Draco surveyed the nervous faces in front of him.
"Right, team, I know this is the biggest game so far but we've come a long way. We can do this. We can win!"
He launched into his speech about tactics as he prodded at the whiteboard with his wand and the figures drawn on it darted about under his command. Draco knew the speech off by heart and as he spoke, he let his mind wander.
He thought back to when he first joined his Quidditch team, the Falmouth Falcons. It was a very low time for Draco. Very low indeed.
After the final battle with Voldemort, the Ministry had conducted a large scale clean-up which culminated in, what became known as, the Death Eater Trials. Draco's Father, Lucius, had been sentenced to 10 years in Azkaban in a high security cell, 6 months for each year that he had been in service to Voldemort. Draco's Mother, Narcissa had been sentenced to 8 years. The Wizengamot had chosen 8 as that was half of Draco's age when his parents had failed to protect him from Voldemort and he became a Death Eater. Draco had also been sentenced to 1 year. 6 months for each year that he had been in service to Voldemort. He had been very lucky that Dumbledore's representative had convinced the Wizengamot that Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted Draco to be sentenced for his mission to kill him as he was acting under orders with no other option but death himself. Between that, still being underage at the time, and a damn good lawyer he had done extremely well.
Nevertheless, he still had a year to serve, and following his trial, they carted him straight off to Azkaban.
The Ministry had lost a lot of faith in the Dementors after witnessing how easily they changed sides and so they now only used them to guard the high security cells on the topmost floor. Unfortunately, this was where Lucius was headed, but for Narcissa and Draco it meant that they just had normal wizard guards for their cells.
This was a blessing for Draco as he didn't think he would have survived with his mind intact for a month with a Dementor, let alone a year.
Draco served his year restlessly and by the time his release day arrived he hated his Father with every fibre of his being for what he had put him and his Mother through for all of those years. He was glad that Lucius still had a further 9 years to serve with a Dementor breathing down his neck.
On his release day he went to visit his Mother and wished her well. He promised he would be sensible, try to build a normal life for himself, and that he would be waiting for her at the Manor when she was released. Then he visited his father and told him of the hatred he had developed for him, but he doubted he'd remember as he already looked like a mindless, emotionless shell of a man. Draco didn't feel bad for him at all as he walked out as a free man.
After his release Draco had returned to the Manor. It was a mess. Voldemort had truly abused it while he had been in command. Using the money in the Malfoy family fault Draco had spent the first 6 months of his freedom rebuilding, redesigning, redecorating and perfecting the Manor to his own liking. After all, his Father would be in no state to run the house after his imprisonment, and that left Draco as the man of the house so he may as well make it to his taste.
The next 6 months were filled with searching for a job. The Malfoy family fortune was, of course, extensive, but Draco did want to try and have a normal life and thought that was a good place to start. Although Draco was very clever he had not been able to return to Hogwarts to complete his NEWTs due to his prison sentence so the Ministry and other reputable companies would not hire him, along with the fact that he was an ex-Death Eater and branded with the Dark Mark.
Eventually, he began to turn to his other skills to see what he could find and decided to try out for a Quidditch team who were searching for a seeker. The team, the Falmouth Falcons, was at the bottom of the league table, only just above the Chudley Cannons, but Draco didn't mind. He had to start somewhere and he could start small. He knew he could lift the team up, but first he had to get in and then later convince them to make him captain.
Draco visited Diagon Alley bought the newest Firebolt model and went to the try outs. There were a couple of others there but Draco knew he would easily be the best. When the try outs began, he outstripped them in speed, he outperformed them in manoeuvring and he was the fastest to catch the Snitch. He was accepted onto the team. He found out quickly that they were pretty true to their motto, 'Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads' and while Draco didn't mind bullies, they were not particularly good flyers and even worse Quidditch players. If he wanted to go up in the world he would have to make some changes, but first he needed to gain their trust. They needed to go up in the league table. They needed to win matches. Draco would have to catch the Snitch, consistently and quickly.
Draco trained hard at the team's pitch every day, and yet he only saw the other players for practice once a week. No wonder they're awful, they never practice. They don't even know how to read each other's actions, let alone the other team's.
Gradually, as they began to crawl up the league table, Draco managed to convince them to hold more team practices. They began to fly better and work better together and they managed to finish that season in the middle of the league table, the highest they'd been for 10 years.
The next season rolled around and they elected Draco as team captain. At 21 years old, he was the youngest Quidditch captain in the country. He was very proud and he worked his team hard, determined to get them into the top section of the table.
And now, here he was, briefing them for their biggest game so far. They were about to play their biggest rivals, the Irish Kenmare Kestrels. It was a big game because, not only were they rivals, but they were right next to each other in the table and the winner would make it into the elusive top section.
"Any questions?" he asked as he finished off his speech.
No one raised their hand. They looked terrified but their teeth were gritted in determination. They wanted to win more than ever before. In fact, more than anything.
Draco led them out of the changing rooms and into the take-off box. They mounted their brooms and when the doors opened they sped out, flying a lap of the pitch in a perfectly choreographed formation with Draco at the front. The crowd went wild. Their fans cheered and their rivals booed as they finished the lap and took up their positions in the centre. The commentator announced the rival team and they sped out of their take off box and whizzed around the pitch. Draco caught a blur of black hair. Shit, no one on their team had black hair. They've bloody gone and got a new player. This could cock everything up. As the opposing team made their way to the centre of the pitch Draco caught a glimpse of the name on the back of the black haired player's robes. He paled and had to steady his broom. It can't be. Not now. It was Draco's worst nightmare. It was Potter.
