

He'd spent many a times in his Hogwarts career in the Hospital Wing, yet that had been the first he'd experienced a peculiar warmth in his chest, one that almost whispered, 'You'll never be alone any longer'.

[That afternoon, outside the castle, the students, Gryffindor and Slytherin, are lined up in two rows with brooms by their sides. The teacher, Madam Hooch, comes down the line. She has short hair and hawk yellow eyes.]

The disgust in Alicent's eyes was as visible as it was almost tangible. Whereas she'd previously found comfort in the similarities between these heretics and themselves, something she'd interpreted as the Seven's partial blessing of their existence, one look at this Instructor had her already precarious beliefs crumbling, for why would her Gods create something so monstrous? No, it was more likely that Seven had abandoned these Godless children to their own torturous existence, and whilst no amount of praying would salvage their lost souls, Alicent was a pious and kind woman who'd keep on trying to sway and shield them from ultimate damnation.

Hooch: Good afternoon, class.

Class: Good afternoon, Madam Hooch.

Hooch: Good afternoon, Amanda, good afternoon. [to the class] Welcome to your first flying lesson. Well, what are you waiting for? Everyone step up to the left side of their broomstick. Come on now, hurry up. Stick your right hand over the broom and say, "Up."

At the mention of 'flying lessons', several people straightened in their seats, their interest in what was unfolding on their screen increasing tenfold. While confused by the use of something as mundane as a broomstick and the complete absence of their beloved dragons, most of them were gladdened that the siblings wouldn't have to remain earthbound when they'd been born to touch the sky.

Still struck by the lack of their companions, Aemond queried. "Where are all your dragons, then?" Flying was always a thrilling experience, but he couldn't picture himself ever settling for anything less than Vhagar, especially not something that belonged in the hands of a peasant.

It didn't take a legilimens to understand Aemond's dislike and trail of thoughts regarding one of their primary transportation methods, and Hermione pursed her lips in contempt regardless of her own thoughts on the matter. Although she disliked the entitled boy, her detachment from this individual and ability to keep her emotions under control made it easier to reply to him without losing her cool. "Those that don't wander alone or haven't, unfortunately, been captured are well protected in the dragon reserves, where experts tend to them and their needs at all hours of the day and where they're free to roam and live in peace. Unlike some individuals in this room, we certainly don't use our dragons to devour our family members," She finished icily.

Class: Up!

[After Aemma says "Up"!, the broom immediately flies into her hand.]

Hermione smiled at her best friend's achievement, wishing she could reassure and talk to her younger self and quell the slight jealousy she'd harboured back then when all she desired was to prove that she, too, belonged amongst her peers. "She's always been a natural," She admitted without reservation, silently recalling every Quidditch game she'd ever attended and spent cheering for Aemma regardless of her general disinterest towards the sport.

Although he'd yet to see his granddaughter fly, Corlys was already sporting a proud smile, excited by the prospect. Whilst Aemma had already proven to differ from Lucerys in many aspects, the Lord of the Tides couldn't help but feel that her prowess as a flyer would be a common denominator. He still remembered fondly all the letters he received from his granddaughter ( a soothing balm to his tired soul during the war ), detailing her improvements during her gruelling training with Daemon, one she'd insisted upon once she refused to touch any kind of weapon besides her Valyrian knife.

( Deep down, Corlys had always known why she'd always vehemently refused combat training, that night on Driftmark having sunken her claws into her so deep, the nightmares never truly left )

Aemma: [amazed] Wow!

[Hermione stares at her as the class continues.]

Draco: Up! [broomstick flies up and Draco smugly grins.]

Ron: Up. Up!

Aemond, upon witnessing the boy struggling as he did, scrunched his nose in disdain. Once again, he was proven correct in his initial analysis of who would have made a better companion for his dearly beloved, and it certainly wasn't someone whose control over his broomstick was pathetic, to say the least. A dark chuckle almost escaped his lips as he pictured the boy attempting to bond with a dragon with the same energy as the one he was displaying ━ all that would have been left of him would have been a charred body, a vast improvement from the pest who dared hug his girl at times.

Hooch: With feeling!

Hermione: [as her broomstick slowly rises] Up. Up. Up. Up.

Ever the curious individual, Daeron leaned forward in his seat, eager to learn more about every facet of his childhood best friends' lives. "How is it that they understand your commands?" It was easy to understand with dragons, for they were creatures of old, but nonetheless alive and breathing and bonded to them through magic. Broomsticks, however, were inanimate objects that shouldn't have behaved as they did in this new wondrous world.

Oddly enough, it wasn't Hermione who replied but a rather gleeful Aemma, who beamed at the opportunity to share her knowledge of something that enthused her so. "Brooms are charmed objects that are somewhat semi-sentient; the best ones, for example, even go so far as to respond to the thoughts of the flyer and act accordingly. The magic doesn't replace the flyer's skill but rather protects and enables them to fly with amazing speed and dexterity based on the model and the flyer's abilities." She wished to say so much more but didn't want to emulate Oliver Wood and put everyone to sleep with her explanation.

Ron: Up!! [His broom immediately shot up and whacked him on the nose] Ooh! [Aemma laughs] Shut up, Aemma. [Ron then seemingly starts to laugh after he recovered]

Some might have thought Ron odd as he smiled while a few people laughed at his misfortune, and perchance he was; after all, only the most peculiar of individuals would embrace a suicide mission as he did this past year. However, right now, he wasn't reminiscing about his latest adventures ( however epic they might have been ), but his somewhat baffling journey as a Quidditch player, one his younger counterpart would have scoffed at him for.

Hooch: Now, once you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it. And grip it tight, you don't want to be sliding off the end. [the class mounts on their broomsticks] When I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your broom steady, hover for a moment, then lean forward slightly and touch back down. On my whistle. 3, 2...

[She blows the whistle. However, Neville's broomstick somehow lifts him off the ground. Neville immediately lifts off. He looks quite frightened.]

Hermione's mood darkened, having always had suspicions regarding this particular incident, especially after Aemma's first Quidditch match. She'd always been aware that, had she befriended anyone else, she would have been labelled as paranoid for the assumptions that had haunted her after that fateful event. However, she'd been blessed with a couple of best friends who'd never once questioned her but agreed with her theory that whoever had targeted Aemma during the game could have accidentally done the same with Neville. After all, it was plausible that Quirrell could have jinxed a particular broomstick, confident it would have been used by Aemma, only for poor Neville to suffer the horrible consequences upon having been assigned to it.

Sensing something was terribly amiss, and her brave boy was in danger, Rhaenyra took a sharp inhale of breath, eyes glossing over as she stared at the screen that mockingly reminded her of her helplessness. Initially heedless of the invisible line she'd be crossing, the queen reached out towards her son, clinging to his arm to reassure herself of his presence. "Something's wrong, isn't it? What is happening to my child?" She questioned, trying to smother her anxiety while berating herself for her recklessness. Worried and lost in thought, she almost missed it when Neville placed a calming hand atop hers, causing her to gasp in surprise and turn to her son, who was attempting to offer her some solace and reassurance, his gaze understanding and kind.

"We believe that the broom was jinxed, but Neville wasn't its intended target," Ron explained, not having to further elaborate for people to understand the attack's real target. "No broom would ever behave like that unless heavily charmed. Neville was just very unlucky, and our school could have been sued since the 'incident' was never even investigated," He said with a disdainful scoff.

Neville: Oh...

Hooch: Mr. Longbottom.

Girl: Neville, what are you doing?

Students: Neville... Neville...

Boy: We're not supposed to take off, yet.

Hooch: [Neville begins soaring away uncontrollably] M-M-M-Mr. Longb-!

Neville: AHH!

Hooch: Mr. Longbottom!

Neville: Down! Down! Ahhhh!

Aemma: Neville! Someone help him!

Neville: Help!!!

[he immediately skyrockets towards the sky]

Nobody laughed as this unfolded, and Corlys was gladdened by it, for he knew his temper might have had the best of him had someone tried to make light of his grandson's current unfortunate circumstances. Apprehension marred his features as he stared at the screen, helpless, terrified and angry. His grandson had already died once, and he couldn't bear to witness him facing a second close call because someone had dared an attempt on one of his beloved grandchildren. Oh, how Corlys wished he could eliminate the fiend who'd threatened their lives, yet something told him this monster would be a lot harder to kill than a regular soldier.

Hooch: Come back down this instant!

Neville: AHH!

[He flies uncontrollably in the air and hits a wall, conking along it and then swooping off. All the while, he is screaming. He begins to zoom back towards the group of students. Hooch quickly holds out her wand to stop him.]

Terrified on behalf of her brother, Rhaena gasped in horror. "This is terrible," She whispered, quickly dabbing away her unshed tears.

Baela nodded grimly while staring at the uncooperating broom with thinly veiled contempt, for brooms and the like were, without a doubt, far more dangerous than any transportation they were acquainted with.

Enraged and terrified by what she witnessed on the screen, Rhaenys whirled towards the four visitors, her tone one that would have intimidated lesser men yet had minimal effect on the Quartet. "Why didn't that Professor use a spell to stop him?" She couldn't bear to sit still and watch her grandson in peril, knowing there was absolutely nothing she could do to aid him. It also worsened the guilt she harboured for distancing herself from her grandchildren until it was almost too late; for now, she was witnessing the lives of their younger counterparts, forever reminding her of all the time lost.

"It would have done more harm than good," Hermione explained calmly. "You never cast a spell on a broom while someone is riding it, let alone one you suspect has already been tampered with." Whilst a competent wizard could have charmed Neville, even they would have struggled with the hurdle that was the speed he was flying at ━ any spell could have just as quickly aided him as harmed him even further.

Neville: Help!

Hooch: Mr. Longbottom-! [However, the students quickly stand back as Hooch dives out of the way, allowing Neville to fly right through. Neville goes through the scatter and up a tower.]

Not even a man of war, such as Daemon Targaryen, could stomach seeing his child of one and ten in such a perilous situation, noticing the fear written upon his face and the helplessness when faced with what was unravelling. Every plea reminded Daemon of how he'd already failed not only one son but two children, and it tore his heart apart with a viciousness even Caraxes lacked, leaving him solely with his wrath. Neville might not have been his blood, but he was his child, and as such, Daemon's wish for vengeance was so fierce it almost overtook him. Whoever did this to him would have faced the consequences of their actions; Daemon would have ensured it, for no one touched his family without paying dearly for it.

Neville: Ahhhh! Whoa! Ahhh! [zooms past a statue of a man with a sharp spear. Neville's cloak catches on it. He is flipped off the broom and hangs there.] Oh. Ah... help! [He wavers, then the cloak rips through the spear, and he falls. But his cloak catches on a torch, making Neville slip off from his cloak a second later and fell to the ground.] Ow!

As if tempted to run towards her son to ascertain his well-being, Rhaenyra stood up abruptly and stepped forward, one hand itching uselessly towards the screen whilst her legs trembled. Frustration mounted within her once she recalled that she was helpless in the matter, forced to act as a spectator as her son wailed in pain after such a harrowing experience. As frustration bled out of her system, sadness overtook her, and she slowly turned to face her kind-hearted son, who'd offered her solace throughout the ordeal. "Please, tell me your injury wasn't as grave as it appears to be," She pleaded, gaze earnest and desperate.

Neville, unused to maternal love, was at a loss to know how to deal with Rhaenya's earnest care. He'd faced some of the worst humanity had to offer, yet the woman's boundless love still succeeded in unnerving him, for how did one react to something they never thought they'd experience? Almost as if she'd read his mind, Aemma squeezed his hand thrice, thus aiding him in collecting himself. "It was nothing serious. Since classes had ended for the day, they just kept me in the Hospital Wing overnight to be on the safe side," He reassured both the panicking woman and everyone else who'd worried for him throughout the whole ordeal.

Hooch: Everyone out of the way! [She runs through the group, and they scatter.] Come on, get up.

Hermione: Is he alright?

[Hooch is helping Neville up; he has broken his wrist after he fell.]

Neville: Ow, ow, ow, ow.

Hooch: Oh, oh, oh, oh dear. It's a broken wrist. Tch, tch, tch. Poor boy. Come on now, up you get.

Shocked by the diagnosis, Viserys felt his heart plummet: a broken wrist, if not healed promptly and correctly, could forever cost the patient its use, leaving them crippled. "Did you lie to us to soothe our worries when you told us your injury was nothing of import?" He asked his grandson. The last thing he wished for was for Neville to struggle his entire life with an injury he sustained during his childhood, one that would have put him at a disadvantage with the rest of his peers ( 'like Aemond', his subconscious whispered, yet it was too faint for him to hear ).

Aware of the dislike he harboured towards his grandfather ( not that he was any fonder of the man ), Ron answered in his friend's stead before an argument could erupt. "He didn't lie: broken bones to us are nothing to worry about and can easily be fixed in the blink of an eye." He could see the disbelief in people's eyes and didn't fault them for it; after all, their society was so backwards one could die from an illness the muggles in their world had already found a cure for.

Hooch: [Draco reaches down and grabs Neville's Remembrall, which has fallen from him. Hooch begins to lead Neville away with her.] Everyone's to keep their feet firmly on the ground while I take Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing. Understand? If I see a single broom in the air, the one riding it will find themselves out of Hogwarts before they can say, Quidditch. [Madam Hooch leaves the field to take Neville to the hospital wing.]

Draco: [snickers] Did you see his face? Maybe if the fat, pug faced, lump had given this a squeeze, he'd have remembered to fall on his fat arse. [He and his goons laugh; Aemma approaches him.]

Much like on the shores of Driftmark, Baela could feel the rage building up within her as she heard this pompous individual make fun of her brother. Her hands balled into fists, nails breaking her palm's delicate skin as she attempted to remain composed and avoid reacting in such a way it would have only gladdened their foes. "How dare he slander him so? And behind his back! What is it? Is he too frightened to do so in person?" She taunted the boy on the screen, her blood feeling like molten lava.

Even if they didn't verbalise it, most people agreed with her and shared her anger, utterly appalled by the boy's senseless and almost gleeful cruelty. His likeness to Aemond had become even more staggering now and difficult to deny by those who still attempted to shield the young man. The young boy's preconceived superiority and toxic behaviour felt like a clear mirror of the one who'd stood amongst them even after he'd taken something so very precious from them.

Aemma: Give it here, Malfoy.

Viserys smiled, for whilst he was never one for confrontations, he'd always admired his granddaughter's bravery and will to stand up for what she believed to be correct, even if, at times, it put her at odds with himself ( not that he could ever be mad at her ). "The boy really does not know who he's dealing with, for if she's anything like our Lucerys, she won't let this insult stand." He jokingly said, only for Rhaenyra and the rest of her faction to glare at him, reminding him once more of how much he'd failed her.

Draco: No. I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find. [he hops on his broom and soars around the group, then through.] How about on the roof? [soars off and hovers several feet above the grounds.] What's the matter, Potter? Bit beyond your reach?

[Finally having enough, Aemma gets on her broom, Hermione stops her.]

Hermione: Aemma, no way! You heard what Madam Hooch said. Besides, you don't even know how to fly.

Aemma: He's Neville, Hermione. Regardless of the consequences, I won't let him be humiliated like this.

It was just as painful to see as it was to hear, for there was a time when Aemond was the lucky recipient of Lucerys' undying loyalty, a fierce thing that had often seen her at odds with multiple people in his youth whenever she'd deemed he'd been slighted. Now, those she'd bestowed her loyalty to were undeserving of such a gift, people who wouldn't know how to cherish it and would undoubtedly abuse it.

[Aemma flies off to face Draco.] What an idiot.

Everyone who'd ever known and cared about Lucerys was sitting on the edge of their seats, curious to see how she'd fare as a first-time-flyer. It was a nerve-wracking situation, for solo flights were never handled thus in Westeros, and certainly not a first one, for the dangers one might incur were far too many.

[Aemma is now in the air, across from Draco.]

Aemma: Give it here, Malfoy, or I'll knock you off your broom!

Draco: Is that so? [Aemma makes a dash for him, but Draco twirls around his broom in a 360.] Have it your way, then.

[Draco hurls the Remembrall into the air, like a baseball. Aemma zooms after the ball, speeding towards a tower. Just as she is about to hit a window, from which McGonagall is working, she catches it. McGonagall notices this and looks surprised as Aemma begins to fly back down to the grounds. The students all cheer as Aemma lands back on the ground at ease. They run to see her.]

The same cheers that had spread across the Hogwarts' grounds reached the viewing room where people celebrated Aemma's success with joy and abandon, most of them crying out congratulatory sentences directed at the girl in question, allowing their nerves to finally dissipate and excitement to course through their veins.

The smile that stretched across Daemon's lips was a testament to the pride he harboured for his daughter, an all-encompassing feeling he thought he'd never experience again once news of Lucerys' demise had reached them.

As her private tutor in her previous life, Daemon had seen her blossom into a fearsome dragonrider who could have, one day, gone as far as to best him in battle. Whereas she'd struggled to find her place on the ground, loathing the masks she was forced to don, the same couldn't have been said for the air, where she'd felt entirely at home.

Although still not fond of the use of brooms instead of dragons, for they offered far less safety to those who mounted them, Daemon had spent the last few seconds marvelling at the sight of his daughter's prowess atop one, her manoeuvres looking beyond seamless, and her agility and dexterity being utterly impressive.

"You're just as talented as you used to be in your previous life," The king consort declared, a layer of fondness hidden behind all his smugness, one that didn't go unnoticed by Aemma, who smiled softly at him in return regardless of her hatred for the spotlight.

Ever the observant one, Daeron cleared his throat uncomfortably, for he loathed to break this touching moment with possibly troubling news. "Did my eyes deceive me, or did your Transfiguration Professor notice you on your broom regardless of Professor Hooch's strict rule?" He asked his niece, his hope dwindling. The last thing he wished for was for Aemma to be forced back to that prison, surrounded by people who loathed her because they feared all that was different.

The silence that followed was enough of an answer, and it deeply worried most Westerosi citizens, for nobody wanted Aemma to be ripped away from the first place she'd been able to be herself without fear of repercussions.

Boy: Nice going, Aemma!

Boy 2: Oh, that was wicked, Aemma!

[McGonagall appears in the grounds.]

McGonagall: Aemma Potter! [Aemma notices her] Follow me. [Aemma sullenly follows her. Draco and his goons snicker in delight.]

"I swear, if she is expelled because of him, I shall introduce him to Moondancer." Baela's eyes glittered with pure hatred as she stared at the screen, beyond unrepentant when some individuals looked at her in disbelief. "What? He must be around their age now," She quickly justified herself with a dismissive half-shrug.

[McGonagall and Aemma arrive outside of Professor Quirrell's classroom. He is inside teaching, holding an iguana.]

Quirrell: An iguana s-such as this is...

McGonagall: You wait here.

Quirrell: ...an essential in-gredient.

McGonagall: Professor Quirrell, excuse me, excuse me. Could I borrow Wood for a moment, please?

Quirrell: Oh, y-yes, of course. [A boy called Oliver Wood, gets up to leave and Quirrell continues.] And the vampire b-bat... [as Wood exits the classroom, an eerie roar is heard.]

McGonagall: Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood, I have found you a Seeker!

Utterly confused by the title, many turned towards the visitors for further clarification, causing Hermione and Neville to roll their eyes skywards, for they knew their better halves couldn't be contained whenever the subject of Quidditch was broached.

Just as Aemma went to answer the unspoken query, Ron began his explanation, earning himself a half-hearted glare from his best friend. "In our world, there's a popular game called Quidditch, where each side of the competition has different people playing separate roles." He stated passionately. "There is only one Seeker in each Team, and it's often been debated that that is the most important role given their task within the game. I won't bore you with the rules or anything more since I am sure it'll all be explained as the memories unravel, but Aemma has just become one of the most important players within the Gryffindor Team." There was no mistaking the pride in his tone nor his complete lack of jealousy, something Aemma's former family appreciated, for those were the truest marks of a genuine and loyal friend.

Aegon shook his head as a huff of laughter left his lips. "So instead of being punished for flaunting the rules, our dearest niece was rewarded with something I suspect many were vying for." Whilst many expected malice in his words, they were taken aback when they found nought but amusement in the prince's tone. In Aegon's mind, it made no sense to be angered with Aemma for her current achievement, especially when he could relate so much to her and her suffering ━ she was no Lucerys; things weren't handed to her on a silver platter, nor was she surrounded by her parents' undying love and devotion.

Unlike Aegon, who found the situation amusing, Criston Cole was silently seething when faced with the current events. Much like her former counterpart, it seemed as if she could do no wrong, and all rules broken would simply be swept under the rug, a concept that enraged the knight to no end.

[Aemma and Ron are walking through crowded halls. Sir Nicholas and a lady ghost float by.]

Nick: Have you heard? Aemma Potter's the new Gryffindor Seeker. I always knew she'd do well.

Ron: Seeker? But first years never make their house teams! You must be the youngest Quidditch player in...

Aemma: A century, according to McGonagall.

Being the superior man, Otto refrained from glaring at the smug looks Daemon and Corlys spared him, levelling both men with his signature unimpressed gaze. According to him, this 'so-called achievement' was nothing impressive, for what good would a lousy game do in the grand scheme of things? Whilst it might have bolstered Aemma's fame, it was nothing compared to Aemond's bonding with Vhagar, the riches of his House, or all the allies who patiently awaited their return outside this chamber.

[Fred and George approach and walk along with Ron and Aemma.]

Fred: Hey, well done, Aemma, Wood's just told us!

Ron: Fred and George are on the team, too. Beaters.

George: Our job is to make sure that you don't get bloodied up too bad. Can't make any promises, of course. Rough game, Quidditch.

Fred: Brutal. But no one's died in years. Someone will vanish occasionally. [They break off from Aemma and Ron, who walk across a courtyard.]

George: But they'll turn up in a month or two!

While Daemon seemed even more excited about the prospect of witnessing a match after the twin's short explanation, his trust in his daughter as steadfast as ever, a wave of cold dread had engulfed Rhaenyra upon hearing the horrid tales of how brutal a game Quidditch could be.

It wasn't that Rhaenyra didn't trust her daughter's skills, but Quidditch sounded like the perfect breeding ground to unleash one's frustration and the last place she'd ever want her daughter to be, especially if someone harboured any ill feelings towards her. But alas, what could she do aside from praying to the Fourteen for her well-being and success, for all of this was already in the past.

Ron: Oh, go on, Aemma. Quidditch is great. Best game there is! And you'll be great, too!

[Hermione, knowing what Aemma is talking about, jumps up from her work and comes to join them.]

Aemma: But I've never even played Quidditch. What if I make a fool of myself?

Hermione: You won't make a fool of yourself. It's in your blood.

[Later, the three approach a trophy case. Hermione points at a plaque of Quidditch players. One lists Aemma's father as a Chaser]

Ron: Whoa. Aemma, you never told me your father was a player, too.

Aemma: I didn't know.

Silence descended upon the room, a heavy reminder that Aemma hadn't been blessed with the same childhood as most of her peers, and all she ever learnt of the two brave souls who'd given their lives for her came from outside sources with no direct link to her family. It was a heartbreaking concept, one that had many thank the Gods for the lives they'd been blessed with.

Aside from such sadness, there was also an undertone of fondness in the air as people beheld the similarities between father and daughter, a concept only briefly broached beforehand and now undeniable as the plaque shined on the screen. Those who'd known Lucerys her whole life couldn't help but wonder what else her reincarnation had inherited from such a heroic man and how much Aemma differed from the girl they'd once known, aware they would have loved her regardless of how dissimilar she was from Lucerys.

author's note.      No one, absolutely no one:
Me: I am sticking to canon here, with James Potter being a Chaser as if it were the last thing on Earth because reasons.
Also, the fact that Aemma is so much like James will have its consequences throughout the story; just wait and see.