Entry for the Quidditch Fanfiction League Competition, Season 6, Round 11 – Wigtown Wanderers vs Falmouth Falcons

Position: Captain

Prompt: Use for inspiration only: Uzumaki — Junji Ito

Word Count: 2,966

Betas: Aya Diefair

Historical!AU

Favourite Obsession

A bird's song echoed through the quiet forest, leaves rustling as it took flight from the branch it had occupied and disappeared into the golden morning light that filtered through the trees. The air was still clear and slightly damp, not touched by the summer heat yet, and Hermione leaned her head back against the tree with a small smile, allowing herself to enjoy the calm of the early hour for a moment. Even though going to the forest usually meant hard work, she still embraced these opportunities; in the forest, nobody disturbed her, it was the most peaceful place she'd ever been to, and the nature made her feel at peace.

Though lately, these moments of peace had been tainted. She'd been able to tell that she wasn't alone anymore, that something, someone, was moving through the forest without the intention of being a part of it, like in the natural symbiosis between nature, animals and humans. Lately, the wind had carried the crunch of leaves, the snap of branches to her ears as she moved, and more often she felt eyes on her as she knelt on the soft forest soil and picked her herbs. It wasn't the kind of being watched that a bird might experience when she followed it with her gaze, peacefully observing; no, it was in the way a predator observed its prey, studying it to reveal its weaknesses and find out the perfect moment to strike. Hermione had never seen who was lurking outside her line of sight, but she refused to let that make herself uneasy.

There was no way she would let a phantom intimidate her, just like she'd never been particularly worried about the monsters under her bed that inhabited her father's goodnight stories. Though of course she still practiced caution, similar to how she'd checked under her bed every evening just in case, Hermione now always listened for the sounds foreign to the forest more intensely.

OoO

Shielded by the shadows of the leaves of a voluminous bush, Draco Malfoy watched every single move of the woman on the clearing. His breath was laboured and his body tense from the effort of not moving, lest he would make noise that could startle the object of his intense interest. Though if he was honest, he wouldn't mind if she got a little scared by the awareness that someone was following her, and that her evil witchcraft wasn't a secret anymore.

Yes, he'd figured it all out, he'd seen how she'd used weird plants for potions and hexes, on their neighbours, nevertheless! A woman like this could only be in an alliance with the devil, using his powers to curse people; the art of healing was, in his opinion, not a natural ability women possessed, and thus it could only be witchcraft what Hermione did when she administered her wicked potions and the people soon felt better.

It was difficult for him to contain his anger as he saw Hermione humming softly, so boldly displaying how safe she felt during her ritual, as if nobody and nothing could stop her. With every movement of plucking something from the ground, the hot and thick hate he felt boiled more fiercely inside him, fueling his determination to reveal her for what she was — a witch, an evil creature in an alliance with the dark forces that roamed the earth and aimed to pull it into damnation.

Draco swore to himself that he would stop her, no matter what he would have to do for that. He wouldn't let this woman fulfill her plans without putting up a fight.

OoO

Hours later, when the sun was already standing high on the sky and the air was flimmering over the wheat fields, Draco finally entered the mansion of his parents. Still in the long, soothingly cool hallway, he tried to clean his clothes from dirt and leaves as good as he could, but before he could bring his appearance into order, his father already stepped from his office, obviously having heard him enter the house.

"Where were you, Draco? Look at you, did you bathe in mud?"

Lucius Malfoy took in his son's appearance with a disapproving sneer, and Draco crossed his arms in front of his chest, trying to tell himself not to react to the vast exaggeration of the state of his clothes.

"I was on a walk."

"You were in the woods again, following that Granger girl? Draco, how many times do I have to tell you to stop doing that?"

The Malfoy patriarch didn't even try to hide the disapproval in his voice, his expression dark and carrying traces of disappointment when Draco's jaw tightened visibly, the telltale sign that he wasn't going to listen. "I tell you, father, she's up to something. And I will prove it! Everyone in this place will thank me one day for not letting go of this!"

Shaking his head, Lucius stepped closer and rang the bell fastened at the wall to alert a servant. "Draco, you will give our family a bad name! How does that look, my son roving about the forest, stalking women! They will think you're some lunatic."

"But father..."

"Enough!" Lucius exclaimed sharply, and Draco flinched, though only a little — over the years, he'd trained himself to limit his reactions. A servant came down the hallway, and Lucius turned to him, his dark gaze lingering on his son for a little longer before he shifted his focus. "Run my son a bath and wash his clothes. He stinks. Draco, I expect you to let go of your ridiculous obsession and focus on your responsibilities in our business from to day on, or there will be consequences that you'd rather not find out about. Have I made myself clear?"

Draco's heart was racing as he tried to hold his father's gaze, but ultimately he had to look down, nodding. Even though he'd gotten better at standing his ground, Lucius Malfoy's threats were still frighteningly effective on him, because he knew first hand just how seriously they were meant. "I understand, father."

"Good, son. I'll see you at dinner."

While the servants prepared his bath, Draco sat on the edge of his bed, hands stuck under his thighs as he stared into space blankly, trying to get his thoughts back into order. He hadn't expected to be caught, and the earlier confrontation made him aware that if he were to continue his inquiries, he would have to be a lot more careful.

And while Draco climbed into the tub, a plan started to form in his head, wiping away the tension that had built inside him over the last hour.

It was time for him to gather the evidence that would finally prove that he was right.

OoO

The next morning, Draco tried to act as normal as possible during breakfast, chatting politely about the upcoming horse market with his father as though he'd come to his senses and was putting all his energy into the business. On the inside, though, Draco was experiencing the most intense anticipation that he'd ever felt. He could barely sit still, sometimes his hand trembled from the effort of not making any hectic movements, and keeping his mind from wandering off to wonder if while he had to play the good son, the most important conditions for his plan were ruined. What if the witch wouldn't leave the house at all today, or the weather would change for the worse over the course of the day and she would return early...

"Draco, I have to leave now. Don't forget what I told you about focusing on business," Lucius said suddenly, standing up from the table, his voice ripping Draco from his thoughts. His father was staring at him, as if he was trying to test him, and Draco hurried to nod dutifully.

"I'll remember, father. No more trips to the woods."

He steeled himself for the long moment of Lucius' gaze lingering on him, and he almost released a breath of relief when Malfoy senior gave his son a last nod before leaving the dining room. Now Draco couldn't stop the shifting and the trembling anymore; he was just too excited and worried at the same time by now. His ears seemed more sensitive than ever, picking up the sounds of his father's carriage being prepared, and then rattling over the cobblestones leading off the mansion's wide grounds. Draco waited with baited breath until the sound was barely audible anymore, then he jumped from his chair as if a bee had stung him and hurried to get out of the house.
He had no time to waste.

It must have been his quickest walk down to village in his whole life, and before he knew it, Draco was standing in front of the small hut that Hermione Granger was living in, his heart racing as he tried to appear as casual as possible as he stepped closer. The last thing he wanted was to alert someone by coming across suspiciously, even though he was indeed about to break in.

Not that he wouldn't be able to buy anyone's silence.

He needn't have worried, though — nobody paid attention to him as he made his way to the back door of the pathetic wooden hut, and him entering went unnoticed as well.

Inside the hut, an earthy scent that reminded him of the forest was hanging in the air, mingled with a faint sulphuric odour that made him wrinkle his nose. The light was dim, as thick curtains blocked most of the sunlight, but it was still unbelievably hot inside the small, cramped room the hut consisted of. Anticipation was tingling in Draco's fingers as he spotted the thick bunches of herbs and flowers that were dangling from the ceiling on threads — the witch's tools, all on display! His excitement only grew when he saw the big kettle hanging in the fireplace, which was framed by wooden boards holding dozens of vials filled with colourful liquids. And there, the small table by the window facing out to the garden was covered with countless pieces of parchment, a bottle of ink resting on top.

Stepping closer in interest, Draco almost stumbled over a pile of thick, worn, leather-bound books, and he had to lean onto the edge of the table to keep his balance.

A loud gasp broke the silence in the small hut as he took in what was on the papers; many held extremely detailed and neat drawings of plants, and others… Draco's eyes were wide as he grabbed one page and read what obviously was a recipe for a potion. The next piece of writing dealt with moon phases and which herbs were best to be harvested during which phase…

His head was swimming with all the information he was being presented here, boldly left in the open, no measures done to keep something hidden. This witch had obviously been feeling far too safe in their village, not worried at all about being revealed.

Chuckling under his breath, Draco shook his head and allowed himself to float on the wave of ecstasy and triumph he felt in that moment, his shoulders feeling a little lighter. For so long he'd only been able to tell everyone about what he'd seen with his own eyes, and nobody had believed him due to the lack of evidence. Some people, including his own father, had started to believe that he was losing his mind, had whispered behind his back about the poor Malfoy boy going crazy. Everyone had stared at him when he walked down the street, some had even changed their path to avoid him...

Oh, how the tables had turned!

Finally he would be able to prove it all; the evidence was lying right in front of him, and all he had to do was take it. And that was exactly what he did: he grabbed some vials from the shelf, not minding that he knocked others over in the process, his movements quick and sloppy from the excitement. Draco ripped some of the herbs from the ceiling and then turned back to the table, his eyes gleaming as he gathered some of the papers, crumpling the edges from his tight grasp and from stuffing them into the satchel he'd been carrying with him. He didn't care that he made it quite obvious that someone had been in the hut — it wouldn't matter anyway once he'd shown his evidence to the other people in the village.

When Draco stormed out of the hut, he left the door wide open and trampled through the vegetable patches of the small garden at the back of the house; all he could think about was showing his findings off to a large amount of people.

The elders of the village, the ones who were too old for the hard labour in the fields or in the forest, usually gathered in the pub to discuss public matters and play cards, and that was where Draco found them, each of them nursing what surely wasn't their first beer of the day. Interrupting their conversation earned him a lot of glares, but Draco couldn't care less — it was an important matter, after all.

"I found the evidence! A witch is living among us! You'll thank me soon for saving us all from her evil sorcery!"

He dropped the satchel filled with the incriminating objects onto the table with a loud thunk, letting his gaze wander over the faces in the round triumphantly. There were many raised eyebrows and weird shuffling before one of the men finally leaned closer and opened the satchel, revealing its contents to everyone. Draco was too caught in his imagination of what he thought should happen next that he didn't notice the skeptic expressions and the glances that were exchanged.

"Where did you find this?"

"In Granger's hut, of course! I told you all before that she's in a union with the devil, and this proves it! This potion…"

"Is the exact one that healed my daughter in law from her childbed fever. Without it, my grandchildren would have no mother," one of the men interrupted Draco sharply, and the other men sat up straighter, too.

"She cured my niece from her horrible cough last winter. And when I injured myself in the garden, she came every day to take care of the wound."

There were collective nods, and Draco stared at them with wide eyes, feeling like they were taking turns in punching him in the face. How could they not see what was right in front of them?

"But…"

"Hermione has never inflicted any harm on our community. On the contrary, she's a good neighbour that does a lot for us. Your accusation of witchcraft is outrageous, and we won't tolerate this defamation any longer."

Draco couldn't believe what he was hearing. They couldn't be serious… Panic shot through his veins, and his gaze jumped between the men, then he realised what could be the only reason that they were behaving like this. "She has put a spell on you! You're all under her influence, she messed with your minds! You have to break free of it, or she'll continue to weave her web around us!"

The owner of the bar stepped closer and took Draco by the arm, though he didn't dare to grip him too tightly — Draco was still the son of the richest men in the village. Draco's shoulders sank in defeat as he realised that he had lost their ear, and all the fight he'd had inside him died at once. This had happened too many times for him to hold on. "I think it's time for you to go home, boy."

OoO

When his father heard what Draco had done, he received the worst punishment he'd ever gotten, and wasn't allowed to leave his room for a long time. Through his window, the defeated young man could see the seasons change, the people going about their business, and he couldn't help but ask himself what would have happened if someone had believed him. Surely they would have celebrated him.

A dark cloud of hopelessness was hanging over him, but yet Draco didn't regret his deeds; he knew that he was still right, and sooner or later, everyone would realise that.

It was as if Draco had known that the tides would turn.

The village was soon plagued by a very hot and dry summer, and on many fields, the crops died, the vegetables withered, and the nearby riverbed dried out under the scorching sun. Fear of how they should survive the winter started to rise, and one day, Draco's salvation came when the voices rumouring about witchcraft got so loud that no one could overhear them anymore. It wasn't long until someone remembered the accusations that the young Malfoy had brought forth, and the news that people in other villages and even the king himself believed the drought to have been caused by witchcraft were the last bit that brought everything into motion.

Only hours later, Draco was leading an angry mob to Hermione's hut, just like mobs in other villages were marching to the houses of the accused, determined to save their village from the bad fate that the witch had brought over them.

All the good deeds were forgotten, all the friendship, washed away by a wave of hate and fear of the knowledge that only some possessed; it marked the start of a time of terror.

For Draco, however, it marked the end of a long fight. Finally he was credible, finally he wasn't seen as obsessed anymore.