This story is inspired by the Wizarding world of the great JK Rowling. I do not own her characters.
Draco Malfoy lived a desolate life by necessity. The deluge of perpetual hatred of which he was a prime target was only too ironic. Parts of him knew it was unjustified, but the remorseful side of him could not ignore the possibility that he must suffer for atonement.
But he was a Malfoy and a Slytherin, and neither identity left room for self-pity or humbling (at least not publicly). That was why, once a month, he would apparate into Muggle London, pluck a hair from a strapping young lad, and become him for the night. It was his only escape and view of a normal life. He even perfected an American accent for a cover story. So very few witches and wizards traveled to that uncivilized country, and if they did, the place was so large he could always claim to be indigenous to some obscure small town of which no one was familiar (including himself).
With such a plan, he had successfully used the Polyjuice potion six times, and because seven was a wizard's lucky number, he decided to stray from his routine and do something he had always wanted to do, but his parents found too plebeian-sit among the common, poor wizards during a Quidditch match. As much as he enjoyed watching the game with his father in their private box, he found his curiosity about immersing himself within an excited, chanting crowd linger longer with each match. The idea of disguising himself and attending amongst the ordinary spectators sprung at the most perfect time. He secured a seat for the pre-season international league friendly between Puddlemere United and Toyohashi Tengu that Friday night. It was five days away. Impatience greeted him every morning.
Thursday he was met with some Half-blood he supposedly knew, who promptly spit in his face after asking if Draco remembered his Muggle mother. Calm and collected, Draco walked away with a stoicism few could conquer, especially under such duress. His appearance of nonchalance angered the spitter to an exponential degree, and he charged at Draco's back. Before he could turn to cast, Draco heard a feminine voice command, "Protego!" Unsure of whether the cast was for him or the Half-blood, he silently cast a shield charm of his own. The Half-blood fell back by the power of a double protection spell. The voice revealed herself from the shadows, wand pointing at the fallen wizard. Draco was taken aback from the recognition. She pushed a strand of her bushy hair that had flown into her mouth away, and approached the wizard cautiously.
"Hermione Granger, why would you protect him?" The flummoxed wizard asked from the ground.
"You were about to attack a wizard unaware. Wizard duels exist for a reason, Doug."
"That's Draco Malfoy, you daft witch! He deserves anything that comes at him!" Doug made to move but Hermione's pointed wand commanded obedience.
"He has been tried and punished for his crimes. You do realize your behavior is everything we fought to exonerate in the Second Wizarding War? I suggest you stop perpetuating hatred." She flicked her wand up, as if commanding him to stand. He obeyed. Draco observed the scenario and had little time to piece together all the conflicting information he was witnessing. Granger was supposed to hate him, not defend him. Didn't she know his ostracism was an acceptable norm outside the pure-blood circle?
"What luck, the bitch of the Golden Trio works for the MLE, or I would show you how wrong you are." Doug was glaring at her, but Hermione appeared unaffected by the threat.
"Threatening an officer in the MLE is not wise, Doug. You really ought to stop adding to your list of wrong decisions. Turn around and walk away. Collect yourself and think about where your anger really lies. If you want help, I know places you can go. Spitting on Malfoy won't bring your mother back." Hermione's wand was still raised. Apparently she did not trust him to make a calm decision. Draco quietly readied his wand as well.
Then the unexpected happened. Doug collapsed to the ground and began sobbing uncontrollably. Hermione rushed to his side and held him. Draco stood dumbstruck and nonplussed. A moment more of the confusion dominated his thoughts before he apparated away. Escape was always his first choice, even if the infallible Hermione Granger was there to protect him.
Friday finally arrived, and Draco used his lunch period to apparate into Muggle London. It took less than half an hour to find the perfect candidate for the night. The Muggle was tall, with a similar build to himself. He was handsome despite his dark hair and dark eyes, but he had looked for a blonde and found none with a build he approved in the vicinity. (Draco never could remember his physical attributes while disguised and more than once had almost cast at himself when glancing at his reflection.) He bumped into the Muggle and pulled out a few hairs while excusing himself and walking to his apparition point.
Everything about the Puddlemere stadium was new to him from the commoner's perspective. The long lines and pushing from all sides he could live without, but the constant chanting, "Beaters show your buggy whips, it's time to beat the elephants!" enthralled him and filled him with anticipation he had never felt before. He looked around and found a group of wizards wearing red and white kits featuring Naumann elephants chanting their own Quidditch cry in Japanese. He wondered just how many of each side could speak the other's language. The ambiance and energy was infectious, and Draco found himself truly smiling for the first time in years. The muscles seemed greatly used in the body he possessed, and in the back of his mind he envied the Muggle, who apparently had many opportunities to smile.
Eventually Draco found his seat. He had come an hour early eager to absorb some of the happiness of the crowd he often observed from his box seats. The atmosphere trumped all his expectations. Even when four very familiar forms appeared in the row immediately below him, Draco could not contain his contentment. He found the Golden Trio and Weaslette relatively easy to ignore, when he was not in his own form. That was one of the bonuses to Polyjuice, he could not only look different, he could be different. Tonight, he would be an American who was an avid Puddlemere fanatic and had traveled across the ocean to see his favorite team. He had been practicing his accent all week.
Draco had been too busy watching the crowd and enjoying the pre-match chants to notice the Golden Trio being accosted by their own fans until Hermione, who was seated in front and to the right of him, fell backward over the seat. She grabbed his Puddlemere kit in an attempt to break her fall. Draco immediately reached for her arms in defense before realizing he should instead gently right her awkward position. She met his eyes as he held her forearms and blushed before acknowledging his helpfulness with gratitude. To her sides, Ron and Harry were politely chastising their fans. Draco did not realize that was possible. He nodded to Hermione as acceptance and stood back up in his spot. She looked at him a second longer before turning around. Once the back of her bushy head was in full view, Draco smirked to himself over her apparent attraction to him. The assumption was confirmed as he observed her glance back at him thrice in his peripheral. The malicious side of him wondered how far he could exploit the attraction.
But then the two sides appeared on the Quidditch pitch, and the raucous of the crowd drowned any internal conversation he had entertained. He was here to create a happy memory. One he had coveted for some time and one that he would need to recollect in times of despair. The gains from the match far surpassed any physical desire, especially from a bossy, do-good, bushy haired know-it-all.