Disclaimer: I have no claim on any of the characters or the world of Harry Potter. This was just written for fun.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Title: Just a Moment
Character: Demelza Robins, Draco Malfoy
Word Count: 789
Status: Complete
Genre: General
Rated: PG-13
Note: The stipulation for the challenge was that there be 10 fics on the pairing.
Challenge: Unheard of Pairing on HPFC
Feedback: All forms accepted.
Summary: "Is that blood traitor Gryffindor still on the pitch pretending to be keeper?" "You know, if you Slytherins didn't make it a habit of sneaking up on people, maybe the rest of the school wouldn't think you lot were right arseholes."
After Quidditch practice, Demelza didn't have enough energy to go up seven flights of stairs to the Gryffindor common room. She collapsed on the stone floor of the first floor corridor, still wearing her red-and-gold Quidditch uniform and clutching her broomstick.
She touched her nose for a moment, running a finger over the bridge to make sure that it really wasn't broken anymore. "Bloody Ron Weasley," she muttered under her breath.
"Is that blood traitor Gryffindor still out on the pitch pretending to be keeper?" the haughty tone gives away the speaker as a Slytherin, and the shine of a green badge pinned to black robes gives him away entirely.
"You know, if you Slytherins didn't make it a habit of sneaking up on people, maybe the rest of the school wouldn't think you lot were right arseholes," she snapped, shaking her head as though it's the most obvious idea in the world.
"Then what's your problem with Weasley? Other than the fact that he's shit at saving goals."
"…do you have amnesia?" Demelza asked; staring hard at the Slytherin that was looking down at her as though he'd just figured out the meaning of life. "Gryffindor beat Slytherin last year." Even though she hadn't been on the team then, she was still fiercely proud of her house – that went without saying. The Slytherin, however, just looked amused that she would continue to defend Gryffindor, even though she was a Gryffindor herself.
"You still haven't answered the question."
"I don't care about your questions or your arsehole smugness. Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?"
He bristled noticeably at her remark – he clenched his hands at his sides and furrowed his eyebrows and Demelza waited for an explosion about how all Gryffindors were pathetic mudbloods and blood traitors, but it never came.
Instead, he takes a deep breath and the air of smugness returns within seconds. "Well, your opinion doesn't matter, because you're just some nobody Gryffindor."
"Whatever, you're a nobody to me too," Demelza replied hotly, "a nobody who came out of nowhere and had no business in talking to me about anything. Was I supposed to tell you all about how I got punched in the face during practice? No. I wasn't. Now go away before I hex you."
The look that crossed his face was not one of smugness or contempt, but interest. "You got punched in the face?"
"Yeah," Demelza replied, as she adjusted her position on the stone floor, cradling her broom across her knees. "I shot and was too close when Weasley punched the quaffle back onto the pitch. Broke my nose."
Even though Harry had healed everything, it didn't matter. "I've been on the team for a sodding week and Weasley goes off about how I shouldn't even be on the team, because if I can't avoid getting punched in the face, I'm prob—prob—" Her voice continued to catch on the word as she tried to go forward with her explanation.
"Probably what?"
She took a moment to wipe the tears that she didn't even realize were falling, before making another attempt. "Prob—prob—probably not going to be able to dodge bludgers in a real game. That Harry should call in one of the other chasers from tryouts as a possible replacement."
The word made nausea and nervousness twist in the pit of her stomach. She'd worked so hard to make the team that year. There was finally an opening and she'd failed.
"Weasley's pigheaded and Potter is too. The tosser wouldn't be able to recognize talent if it bludgered him in the face."
Demelza couldn't help but smile a little at his response, and she could have sworn that he was smiling at her too. "I guess so."
Even as she was looking up at him, she couldn't help but feel as though there was more to why he was so ready to insult two of the most prominent members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. But she didn't question it, because he probably had a reason, just like she did. Maybe Weasley had punched him in the face in the past, she didn't know.
"I'm Demelza."
"Draco."
Months later, when Draco was accused of aiding in the murder of Professor Dumbledore, Demelza would recount the story of the moment when she had properly met Draco Malfoy for the first time. She would emphasize the parts where he'd insulted The Boy Who Lived and His Best Friend, the fact that he had considered her a nobody.
But she'd never mention that brief moment of understanding that had occurred between them. Because she was a Gryffindor—and he was the Slytherin that had helped murder the Headmaster.
And they never could have understood each other.