DUELS 5.
Draco Malfoy thought he was he most conniving, intelligent, and most daring student in all of Hogwarts, hell, in all of Europe! Who else would come up with such a flawless, ingenious plan? He'd tell you: no one.
No one suspected a thing. The team didn't even guess that the green-eyed, tossle-haired, scar baring boy in their midst was, in fact, a tricky Slytherin named Draco Malfoy. (Draco accredited this to his extreme supremacy, and not the Polyjuice Potion he had managed to swipe.)
So, without any complication at all, the Gryffindor Quidditch team entered the pitch, brooms in hand, and ready for a fight, completely unaware that a revenge scheme would taint their match.
"3…2…1…" Madame Hooch blew hard on her silver whistle, which signaled to the players to begin the match. She released from her hand, the Golden Snitch; the item that the entire Gryffindor crowd was betting on Harry Potter to catch. Too bad they didn't know that Harry was sleeping soundly in the back of a broom cupboard, and that a very pissed off Slytherin had taken his place.
Draco took his sweet time kicking off from the ground. While all of the other players had zoomed upwards, he had been struck with the desire to inspect a beetle that was scuttling around on the grass. He could hear the shouts from the people in the crowd and the slight falter in Lee Jordan's commentary.
"Katie Bell has the Quaffle…what is he…oh! uhh…yeah, nice save by Oliver Wood!...Harry! Harry! What the bloody hell do you think you're doin?! Get off the ground!" shouted Lee into the megaphone.
Draco suddenly looked up, as if he had remembered something important, and got on Harry's broom. For another several moments, Draco feigned difficulty getting off the ground. He hovered up and down for a time, and then finally ascended upwards at a dallying speed.
"Oi! Harry! Feel like joining us any time soon?" shouted Fred Weasley as he sped past Draco in hot pursuit of a Bludger.
Draco stuck a look of dumb bewilderment on his face and began swerving and dipping as he blundered down the pitch, not even attempting to look for the Snitch. This was the perfect plan, he knew, to exact his revenge. After this match, the whole school would treat Harry as the Class Idiot, or better yet, the Fallen Hero! Draco had to keep himself from laughing out loud.
As Draco floated in mid air on Harry's broom, the Quaffle soared right in his direction. But rather than dip to avoid it, and allow one of the Chasers to grab it, Draco caught it. Better yet, he punted it.
The maroon ball tumbled through the air and fell into the Gryffindor stands. All of the Chasers (as well as all the other players) stopped their game play and watched in shock. Draco, on the other hand, found his antics to be very amusing. He followed after the Quaffle and landed not-so-gracefully among the wide-eyed spectators. It seemed to them that Harry Potter was off his rocker.
"Harry!" hissed Hermione Granger. Draco had landed about a row away from her. "Harry, what do you think you're doing?!"
Draco smirked inwardly, outwardly though, he was grinning stupidly. "'Mione! How lovely to see you!" he said in a bouncy sort of voice. He strutted foreword and slinked an arm around the bewildered girl's waist and kissed her.
Well, needless to say, by that time, the whole stadium was in a dead silence. The word was quickly passing to the other side of the pitch that Harry had gone bonkers and was snogging Hermione Granger.
"Ger'off me!" Hermione shouted against 'Harry's' lips. She pulled back, and smacked Draco across the face.
Very dramatically, Draco tumbled off the side of the stands but managed to seat himself upon his broom. He decided then and there that that was about enough humiliation for Potty-head to deal with later, and soared back into the locker room. Quickly, while everyone was still scratching their heads, Draco unlocked the door to the cupboard where Harry still slept with his head half inside a pail. From one of the old lockers, Draco pulled a half-empty bottle of Fire Whiskey which he had planted their several days before. The Slytherin put the bottle in Harry's arm's (against his bare chest, I might add) and hurriedly leaned Harry's broom against the door. He then stripped himself of the Quidditch robes and rushed into one of the rarely used bathroom stalls, to listen to all the fun.
"HARRY!" shouted a very, very angry Oliver Wood.
"Just calm down, Wood, there's no need to blow a blood vessel," said Fred Weasley.
"Yeah Wood, bleeding out on us won't help anything," agreed George.
"Shut it, you two. I'm gonna kill him!" Wood snarled.
That was when the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, as well as Hermione and Ron, found Harry asleep in a broom cupboard, half naked, with a bottle of Fire Whiskey cradled in his arms.
"Bloody hell," Fred almost laughed. "So that explains the kiss then, eh Hermione?"
Hermione only rolled her eyes at Fred and pushed her way through the crowd. She picked up the bottle of liquor and swirled it experimentally.
"He drank half the bottle!" Angelina Johnson gasped.
All at once, everyone began chattering like a mad group of apes. Several people wanted to know why Harry had taken off all his clothes before collapsing in the closet, others were pondering why Harry had chosen to kiss Hermione. Needless to say, it was becoming steadily louder in the Gryffindor locker room.
"Bloody hell…My head hurts…" Harry was finally stirring from his enchanted sleep. He rubbed his eyes, absent of their glasses, and squinted up at the team, wondering why they were all looking at him in such an appalled manner. "What's goin' on…? Where are my glasses…better yet, where are my clothes?!" The brunette stumbled to his feet, still gripping the bottle of Fire Whiskey without realizing it.
Wood was the first one to respond. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PLAYING AT, POTTER?! ARE YOU AWARE YOU JUST BLEW ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT MATCHES OF THE SEASON?!?!" It took Fred, George, and Ron to keep Wood from launching himself at the bewildered Seeker.
"Er…no, I wasn't." Harry backed himself up against the doorframe, out of Wood's reach. It was then that he noticed the bottle in his fist. "What the…" He held the amber colored bottle up to the light like Hermione had done, only to realize it was half empty. "Did I…?"
The last thing Harry remembered was…well, was giving head to Draco in the closet. After that, he had no idea what he was doing there, or why the team was so mad at him. Wait a second… Then it hit him. This was all that damn Slytherin's fault! Harry had to try hard to keep himself from chucking the bottle at the nearest wall.
An hour later, after Wood and the rest of the team had had their chance to tell Harry exactly what they thought of his drinking before a match, they all left in a huff. Harry angrily kicked the pail in the broom cupboard and fell onto the bench nearest him, burying his face in his hands.
"Damn you Malfoy!" he said furiously under his breath. He didn't have any proof, but he would have to be an idiot not to suspect Draco. After all that sweet talk before the match, how could Draco not be guilty of something? Draco never talked sweetly.
"I see you liked my trick," Draco said smoothly as he appeared behind Harry, leaning casually against a locker. "I sacrificed a lot for it you know, what with having to kiss the Mudblood and all." He smirked at Harry, challenging him.
Harry gladly accepted the challenge. He grabbed Draco by the tie and punched him as hard as he could. He felt the skin on his knuckles break, as well as Draco's nose bend in a way it shouldn't; but he didn't care. In Harry's opinion, Draco deserved everything and anything Harry did to him.
Blood began pouring down Draco's face. The Slytherin had a split lip as well as a broken nose…great. He wiped his face with his sleeve and grabbed the hand that held his tie. "What are you going to do to me, Potter, beat me up as if you were some common Muggle? Or maybe you'll just fuck me like you did in the Room of Requirement last time. Whatever, I don't care." Draco averted his eyes and licked gingerly at his busted lip.
For a moment, Harry almost acted on his anger, almost attempted the suggestions Draco had made. But finally, he let his grip on Draco's tie slacken. Sighing, he sat on the ground opposite Draco, against the other aisle of lockers.
"I'm done fighting you, Draco. You've won." Harry ran a weary hand over his face. "Could I just have my glasses back at least?" He peered at Draco between his index and middle fingers.
Draco exhaled noisily and dug through his pocket, pulling out Harry's thick spectacles. He tossed the glasses onto the Gryffindor's lap and sat down as well. He wasn't exactly sure why he didn't just up and leave. After all, he had won, hadn't he? He had no reason to stick around.
But as Draco looked over the messy haired Gryffindor sitting opposite him, he figured that maybe he did.